Angels of the Mushroom

Introduction:
Did Jesus and other prophets have voices in their heads? I suppose we can’t asked them, and we could argue back and forth about divinity, atheism, philosophy, psychology, mythology and on and on… but what about entheogens. Entheogen is a word created in 1979 to describe natural or chemical substances which induce a mystical experience. Taken from the word “Theo” which is Greek, the word ‘Entheogen’ literally means ‘becoming God’. The word psychedelic literally translates into ‘mind or conscious awareness’. This is a true story, an actual experience I had on the Big Island of Hawaii. Since this time I have learned that excessive dopamine receptors in the brain are known to cause auditory hallucinations, but cosmically speaking, perhaps dopamine is like a mystical telephone and when its levels are shifted through meditation or entheogens the human mind is able to contact beings from another dimension. Whatever the true answer is, here is the story of how I came to know Gabriel the Arch-angel… a dear friend whose company I miss.

Voices Chapter 1… Break up


April 2001. I hung up the phone knowing it was all over. I couldn't understand the crippling sorrow that wrenched my heart as the black phone clicked into place. After all, it was I who couldn't say what she so desperately needed to hear. The internal dilemma tearing me apart was that I really didn't know what it was to be in love. I didn't know how to answer her. I thought I had loved her first couple of weeks, but that dopamine and norepinephrine rush of puppy love vanished leaving me confused and angry.  Perhaps I was to young to appreciate the subtle contentment of the long term chemical oxytocin, but at the time I really didn't know about these chemicals.  I wasn't angry at her, but I was angry at the our mutual familiarity. How could she have gone from my everything to a girl that shared my bed?  She assured me that I did love her, and that made it okay for a few more months, but on the phone, she realized she needed to hear me say those three powerful words. She gave me an ultimatum: "Bear I need to hear you say it, or I can't..." I couldn't say it.

 I was 21 and she was my first girlfriend. She was the first to give me a pet name in affection, calling me Bear, and I called her Shroomie or Shroom Boomio instead of baby or honey. Although our relatively short 9 months seem like smoke in the wind now, looking back I see that I had twisted my way through a maze of emotions, yet each day solidified the knot that tied my heart to hers. When she cut the string and I hung up the phone, the gravity of the situation stabbed me with a palpable pang--a crash that felt so much more than brain chemicals jockeying for position.  Breaking up can be a relief, but if you love the person it can be hell.

Every limb on me was heavy as if sand coursed through my veins, but somehow legs carried me up to the Pahoa baseball diamond dugouts. Nothing looked or felt real.  The warm tropical breeze mournfully echoed the gasps of my aching soul with damp thick breaths. Everything was a reflection of my pain, delicate and sensitive but vibrant and strong.  Feeling lost, I began to write, hoping that the scrawling of my pen would somehow reveal a hidden truth or pearl of wisdom. Surely this life lesson had some message other than pain--a pain that I could not have fathomed when I failed to confess my love for her. As tears streamed down my cheeks and onto the pages of my journal, my breath that was moist and deep found a rhythm. Writing in my journal had always been grounding for me.  Pen to paper was a path for the facets of my subconscious to unveil viewpoints hidden from my ever babbling brain.   My heart ached, but the pen found its way to soothe me with soft curves, a beautiful penmanship which was almost feminine in form. I felt alone and lost and desperately searched my soul for an answers, but I was not prepared for the unseen guest who was to come.

My pen, of its own accord, slid down the page, as if my hand was drawn magnetically, I could have fought the sensation and pulled against this invisible tugging, but I was curious and a bit excited to see what would happen. Suddenly, I was no longer looking at the page in front of me. A rush of water enveloped my senses and I heard the voice of my younger sister calling for help. The blurry flash was much like a waking dream, but was over in seconds, and then the vision disappeared, leaving me wide eyed and fascinated. "Who are you?" I asked to the unseen force. Receiving no answer and feeling no tugging on my pen that I watched for a couple minutes longer, I decided to walk back down the stairs and back into Pahoa. My mind was in a cloud, partly from the knife digging into my heart that was my loss of what I then realized to be love, but also from the mysterious Ouija Board experience with the pen.

It was Sunday, and as usual, I decided to hitch hike a ride down to the black sands of Kehena Beach for the Drum Circle. One of my friends was already sitting on the guard rail on the Keau-Kalapana highway, and I smiled and walked up. Almost immediately, someone pulled over and we got our ride, the whole 16 miles down to the beach. In the car I realized that the unseen being was still present. Yosh, my friend, was sitting in the front seat and was making small talk with the driver. A magnetic invisible pull began to lift my arms up from my sides, but unlike my compliance when "the being" moved my pen, I was a bit embarrassed, and forced my hands to my side. Yosh gave me a curious look as I let out a puff of air and flopped my arms down. With a sheepish shrug I looked out the window. Internally I felt my heart churn and my stomach swarmed with butterflies. The misery I felt over the breakup was coupled by a sense of vulnerability.

The car crunched over the gravel as it pulled off the Red Road above the beach where all the cars were parked, but a relaxed day on the beach was the furthest thing from my mind. There was a presence looming over me, and although I felt uncomfortable being manipulated by it in the car, I wanted to know what it wanted--what it would do when I surrendered to its influence. Chills ran up my spine as I felt an invisible hand pushing me off the road and into the seclusion of the jungle foliage at the top of the Kehena beach cliff. Once I was in the trees, my arms began to lift again, this time completely up, and with an exhilarated shudder as my back arched, I realized I was in the formation of Jesus on the Cross.

An ethereal curtain of mental fog lifted, and I heard the familiar gurgling water that I had heard at the dugouts. Like the Enterprise shifting into warp speed, I was shot back in time, only vaguely aware of my physical body as it remained taut under the force of invisible strain in the position of the crucifix. I beheld myself being whipped, and all I could see was a purple cloth and felt my body being shredded with leather lacerations, but each time I was whipped it felt so utterly blissful, a physical antonym of pain coupled with emotions of gratitude and humility; my heart soared in ecstatic rapture.

The third vision I beheld was of myself at 12 years of age where I had vacationed with my dad and sister in California. My 10 year old sister, Shiloh had just fallen off a terraced waterfall of the Russian River. My dad had told us to jump as far out as possible in order to miss the undertow, but Shiloh had accidentally fallen off the edge. When I looked to my dad and he shrugged as if to say,there's nothing I can do, I jumped in and pulled her out of danger, narrowly escaping the whirl pooling water that threatened to suck me under.

These two visions were overlapped as I felt this voiceless conformation that I was okay... no, that's not the word--I was saved, in every way. The visions were a metaphor. By facing death and risking my life, I had mystically died, in some sort of way, as I was willing to trade my life for hers. The visions ended in a timeless moment, and whatever it was that held me in place with my arms out loosened its grip, leaving me standing with hot tears of joy streaming down my face as my arms flopped limply to my sides. Shaking my head and chuckling softly, I looked up to the top of a coconut tree that was softly swaying in the ocean breeze. The burning ember that was my heart danced and bubbled as I drew my palms together in front of my chest. Thankyou, I whispered, then I chuckled at the snot that tickled my upper lip and wiped it away.

When it was over, I took out my pen, and began to write. As I placed my pen on the paper I realized that the unseen guest wasn't through with me. With the same magnetic force I had felt in the dugouts, my pen began to write, and although I felt completely in control of my mental faculties, I recognized another person choosing what to write about. Indeed, as I felt the pen tracing the letters it was clear that the penmanship was not my own. Not only did I feel as though my hand were being controlled, but I had the distinct feeling that I was not the only person gazing down at the paper through my eyes. Whoever was writing addressed me and wrote a few sentences of encouragement, but after a couple of lines the pen stopped. As I gazed down, waiting for the pen to continue, I felt the overwhelming urge to yawn. When my mouth opened, I felt something creep up my throat and exit my mouth. Squinting my eyes trying to see the invisible force in the air above my head, I felt my mouth open again. This time, it wasn't the urge to yawn, but some unknown build up of tension, and as I opened my mouth, something else entered and slid down my throat. Perhaps this was the original reason for people closing their mouths when they yawn, I thought, but my mood was so elevated that the thought of being possessed was no more bothersome than opening a door for someone.

For about an hour or so I sat in the bushes and felt entities come in and out of my mouth, I couldn't hear them talking, but physically felt them in my throat as they came and went. They're penmanship differed, but they all had phrases of encouragement for me. Some said they'd been watching me for a long time now, and others would began to mock me, and just as I felt their rage or disgust for me, they would be "kicked out" or expelled, as if some other greater spirit was censoring who could come in and out. I must admit, I began to wonder what the significance of all this strangeness was. If breakups had been a catalyst for extraterrestrial or ghostly contact, certainly it would have been taught in some class in high school. But as I sat on the cliff letting spirits in and out of my body, a premonition of something of important sprouted in my soul.

Voices Chapter 2… Drowning at Kehena

Somewhere in the background I could hear the waves crashing on the black sand beach. I knew there were tan bodies lounging around or dancing to Rasta Randy's drum circle. Though I had been a member of this paradise a week earlier, I felt like I was gaining some sort of initiation to an invisible realm of spirits that were now communicating messages of encouragement and wonder. I felt like a portal or puppet of some sort, and tried to mentally deflect my ego that was swelling at the idea of me becoming a prophet. The spirits all had different voiced messages and penmanship; most were a little bit patronizing, but all wished me luck and said that I had an important task ahead of me. I wrote until my hand cramped up, and then just closed my journal and tried to breathe and calm myself down. I felt an invisible force nudging me to get up, and surrendered to it. I wasn't surprised to find that both my feet had fallen asleep and now tingled with pain as I stiffly walked out of the bushes on the cliffs over Kehena Beach.
I decided to walk down the cliffs, but could hardly tell if it was my decision anymore as this invisible force, like the positive end of a magnet pushing another positive ended magnet away. It seemed a bit precarious to walk down the cliff, and I was glad that this force didn't cause me to fall. When I got to the bottom, I had a mental image of the girl a moment before I saw her. She must have been five or six years old, blond and was wearing a red bathing suit. She stuck out and seemed more vibrantly outlined than anything else on the beach. Another mental image came, in this one, the same girl got too close to the crashing surf, and was swept away. The vision only lasted a second or less, but I was shocked at how real it seemed. I was even more shocked at my emotional state. It was like waking up from a nightmare screaming, feeling more terrified than an actual event where the rational mind has any say in the matter.
I didn't know exactly what to do, so I just sat down under a coconut tree and watched the little girl like a life guard. I got out my journal once more, and the pen wrote in big bold letters, IT'S ALMOST TIME. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I knew what was going to happen. This little girl would be swept out to sea and I would save her, but in the process, I myself would drown. As I fully processed this, a strange peace swept over me.
The drums were playing, and Rasta Randy was standing there like some sort of chief, sipping on a can of Coors beer. Normally I would have gotten up and drummed myself, or gone over to where my friends were sitting, but now all this seemed absurd. All these surroundings were like the background, and none of it seemed real. I thought about writing in my journal, but somehow couldn't. My mind felt so at peace, I just couldn't put words to my feelings. I did cry a bit when I thought about my family and how my friends would react… but if they only knew I was watching them from Paradise. So many emotions were flooding through me, and I looked around at everyone and felt love. I mentally thanked them all for being here, on this, my last day on earth.
She was gone. I had been caught up in my own emotions, and with a start, realized the little girl in the red bathing suit was no longer playing near the shore. Had I missed it?—oh I was so stupid, how could I have let this happen? I checked, looking hard at the waves, but only saw the familiar body-boarders riding the crashing surf line. I jumped up and looked around, and then out of the corner of my eye, I saw her holding her mom's hand as she went up the cliff trail.
I watched, stupefied, until they were out of site, and then a feeling of disgust crossed over me. Who did I think I was? I looked around at what had once been my last day and the beach dwellers that sat lazily on the sand or played instruments of various kinds. Coconut King was splitting apart coconuts and handing them out with a cackle to a few people. The gay side of the beach was filled with tanned butts pointing in the air. It was too much for me to handle, I had to get out of there.
I got to my feet with a frown, silently cursing myself for believing in—but what was going on? The writing, the visions… had it all been some sort of psychological happening due to stress, or some sort of … whatever? I just couldn't believe that! My arms had been lifted by some unseen force—I had to get out of there. I climbed the cliff swiftly, stubbing my toe once, but not hard enough to make it bleed. I actually welcomed the sobering feeling of pain in my body, and the deep breathes I had to take as I moved quickly to the red road. Once there, I just started to walk.
Soon the anger and disgust left, and the same feeling in my heart replaced it; the feeling I had when I got off the phone with my girlfriend, well, ex-girlfriend now. This hideous empty feeling that throbbed, but walking felt good. I walked to Sea View without sticking out my thumb, and decided I would walk all the way to Mackenzie Park to spend the night. The sky had a few Mario Bros. clouds that billowed and seemed to hover just a couple hundred feet above the blue ocean. The air was warm, but a slight breeze made it a perfect temperature to walk. My pack was light; only a sleeping bag, tarp and some paraphernalia was inside.
The sun was drifting across the Volcano, causing the clouds to be outlined with a yellow tint that would soon turn to pink, then a majestic purple as the first stars would appear. I felt once again like a solitary pilgrim, lost and alone, when the gray van pulled over. I knew this van very well, and smiled as I ran up to it. I pulled it open and smiled seeing nearly all my close friends, travelers like me who had come to Hawaii for the first time. Brother Eewok greeted me with his toothless grin and smokers cackle. There was Gingko, Hatti, Paul, Ora, Shon, Niko, Anthony and a few other hippie kids on the van floor. Beads were dangled down behind the driver and passenger seat in a gypsy like manner. This was a gypsy crew after all, and I felt relieved to be rescued by them in the Family Van.
The ride only took us a couple miles down the road to an old concrete type of shelter, five stories tall and without any walls. It was nestled in the jungle, a half mile away from any neighbor, and bordered the south end of Mackenzie Park. It really looked like the Ruins from the cartoon Jungle Book where King Louie lived as the jungles V.I.P, so it was known by everyone as "The Monkey Temple".
Amberay was a girl my age that had been on the Island some time before I got there, and had recently invited her Pops to come out to see it. Pops arrived with a whole group from the mainland, all musicians and artist types who came and camped out in Mackenzie Park for a while, but now I found that they had infested the Monkey Temple. I wasn't too sure what to think about Pops, but all my friends talked of him as if he were, well… Pops. He had white hair that frizzed out like Albert Einstein, and sat in half lotus, constantly lighting bowl after bowl of bud, and passing it to whoever was with him. (Just toked in his honor) Since I didn't really know him, I sometimes went over and sat next to his little Posse of Punatics, and would listen to his crazy stories in this mesmerizing Texas accent, but would often only be able to take a hit two or three times as the pipe was passed.
Ah yes, let's reflect on the image of that white marble pipe. Like the cloud gods phallus. The mouth piece had a gaping hole, the size of a penny, more like a chimney the way smoke would rush through which made the pipe hit like a champ. The bowl must have been two or three inches wide, and as big as Bruce Lee's fist, and the punch of the smoke… whew! I'm telling ya, these guys would sit around and toke bowl after bowl, and after Pops would take a hit, he would cough so loud I thought he would puke out his lungs. The Posse who were watching would start to laugh at this big Buddha bellied man with his junk hanging out of his shorts telling his stories that all seemed to clarify his main point—Pops is the King of not giving a fuck. And that's what makes him Pops. Well I guess the real reason was because Amberay introduced him as Pops, but he was Pops long before Hawaii, to a different crowd of kids down on the Columbia River. What does someone do when $30,000 is shoved in their pocket with an apology note from the System that has been injecting them with tranquilizers? Happens rarely, but if the person truly doesn't give a fuck, what happens with the cash? Twernt nuttin to Pops! He through a party for two months, and spent most of it, but when everything got out of control, he flew away with the people he'd been partying with… Bon Voyage, off to Hawaii… and the party continued.
The Monkey Temple was a new party location, and that billowing phallic pipe was soon being passed as we got out of the van and made our way upstairs. There was a free flow guitar session, and everyone was flowing with lyrics, either poetry or stories, and Shon sang about 'McDonalds being Satan, or Satan don't exist'… and Hatti had a country twang to her songs, and Twenty Fingers Daragan would play lead guitar. It eased my mind, and I knew I was with kindred spirits. Gingko and I would wander over to the drums and start the San Francisco beat.
And to think, I was going to go jump into the ocean a moment ago… That morning I had waken up in a cave after a nightmare, going to the phone, saying goodbye forever to a lost love, then trying to die for someone I didn't know, then alone and destitute. As the guitars played, I said my free flow verses about how crazy life was. The sun had now completely set, and we were all there around the candle light. There was a kerosene lamp in the kitchen, and people would wander down there and eat when they got the munchies. Everyone got 212 food stamps on there EBT cards every month, no one had time or interest in work, but it seemed like the Aloha life was taking only what you needed, and 212 food stamps was enough to share, so we all ate good, and life was fine. No reason to jump in the ocean and drown. But I still wondered how I would act if I picked up a pen. Would that invisible force control my hand? I hadn't felt so much as a nudge since I saw the girl in the red bathing suit walk away to safety with her mother. I'd see about writing in the morning, tonight I was with family.
Even though I smoked, I had trained myself to eat only fruit when I had the munchies. I ate a little papaya mixed with oats and raisins, and considered mixing in the peanut butter, but than thought against the idea of the morning bathroom run… besides, I knew that if I busted out the peanut butter, I wouldn't be able to put it away, and would want to add honey, and soon would go on a rampage for granola or anything else that would mix in. I did want some coconut juice, but didn't know how to climb a coconut tree to get one.
I fell asleep before the party broke up because people were all just sitting around with their eyes half open, and I just gave in to the heaviness in my own eyelids and went to go get my sleeping bag. I slept on the bottom floor by the kitchen, just a little bit away from the edge of the floor and had to move inside more as rain cascaded down, creating a mist like near boulders around the base of a waterfall. It was somehow comforting to hear the sound of heavy rain, snuggling nice and dry a couple feet away from it as it came down, made me thankful to be warm and safe in a house of friends… what a day!
Voices Chapter 3… Manna
It was Hatti and Gingko who woke me up the next morning and invited me to join them on an adventure. They said there was a cow field just two miles up the road on Opihikau. They seemed so excited, but I didn't see how a cow pasture could be the cause of such enthusiasm. I wondered if they planned on feeding the cows, when Hatti informed me, "You know it rained last night Jasper, that means there is going to be a shit load of shrooms, and literally a shit load… you ever been shroom picking?"
I told them I had tried to find blue ringer mushrooms on my high school football field, but was unsuccessful. There had been about few times when I had either drank mushroom tea, or eaten the dry leathery kind. Every time had been wonderful, but I had never been shroom picking in a cow pasture.
No one else wanted to go on the trip, but apparently we had to hurry out the door and skip breakfast because if the sun came out, it would turn the mushrooms into a black ooze.
Exodus 16:14 And when the dew that lay was gone up, behold, upon the face of the wilderness there lay a small round thing. 16:15 And when the children of Israel saw it, they said one to another, It is manna. 16:21 And they gathered it every morning, every man according to his eating: and when the sun waxed hot, it melted.
So without knowing it, we hurried off early that morning to collect manna. It was a misty morning and it didn't look like the sun would "wax hot", so we weren't to worried about the mushrooms melting.
It was such a beautiful road to walk on. Coconut, avocado, mango, and guava trees were on either side of the road with vines wrapping around everything. Only occasionally a car would pass, but other than that, we didn't see anyone, and could walk comfortably down the center of the red road. We turned up Opihikau and walked up the hill, passing Puna shacks with their rusted aluminum roofing and screened in walls. For the most part, the road didn't have many houses along it, and not a single car passed us for the 20 minutes we walked. After a small papaya farm, a great pasture opened the horizon, and we could see all the way down to the ocean.
We ducked in between the loose barbed wire fence; each of us had a paper cup to collect the mushrooms in. The cows must have been grazing in a different pasture, and only red jays and other chirping birds swooped the air, landing in the guava trees that lined the fence.
"Be sure to only pick the shrooms out of the cow shit, because although the other ones might look the same, they might be poisonous." Hatti seemed to know a bit about this type of thing, and I didn't question her knowledge, but it did seem a little gross to pick the shrooms right out of the cow pies.
Ezekiel 4:15 The Lord said, Lo, I have given thee cow's dung instead of man's dung, and thou shalt prepare thy bread therewith. Moreover he said unto me, Son of man, behold, I will break the staff of bread in Jerusalem: and they shall eat bread by weight and with care, and with astonishment.…
We walked around the pasture in different directions, picking the little mushrooms, some as small as a thumb tack, some with caps the size of the bottom of a coffee mug. We tried to be quiet, with rumors of the land owner chasing people off his land with a shotgun, but it was hard to keep to whispering as we came across cow pies with a dozen or more little fun-guys.
"Holy Shit, you gotta come see this," Gingko would yell, and we'd run over. Sure enough, it did seem to be holy shit. The mushrooms in our cups turned from a light brown or white to blue when bruised, so we decided to eat the perfect looking mushrooms as we grazed. It only took an hour or so before our three cups were filled. We were all beginning to joke about the truth of Bart Simpson as he exclaimed, "Holy Cow." There were so many puns. It was amazing how vivid everything was becoming; it looked like everything was so defined and crystal clear. Waves of giddiness would wash over me, and I would giggle in spurts.
"Hey Jasper, I picked this mushroom just for you," Gingko said, and handed me a perfect white mushroom with blue veins the size of my palm.
"Thanks Gingko, because I picked this one just for you," I exclaimed, picking out one of my finest specimens. We all exchanged two or three of our finest pickings and then made a plan for distributing them at the Monkey Temple. We knew we had enough for everyone to be feeling as good as we were, but came up with a way to make everyone feel special. I think it was Gingko, who had a really big heart and was always making hemp jewelry and other gifts for her friends. We decided we would announce to everyone that we didn't find any, but then, one by one, give little handfuls to each one of our friends and tell them that we only found a little, and wanted them to have them.
As we made our way back down the hill to the Monkey Temple, we couldn't make eye contact without falling into a fit of laughter. Our pupils were like the Power Puff girls, and it felt to me as if we all must be floating. I had taken off my Tivas to feel the pavement which gave my feet a massage at every step. Each breath felt so delightful, and I ended up doing cartwheels and running as fast as I could back and forth, feeling more exhilarated than I could remember.
As we got near the Monkey Temple, it was apparent that the party had already been started. Somehow the time had just flown by, and it was already afternoon. There were a couple more vehicles in the driveway, and we wondered if we had enough mushrooms for everyone, but decided we'd first share them with Pops' crew first. As it turned out, almost everyone in the party had been dosed on L.S.D. and no one wanted the mushrooms. I could hardly believe it. As I went up to a couple of my friends, they told me that they were all set, but that I could eat their share. I was already feeling so alive, but decided I just couldn't let these precious gifts go to waste. After trying unsuccessfully to hand them out, I ended up finishing my entire cup. A moment later, Gingko and Hatti told me that no one wanted any, and they had already eaten as much as they could handle.
It seemed there was a job to do, and I was the one to do it. And without a second thought, I mixed a little bit of honey in with the shrooms and gobbled down the rest. I suppose I didn't take heed of the Lord as he cautioned to, "eat the bread by weight and with care" but at the time, it seemed sacrilegious to just toss the meal out. Besides, I hadn't eaten anything else but a couple guavas in the cow pasture, and felt a bit hungry.

Voices Chapter 4... The Babe with the Power
Yummm, er fuzzzz... (tickling the inside of my cheek, oohh the mind flubs and whispering as my jaw contracts and I yawn teary eyed.. light up a smoke... half smoked by someone else). The party in the Monkey Temple was mixing with my emotions, like a family, like some sort of answer to a prayer manifested inside. That day I had woke up with a mission, and to think what had happened a day before.
Before the break-up on the phone, she had been in my dream. I had decided to spend the night down in the Lava Tube. I took down a couple of candles into the opening in the ground. Mackenzie park was obviously magical, and the whistling and whispering of the salty ocean breeze, all shaded with a Dr. Seuss like whirling canopy of Iron wood trees, green against a Microsoft blue kind of sky, but there was nothing digital about it, accept for the sound of waves, crashing on the 15 foot lava cliffs right outside the park. The forest floor was a rusty orangish red, and soft enough to walk on, if you could endure the marble sized pine cones... Too me they were like a foot massage, but if you were going to run and jump and play, you had to know that a bloody toe would jolt you out of your frolicking. It happened so much that people who went around in Local Slippahs, da kine foot wear in 2001, but I preferred the Tivas. Anyways, the drips of the cave only came if it rained hard, and it had been dry for a couple of days, although it was moist, and to warm to sleep in anything but a sheet, and even that clung. I hadn't anticipated the thumb size cockroaches, little blood red nuclear fall out survivors that would crawl with an echoing scuttle. I slept hardly at all, but late at night when I did fall asleep I had seen her with somebody else. I could only picture fragments of the nightmare as I awoke, but the gut wrenching panic I felt was as if it really happened. She had been the psychic one in our relationship, able to guess exactly what was going on in my head, but that morning, as I scrambled out of the stifling darkness, I had to call her, and confirm what I already knew.
After break up on the phone, there was the channeling up in the bushes of Kehena beach. Then there was the let down when I found my mission to save the girl in the red bathing suit was an illusion. But it all seemed over now. I was with friends and had a sense of a belonging. But of course, it was far from over.
So there I was after eating enough mushrooms to dose the whole party, picking up a half smoked cigarette with such spiritual heartfelt sincere thankfulness to God for giving me fellowship with such friends. I lifted the cigarette (American Spirit wrapped in a Rizla) and almost with a tear of compunction, lit it as incense—as a sacrament, and inhaled. Suddenly I giggled at the harshness of the smoke but grimaced at the taste... I was overcome with amusement at my own biological disgust but curiosity at the cigarette, and decided, no, it wasn't bad... it just wasn't for me. I was beginning to feel ancient, but all that did was make me feel more clear, with thousands of unique perspectives, I decided to give the little strange magic tobacco to Ora, a blond girl who had arrived with the Pops Crew and was dancing in Fairy Wings. I leaned over with a pleading look in my eye, feeling Cartoon and extended the insane smoking sacrament, although it was this time almost burnt more than half way, and Ora said the words that changed my life more than any words anyone ever has said to me, "Oh I'm sorry, is that how big it is?"
Voices Chapter 5... The Red Pill
Everything stopped. Someone had just pushed pause... the expression on Ora's face, the dancers in the room, the people and their gestures... It was completely silent and frozen in place. I was also frozen, but able to see everything in the room in crystal clarity at once. It only lasted for about two seconds and then the music continued, and this immense wave of complete and utter embarrassment filled me. I stood there like a deer in the light of a train coming at me, frozen in a terror that I had never felt before... a deer on a bridge over Niagara Falls in the barrels of my skull. I dropped my eyes, but I knew every inch of me was completely exposed to be profoundly humiliated. The mushrooms, enough for fifteen people, to be laughing uncontrollably—now everything that existed was laughing at me. The world the universe was rolling on its back taunting me, who was standing there Naked in a freak show. And Ora was the Archetype of all women. Ora, who was about ten years older than me and known for getting sensual with plenty of men. Oh she knew men, and knew when a man was a boy. And I was just a little silly boy pretending. I must have turned as red as the blood that was rushing through my cheeks as a wide grin spread across my lips. I tried to think quickly, and come up with a clever response, but I couldn't. I was confused and felt like floating away some place far, far from the Monkey Temple—some place where I wasn't exposed. I spun around and walked down the stairs, in a daze, to the first floor of the Temple in the Kitchen.
I sat at the table and then wondered what had happened. No more laughing or dancing and prancing. My body felt like led, and every particle in me was screaming. I sat down for only a couple of minutes and closed my eyes. People were still rushing here and there around me, but I was locked inside my mind traveling to happier times.
It was almost in a state of meditation, and time could have been floating by in minutes, or in seconds, I wasn't part of conventional time anymore. When I opened my eyes and looked up, I saw Anthony, and his knew girlfriend Mikie sitting across from me. Anthony was a nomad type of traveler, five years older than I was, hadn't cut his beard in two years. He had been in some sort of alcoholic funk, and had worn the same green Umbra soccer shirt since I had arrived four months earlier. He never was shy to say exactly what he thought in a matter-of-fact kind of way, very down to earth and practical. If anyone disagreed or felt like arguing their own point of view, Anthony wasn't interested in drama, and would shrug his shoulders apathetically, and look in there face with boredom in his eyes. He had seen it all from buffalo herders in Africa, to Baba's smoking chillums in India, to mad Spartans in Greece. He had felt lost for a long time, but when Mickie arrived, he changed out of his green soccer jersey and into a bright blue shirt. He even showered, but kept his thick Middle Eastern beard.
As I looked in Anthony's eyes, I saw a look of concern and sympathy; an expression I had never seen on his face before. "Sticks and stones, right man?" Anthony said with a pleading tone for me to catch his drift. I smiled weakly, and it was obviously superficial with pain beneath my eyes reflecting the agony I felt in my soul. How could I respond? All my defenses were down, the mushrooms brought my truth to the surface of my being. Then I wondered, how did Anthony even know what Ora had said? Who else knew—everyone? Did it matter anymore—did anything matter?
"Well Grass you know," Anthony paused searching for the words, "I know I'm, well… sensitive about…" before he finished, Mickie warmly embraced him. The two love birds smiled, forgetting me for the moment, looking into each others eyes. When they both looked back at me, I closed my eyes and bowed my head. I knew I was beyond being reached by any empathetic comfort, far from any sort of comfort right then. If I hadn't been on the mushrooms, that were steadily increasing in their psychedelic effect, I might be able to pull myself together and respond somehow.
I just wanted to go back in time somehow and undo what had been done—what had been said. If only I would have kept walking to Mackenzie park yesterday and ignored the gray van. I opened my eyes once more, and saw most of the people at the party had come down stairs and were now looking at me with sympathetic eyes. However, when I tried to make reassuring eye contact with them, they'd turn away, as if ashamed somehow. I felt as if I must somehow be telepathically communicating, was it the mushrooms?—I felt sure that everyone knew, and that I was somehow controlling this psychedelic trip. Everyone was either on LSD or who knows what else, everyone was fidgeting uncomfortably, so obviously exposed in their thoughts as I was.
Ora came down stairs for a moment, I only noticed her out of the corner of my eye. She was pacing with determined steps, while everyone else was sort of floating awkwardly nearby. She made a move in my direction, then abruptly stopped, shrugged her shoulders and said, "Fuck it, I don't even want to go there." She walked back up the stairs, and a couple people followed. The music was still playing, but I could hear them talking.
I couldn't stand anymore. How could she have said such a thing? But more importantly, how did she know. With a realization, I knew it must be my bathing suit, my board shorts. They have Velcro over the crotch, to mask any penis print, but not when sitting down. Oh fuck it. It was all over now. And just as I was beginning to peak on my psychedelic trip up mushroom mountain, people from the party, all part of Pops Camp, some of my closest friends came down one by one, and to my dread, added to my humiliation... to the annihilation of my Ego.
Gingko and Hatti came down and with there look, I knew that they had somehow heard. How? The music had been blasting, how could they have heard? How could the All have heard?
Hatti said, "Jasper..." then she just sort of laughed, and Gingko elbowed her to stop, but they just looked at me and then looked to the floor, whispering to each other and walked back up the stairs. I could hear people talking, and although the music was blaring and they were upstairs. I could just feel them all talking about Ora's comment. I was taking shallow breathes trying to be small, but my heart beat like an enormous drum in my ears. I wanted to stop this—to shout out that I was okay, and for everyone to get out of my head trip. The kerosene lamp flickered, but the light kept changing colors and the shadows crawled through the room and up the side of the stair case. I realized that sitting there wasn't going to make it stop—I had to get out of there… NOW!
I got up and walked out into the blackness of the moonless night. The driveway to the Red Road from the Monkey Temple is rocky, and most of the times, even in the light, people are sure to watch the ground carefully as they walk. This night I was barefoot and floated down the driveway quite quickly somehow, but without so much as scratching my foot on the craggy edges of the lava.
Once down the driveway which is about the size of a gas station parking lot, I stepped out into the traffic free windy warm night in my board shorts and t-shirt. The coconut trees were blowing in a way that always makes me wonder why the roots don't rip out of the ground. I had no body as I floated down the road toward Mackenzie Park. I would just creep down in my cave and never come up. Was this really the end of it all, or should I just go back to the party. Then I realized, I didn't have a flashlight, and wouldn't be able to make it through Mackenzie to the cave. With dread, I realized my flashlight was nestled in my pack in the Monkey Temple.
I stopped. All the anxiety and humiliation turned into intensity and gathered itself up inside myself to form a voice—a voice of clarity that really got to the crux of this predicament. I sat in the middle of the road and closed my eyes, and was had unwavering determination to sit there and figure it out—no that wasn't it. I felt boldness and courage arising within myself, and decided I had a question—a question directed to the Source of this mess.
Through my life, I had been thrown out of everything that started to make sense. When I decided to completely surrender, and become a monk, I was thrown out once again. It was my time to challenge Him who brought me into this world. Out of two million sperm, He decided I would reach the egg. Why? I was now going to have a talk with Him and He would have no choice but to answer me. No more prayer and humble pleading—this had gone too far! If He wouldn't accept me as a monk, where did He expect me to go? No. No more of this charade.
"I do not accept this existence!" I looked to the heavens with conviction. "This cannot be—this is not. All of it! An illusion—the Matrix, and I will not play anymore." I not only said this with my voice, it felt like my whole being vibrated with the words. But, unlike the Matrix, the world around me wasn't revealed in a digital code of 1's and 0's. Everything around did began to shimmer and shine. It was as if I had thrown a rock into calm water and the ripples moved up and down over everything. The coconut trees, the road, and the air itself began to disintegrate and fractal into pieces. And not only the world around me, I felt myself began to fade, or more accurately, being ripped apart at the molecular level, as if a black hole had descended upon me, and was splitting the atoms in my body—but more than that, something inside me, like an emotion, but more like my soul felt torched with an unseen fire.
I realized my mistake. I had opened the gates of hell upon myself, and the Devil was ushering me deeper and deeper into the place of rebellion. All time was swallowed and I could see the black shadows, like the demons on the movie "Ghost", in the air around me, torturing and prodding me. If I wanted out, God was showing me the Exit door to this Matrix. Apparently, the Red Pill wasn't swallowed so easily.
Voices Chapter 6... A Joke
I began to sweat and crumpled into a ball on the pavement, my head exploding and I grunted unable to scream out, but in my mind said "Not this way--no, NO!" The tearing and ripping ceased as quickly as it had come, and I inhaled sweet ocean air. Every hair on my body was on end and I felt tingly, confused, but not in the least bit disoriented or curious to what had happened. I knew that I was able to communicate with my Creator now, and I sobbed as tears filled my eyes, feeling desperate and so lost. I couldn't understand what was going on and I asked in a defeated whisper looking up once more, "then what am I?"
I heard a laugh. It was a big booming laugh from the sky, but in my head, it was a voice, and not mine, "HA, HA, HA", It boomed, "You're a JOKE (laughing) and if you don't like it, you can jump off the cliff and die, and burn in Hell!" The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.
I walked past the shrine and tombstone that was ironically placed next to me on the cliff edge and looked down thirty feet to wear big waves crashed against jagged boulders. I smirked thought about it, and then shook my head and thought, 'no... I think that would hurt.' This time it was like a room full of people laughed at me, each with a distinct laugh. One voice seemed overly amused and cried out, "Ah yah dip shit, of course you won't jump."
It was strange the way I felt at this time. I wasn't angry, mad, or anything negative. On the contrary, I felt refreshed, and somehow cleansed. But deep within me, it was as if my soul leaped with joy as it realized the mind had come to know of its nature. As if my soul could get through to my mind that it had chosen this body long before my existence in this world, and had desired to be A Joke. How else could I escape the pitfalls of pride?
I had read many stories about Saints, who had turned their backs on earthly pleasures, and chosen, or rather realized their calling as a Fool for Christ. I was to fulfill the Beatitudes in the Gospel: meek, humble, poor, merciful and all the rest of the righteous virtues. But who were these voices?
"Who are you?" was my reply by a different voice who then said, "Forget about it, why don't you just go back to the party? You take everything too seriously, but that's why we love you." Then I heard a tacky piece of music much like an evening sitcom when a little girl apologizes to her dad, and is forgiven.
I couldn't really argue, every time I began to question the origin of what I was hearing, a voice would interrupt me and say something like, "Ooooh, yeah, we're ghosts here to haunt you" in a sarcastic tone. Some would imitate boogie men, but were so amusing and funny; I just was caught to off guard. Just as I wondered if I was crazy, one voice answered, "Yep, you're nuts, over the coo coo's nest... no use pretending to be normal now... might as well, go back on in, whip it out and jerk off in their faces now." My jaw dropped and I laughed, but then covered my mouth and frowned. This was a sin, and I began to question who these voices really were. I wandered through the pitch black toward the tiki torch light through the woods and sat back down in the kitchen in the light of the kerosene. The colors still crept over the room, but that wasn't my only company.
Apparently everyone had been talking about me and what Ora had said might as well have been announced over a loud speaker. When they saw me, they all seemed startled. "Dude, Jasper, it looks like you're glowing." Hatti said.
I found that I couldn't speak. I just smiled, then stood up and gave her a hug. It must have been two in the morning, and as strange as the night had been it wasn't over yet. We heard a giggle coming up the driveway and then appeared Isa in his orange pants walking into the room. How had he gotten here? Isa was a kooky sort of guy who looked like Mouse on the Matrix, but had the wisdom of a clever coyote and would meditate much and sleep little. He would dumpster dive the seven eleven for donuts at 4:00am, and give them out to people in Pahoa in the mornings always laughing and joking, some times with parables and words of wisdom from every day occurrences. He greeted people with a laugh, but when he looked at me he said, "Well Grass, it looks like you learned something tonight?" He winked at me. It was then I found my voice.
I looked at him for a second, then around at the rest of the room at everyone who had turned their attention toward me and said in a bold voice, "It's all relative to the size of the Penis." Yes, this whole shazam... it's no wonder they worship Shiva's Lingam. This whole Charade, stage, prank on me, when this is the punch line of reality. And Isa looked at me with his blue eyes with one eye brow raised and replied, "Well of course it is." Then a second later, erupted in a giggling fit.
Voices Chapter 7…Push-ups and Sit-ups with Arch-Angel Gabriel
After Isa had laughed, I felt he must have been tuned in to some sort of frequency. His tenor voice, full of humor and personality was almost like the voice that had called me 'dip shit' and told me to go back to the party. The way he laughed at me and my realization—no one else in the room was laughing, everyone seemed a little bit concerned, agreed I looked like I was glowing somehow, but Isa slapped me on the back and laughed, looking around the room at everyone else expectantly as if they should join in. In a few minutes, I was no longer the center of attention, most people wandered back up stairs to party on, but I was done, even though sleep was the farthest thing from my mind, I considered laying out my sleeping bag in a dark corner somewhere. As I got up, I had the mushroom yawns which brought tears to my eyes. Over and over I yawned with my mouth open wide, and one of the voices started making fun of me. They didn't talk when I was with other people, sort of waiting politely to have me to themselves. "Open wide big guy, here comes the airplane" and I got a mental image of a baby in a high chair who was being spoon fed. I couldn't help but laugh, and once I started I couldn't stop. I laughed until my stomach ached and snot hung in two strands from my nostril. I wiped my nose and looked at the salty transparent snot, still convulsing and light headed with too much oxygen. A voice made a joke about the snot really being come, and I laughed even harder, it was like I was listening to the most hilarious stand up comic, tripping my brains out. Every color was so dramatic, and every object so distinctly outlined, and so much had happened, was happening, I must have laughed for ten minutes, all by myself in the shadows fumbling, trying to get my sleeping bag out of the pack, and once it was out, it seemed so ridiculous. Nylon? What is Nylon! This light weight synthetic thing… oh but it was so smooth. And then I realized I wasn't thinking this, it was a comic voice narrative.

"Looks like you're going to sleep on the concrete Dip Shit. Too cool to have a pad huh? I just shrugged at this comment, still yawning and looking at my cartoon kingdom. I got in my bag and lay there all snuggled up smiling. I didn't know up from down anymore, realizing that reality was 100% subjective. It rained hard that night, and because there was no walls on the Monkey Temple, ten feet away from me rain came down in torrents, which made me feel even more snuggled and thankful to be dry. I slipped off probably around 4:00am, with sighs of happiness.

It could only have been two hours later, maybe even less when I was rudely awakened. "Hey Dip Shit, come on get up; push ups and sit ups, come on, let's go, let's go!" At first I rolled over, as if it was an old friend saying the words to me, and I knew I had to get up—wait. No, this wasn't the case, and before I decided to roll over, my eyes bulged open. I figured that in all probability, no one could hear that "friend" but me.

"Wake up, come on that's it… eyes open, now push ups, sit ups, come on, now!" It was a guy voice, full of bravado and zest, but not overbearing like the drill sergeant off "Full Metal Jacket" it was more like the voice of one of the gutter punk guys I met in Hollywood. But I was so absolutely exhausted, I saw the first morning light, the kind where the morning star and a couple other bright stars are still visible, and only the horizon has that faint yellow, before the clouds turn pink, I never got up at this time, it was so cold still. I tried to convince myself that I was just waking up from a dream, and had dreamed of the voices, and waited for the dream to fade, but really rolled my eyes at a voice trying to convince me to get out of bed for push ups and sit ups, but then realized this voice was hardly what I'd consider to be a dream. It had that quality but was more real and defined as some other being. But I was pissed, I mean whoever they were, or who He or It, whether Alien or human spirit, I was determined to shut my eyes and go to sleep, but before I could even try the voice had an argument and made a significant point that I simply couldn't ignore.

"Come on man, I mean, try to figure it out buddy," the voice explained, this type it was a different voice though, a completely different entity, then I recognized it… this one had always called me dip shit, I kind of liked it, reminded me a bit of Isa, but had a tone too it that was even more like a personal politician, but with a sense of realness to it, Let's just say, that at a later point, he claimed to be Gabriel the Arch Angel, he said, "you've always had the goal in the back of your head to wake up doing push ups and sit ups, and I know you think you're too tired to even think about it right now, I can understand you're point of view, Dip Shit, I mean, I get you, but you just gotta ask yourself, today, this morning, right now, Get Up. Trust me, you'll even thank me, just sit up, pull your bandana off your eyes, take three deep angry breaths, cuz I know you hate to listen to this, and are pissed as fuck… Well, use that anger… Push up and Sit ups!" Then as I sat up, this crazy cheer went off, like an arena, then some funky drum and bass mix started playing, and I felt like I was in some sort of crazy movie, I turned over and did 53 push ups, I know because this crazy comic announcers voice on some microphone while all the electronic funk was playing counted out the push ups, wouldn't let me stop at Fifty, but at 53 a bell rang, the music stopped, and so did I… I was breathing hard now, completely awake, but it was cool enough that I didn't sweat too much, as a matter of fact, the air was now the perfect temperature. I took some water, sort of smiling sheepishly as Gabriel encouraged me, taunted me saying, "See Dipshit, I told you… isn't the weather perfect right now," and my skin was tingling with energy, but I began to feel sleep in my eyes, and Gabriel asked, "Hey do you want music or not man, cuz you ain't done yet, it's time for some sit ups." I was at first going to question him, but he went on before I could really even think, answering the exact questions I'd sort of sort of silently mentally observe to myself, but it was interesting to hear someone say my thoughts in a different manner.

"See man, you just carry a pad man, I mean they're light weight, and you could do some sit-ups without hurting your back." But I spread out my sleeping bag and did sit ups, and this time some African drums were playing with whistles and all like a Samba, but with other beats too, nobody counted out my sit-ups, but I did them tell my stomach was on fire and starting to cramp bad…

"Now come on Dipshit, pack up your stuff, we got a big day ahead of us." I frowned, but this time answered back.

"Okay now," I said, "Who the fuck are you, I want some answers now…don't interrupt me, alright?" I listened and Gabriel was quiet, but remember, at this time, he hadn't introduced himself. We argued back and forth over him telling me who he was, he just evaded the question saying, "Does it really matter who I am, I mean come on so far, haven't I done everything you wanted to do, and besides, I can't tell you who I am, because then you'd tell everyone, and I don't want that."

"No man," I said shaking my head, "this isn't going to work out for you then, because I want to hear you say the name of Jesus." I was still a believer the in the Bible for the most part. It had only been three years since I had left the monastery, and strongly believed that there could be Demons, and had heard of other saints battling them. But I knew from all the Gospels that every demon was cast out by the Name of Jesus Christ. But too my surprise, Gabriel just laughed and said, "Dude, whatever. Jesus. What, you'd suspect me to have a problem with that? I mean come on Dipshit, I think we're both on the same side here."

"Well then who are you?" I was still unwilling to simply let this, whatever lead me into some sort of twisted nightmare.

"Let's just say that if anything goes wrong, then we'll talk, but for now, listen… you don't need to say goodbye to these guys, just pack your bag and let's go to Hilo." It was light enough now, and the sun had probably just risen over the ocean. I couldn't help but be excited, but a bit worried at my own excitement, I almost considered waking up someone up and explaining what was going on, and so on. But for every thought I had, Gabriel just answered so convincingly that I couldn't see anything worth arguing about. Why not anyways? Talk about the feelings of conquest. Once my bag was packed and on my back, I walked down the driveway with a full water bottle.

"Well Dipshit, I'll see you later." Gabriel said, and to my shock and dismay, it was silent. Nothing said anything, I felt like I was once again alone in my head, and then wondered… I kept my pace walking down the red road toward Opihikau. It was silent and I mentally called out, "Hey, where are you guys." No response. I simply assumed that they were gone. But I was thrilled and decided that I should definitely take it as a sign to go to Hilo, and now I would have the story of stories to tell. I walked on smiling, but I definitely felt a lot fresher and better, somehow in sync with the universe.

The air was fresh and the iron woods with the coconut trees, and those other trees with punk rock styled foliage, roots shooting into the ground, like an upside down umbrella. The day began to warm up, but it was at least five minutes before a car would pass in either direction. The Red Road is only one lane wide, and often, you just sort of play chicken because right off side the pavement, on either side was about three foot shoulders of red cinder. Whenever a car would come, I'd hop off the pavement, and stick out my thumb. I didn't expect locals in big trucks hauling dirt or papaya to stop, or those shiny new model cars with tourists driving slowly who would usually just gock at me driving slowly with straight faces. Pale Haoles in rentals would some times pull over. Sometimes early morning surfers, but never the local boys in new Toyota Tacoma's stopped for me. Most of the rides were from Puna Beaters, cars that had rust spots and were only worth a couple grand. The poor help the poor is what I've found. I call it the Good Samaritan syndrome, and all the cars that don't pick me up, were just as guilty as the snobs in the Gospel Parable.

My ride was from a woman in a bathing suit and shorts, probably in her fifty's, tan and fit and had already swam at the warm ponds at sunrise. She was obviously an original hippie and had been picking up hitch hikers and hitch hiked many times herself. But as she drove me to Pahoa, I realized that she was one of them!

Voices Chapter 8… Use the Force

"So how are you doing, you look a little distressed about something," she said after I had gotten in and confirmed I was on my way to Hilo. She looked at me with surprisingly youthful eyes, but I couldn't figure out how she knew I was distressed. I hitch hiked almost everyday, and was acting my role, smiling and acting polite trying to radiate a positive vibe.

"Oh I'm alright, I just had an extremely strange night last night, an um…" I trailed off and decided not to make her feel as if she had picked up with some skitzo or worse. She seemed to generate a calm energy of balance, like the feeling around yoga meditating types that aren't snobby.

"Well, life is sometimes an adventure you know, you never know when you're tuned into something greater than yourself." She smiled as she said this and glanced over at me, and then back out to the road. We were driving over the short hills where vehicles go airborne at 60mph, but the road is so straight that sometimes it's quite the roller coaster when riding in the back of some maniacal pick-up truck. But we were cruising along comfortably at 30mph.

Although I had been on this road at least once a week for months now, this ride stood the hairs on the back of my neck up more than any other. What was going on? Who was this Lady and what did she know about what was happening to me?

"Yeah, last night I did contact something… I couldn't say it was 'greater' than me, well, actually I think--"

"You know, you remind me of somebody out of an adventure, like fighting the Dark Side. Do you know which movie I'm talking about, the one where the young man you remind me of was using the Force?"
"Oh, you mean Star Wars, and Luke Skywalker… funny you should mention it because my real name is—
She interrupted me again, this time removing all doubt that she was sent to me. "Yes Luke, well, you know, when certain things happen, sometimes it's best just to keep quiet. Because there is a power in Silence, and sometimes it's a blessing. Do you understand me?" She looked over at me, and I felt this sudden tranquil feeling of bliss, and underneath that, I was so astonished… I couldn't say it was exactly a spiritual feeling, it was more like magic in the air. I felt humbled though and even blushed a little, wondering if she was even human. I wanted to talk to her, ask her questions. I had so many questions, but this feeling I got when I looked at her, it was as if she silently beckoned me to be silent. I felt like a little child meeting a grandparent for the first time, shy and a bit in awe.

We drove the rest of the way to Pahoa in silence and peace. She pulled over and let me off at the Post office. As I got out, I looked in the old beat up 80's model Honda Accord and said, "Thank you for the ride, I just… I don't even know what to say."

"Well you know," she said, "It's not everyday you're picked up by an Angel." She beamed a smile and I think I saw a faint light coming from her face. It caused me to blush, feeling like a child once more.

"Oh and Jasper?" she called, and I looked up, "Try to be Silent." I closed the car door and watched in wonder, forgetting to take down the license plate number. And as I stood there, I heard a familiar friend.

"See Dipshit?" Gabriel said calmly and clearly, "You don't even know who you are yet."

Voices Chapter 9… Trust and Kisses

It was a sunny day with a few fluffy cumulus clouds. I walked through Pahoa toward the Keau Kalapana highway 11 with my thumb out. Gabriel was talking in an ironical voice to me, sort of building up my expectation and trust in him, pointing out that it was impossible for everything that had happened to be coincidental.

"Okay Dipshit, it may be okay for you right now, but eventually you're going to want to lose that pack." Gabriel said. I wondered what he was talking about. This pack had my sleeping gear, a flashlight and umbrella, why would I possibly want to get rid of it? As I walked through another voice kicked in. This voice was fully mature, and was narrating my actions and the setting.

"And so our hero travels out of town, his thumb extended with hopes and dreams of what may come to pass this bright sunny day… etc." I couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of this amusing story teller. He wasn't talking to me, he was talking about me. I tested him, and picked up a golf ball that was on the shoulder of the road and begin to bounce it, and sure enough, this clever story teller amused me with metaphors, calling the golf ball an "object of power". I was at this point audibly giggling, and felt as if I was feeling the initial waves of a mushroom trip, all giddy and feeling like dancing as I walked.

I walked the mile from the Post office to the edge of town, (this was before the gas station and grocery store complex was built) and crossed the highway to where green paint spattered the road, marking a spot where the shoulder was wide enough for cars to pull over. I took my pack off while waiting for my ride, and Gabriel said, "Ah, just leave your pack man… you don't need it." I ignored this absurd suggestion, and soon enough a pickup pulled over and the driver motioned me to hop in the back. I was wondering if anything strange would occur, but nothing really happened, and I was let off at the end of highway 11 where the road T's off, one way to Hilo, the other to Volcano. The clouds were a little thicker her, but weren't threatening to rain. I walked to another choice spot on the highway guard rail and stuck out my thumb again. No voices were talking to me now, but I was listening to Bradley from Sublime sing "Smoke two Joints". It seemed even this song wasn't a coincidence.

One of the Puna Rasta's pulled over in a beater, and I hopped in, a moment later, the Rasta passed me a chronic joint, and I chuckled a bit.

"What man, you smoke herb right?" The Rasta guy asked.

"Oh yeah, I smoke two joints in the morning," I sang back. The Rasta smiled at ease and nodded in agreement.

"This is some organic bud; I don't even mess with the chemy shit brah." I smiled at this. So many organic hippies in Puna are completely against anything genetically modified or chemical, but I couldn't help but see the irony—here we were inhaling sticky smoke that could hardly be seen as healthy for the lungs. It was a trade off for the airy vibe, but I could care less if the herb was grown with Miracle Grow or bat guano. The Rasta guy looked a bit familiar; I think I had seen him at the Bob Marley festival where Marty Dread and some other Reggae bands played in February.

"So where are you going in Hilo?" he asked.

"I'm not sure yet," I realized I really didn't know, but once we rolled past the KTA, Gabriel told me to get out. The Rasta pulled over and let me out next to Borders, and told me, "One love brah, be airy." I went to Borders often to listen to music; it was right next to the Natural Food store and Wal-Mart.

I contemplated going into Borders, but as the thought arose, Gabriel said, "Not today Dipshit," and I felt a push, it wasn't physical, almost like I was a puppet on magnetic strings. The feeling wasn't unpleasant, and so I just stepped along with it. I walked quickly across the parking lot and into Wal-Mart where I ended up picking up a bag of Hershey kisses and buying them with my EBT card. The story teller voice was going along with my movements.

During the next hour, I was at first embarrassed, and then elated as I walked up to random strangers and gave them a chocolate Kiss. Some people, the voices didn't want me to give the chocolates to, but one lady reached in her purse and gave me a twenty dollar bill. For this, the voices had me do a full prostration, bowing down and touching my forehead to the ground in front of her, as I did this I felt such an extremely blissful feeling, I didn't want to get up. When I did, this woman made a half bow, like the Japanese and said, "Oh bless your heart sweetie," and smiled. I thought I had just made twenty dollars, but Gabriel had me give the money to a rich looking Hawaiian who pulled up in a big new Dodge truck. This guy looked at me curiously and cautiously accepted the money. He looked like he was wondering whether he was on some hidden video. Once he saw that it wasn't a joke, he quickly muttered a "thank you" and walked into the store. I couldn't understand this at all, but after all that had happened, I didn't feel like questioning anything. I still had many more Hershey's Kiss's, but felt a strong invisible push out of the parking lot, and down to the intersection where a cop was directing traffic with his little white gloves.

I felt the invisible force pushing me across the intersection, but then it changed directions and pushed me back across the street, the way I had come. I walked back and forth a couple times, and began to worry, noticing that the cop had noticed me and didn't look amused by this crazy haole running like an insane chicken. I began to question everything and wondered if I'd end up in jail. As I wondered this, a voice laughed out and said, "Jail! Wouldn't that be an exciting adventure?" The cop glared at me from the other side of the street, and then I realized, this wasn't going to end nicely. It was then I looked up into the intersection and saw Jerry, one of my older friends who fixed up hot rods as a hobby. I completely ignored the invisible force, ran through the cars that were stopped at a red light and hopped into Jerry's truck.

"Well hi there Grass, you look a bit stressed out man, what's going on?" Jerry asked. The light changed green and we rolled away from the catastrophe.

"Jerry, I know you're going to think I'm crazy, well, have you ever heard voices before?"

Voices Chapter 10… Faggots at Jerry's

"I don't think you're crazy Grass," Jerry said with conviction. He was a guy in his late 30's or early 40's, always going to the full moon parties or raves around Puna. I met him the first week I had hitched in to Pahoa drinking coffee at Rogers Meaner Weiner hotdog booth.

"Well, I don't know what crazy is, but I think I fit the clinical definition right now. I'm not complaining, except that right before you picked me up, things were getting a little bit hectic." I told him a rough outline of everything that had happened, skipping over the humiliation that led to the voices.

"I hear voices sometimes too, especially when I'm riding my motorcycle, flying down the road, I'll hear a voice yell at me to run into a tree." He looked over at me and raised an eyebrow, almost the way Isa would raise his and said, "You just got to be stronger than the voices, Grass, they'll mess you up if you let them."

I thought about what he said, and decided he wasn't hearing the same voices as me. My voices hadn't urged me to do anything that would physically harm myself… well they did say 'you can jump off the cliff and die' but that was only when I asked to get out of the Matrix. I noticed as I was riding with Jerry, I hadn't heard from Gabriel or anyone else, it was just me in my head for the time. Were they listening in on me?

"Where are you headed Grass?" Jerry asked. I realized I didn't have a plan of my own. If it had been up to me, I probably would be down at the Monkey Temple with Pops' camp. Jerry must have seen my indecision and quickly offered his house as a current destination. "I think it would be good for you to ground out for a bit," he said, "You know the blonde dreadlock guy, Island is staying there now. I'll tell you what, I'm driving into Pahoa for a minute, and you can hop out there or come over to my house, whatever you want."

When we reached Pahoa, Jerry pulled over at the Meaner Weiner and began to chat with Will, the Wing Nut with piercing blue eyes who had recently wrapped his bangs with copper wire, making two funny looking antennas. Will lived out in front of the Meaner Weiner in his dirty blue jeans, bumming cigarettes off other bums and talking about his mastery of Aikido. I was in no mood to join into the conversation, and didn't have 50 cents for a coffee, so I hung out by the back of Jerry's truck, when Isa came walking down the sidewalk.

"Oh hey Grass, boy you must of left the Monkey Temple in a hurry, everyone was wondering where you went." Although it must have been 75 degrees, Isa was wearing his wool sweater from some country near Tibet.

"Yeah, I sort of had to." I explained what had happened, getting animated and into the details of it all, when Jerry interrupted and asked me if I wanted to stay or go.

Then he looked at Isa and invited him to come along too.

Isa and I jumped into the back of Jerry's truck and talked all the way to Paradise Park. Isa laughed his high pitched trade mark laugh as I told my adventure, especially howling in delight as I explained my trek back in forth across the intersection in front of the cop. The sun was on its way over Mt. Manaloa when we pulled up to Jerry's place. Junk cars and auto parts filled the yard; even a white Limo was parked in one corner, all dusty and obviously not in driving condition. Apparently Jerry was a mechanic.

The house wasn't as cluttered as the lawn, although a handful of keikis (kids) ran about. They looked to be Hawaiian, but it was hard to tell. One was asking Island why he ate only health food, and he responded it was good for him.

We sat down at a white lawn table inside the kitchen and rolled a couple of shake joints. Shake was plentiful and cheap, but not nearly as potent as bud, so it was more of a paupers social smoke, and often refused by the weed snobs in the area. After a couple joints, I had a good buzz on, and started to get the munchies. Jerry had disappeared up the stairs, and Island had wandered off with the kids. The sun had set, and Isa and I sat around joking in the light of a kerosene lantern. After a couple hours, we moved an old vinyl couch out of the way to lay out our sleeping bags. Isa brought some candy out of his pack, and we ate it with relish. We laughed and talked a bit more, and then heard an angry voice yell from upstairs.

Suddenly, an older woman came loudly down the stairs, obviously quite peeved at something. In seconds we were sitting up in our sleeping bags, facing a woman in her night gown. Her eyes were black and bulging and her white peppered hair was disheveled.

"Alright I heard you two faggots; now get out of my house!" Neither one of us knew how to respond to this. Who was this woman?

"I mean it," she went on, "I was almost asleep when I heard you to bumping each other and moaning, and I won't allow that nastiness in my home, so get out!" I then realized what she was accusing us of.

"Oh no, you must have heard us moving the couch, but we weren't doing—" I stammered, but couldn't finish.

"Bullshit," she screamed, "You too faggots were fucking, I know what I heard!"

Jerry appeared, coming down the same flight of stairs, slowly ducking his head to see what the commotion was. He looked tired and said, "No mom, these are my friends, they weren't having sex, they were just laughing." He looked apologetically at us.

"No they weren't Jerry, I heard them fucking and moaning, and I want them out of here!" She was obviously in charge here. I looked over at Isa and he looked down at the ground humbly like a beaten dog and silently started packing his gear. I wasn't upset, I was actually amused by all this and was sure that Jerry would be able to explain, but by the way he shook his head, it was apparent that our slumber party was over.

"I'm sorry guys; I guess I'll give you a lift back into Pahoa." I didn't argue and it seemed like there wasn't anything to protest. It was what it was, and at times like those to argue would only aggravate the situation. I stuffed my sleeping bag back into my pack, and we walked out to the truck.

"I'm really sorry," Jerry said, "She's becoming senile and gets like this sometimes." There wasn't anything to say beyond this. Isa and I assured him that we'd be alright and weren't angry. We got into the back of his truck, and rode into Pahoa.

The night was cool, probably in the upper 50's, but the wind in the back of the truck made it feel much colder. By the time Jerry let us out, I was shivering a bit. We said our goodbye's and assured Jerry that we'd be alright. He looked embarrassed and tired, gave a weak smile and shrugged, then pulled out and drove through the deserted towns. Accept for the chirping Kokee frogs, the town was asleep and silent.

In my journeys, I found that Pahoa is the last frontier in America, one of the only towns I know that hasn't become a police state. I had slept at the towns baseball and soccer field, under the roof of a bench dugout, the first couple weeks, and knew that I wouldn't be rudely awakened by police flashlights at 3:00am, as is the custom on the mainland.

Isa and I walked up the steps to the baseball diamond which is about thirty feet above the town. It often rains at night, but the 10x20 aluminum roof over the concrete floor of the dugouts stays relatively dry. It didn't look like it would rain this night, but it was impossible to tell for sure. Just as we made our beds and lay down to sleep, we noticed a four legged figure that seemed to be prancing in the dim starlight. It wasn't moving like a dog, and had a certain bounce to its step. It was obviously dancing for its own enjoyment, feeling safe in the darkness in the middle of the field. At the same time, Isa and I realized with a chuckle, it was a little pig, and yes, it was dancing.

Voices Chapter 11… Coconut Grove Baptism & Flood

Dedicated to Saved by Water

The next couple days, I spent most of my time in solitude. I would spend hours writing, then would feel restless, and wander away, sometimes hitch hiking to the beach, and I found that if I was alone, a voice would urge me to pick up a pen. My friends seemed distant, and still had a sympathetic look in their faces. I had started praying again, and walked with my mantra I had learned at the monastery on my lips, "Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me." I felt as if I had been treating life like a game, and was given a second chance, through the grace of God, to lead a life of repentance.

The voices still didn't tell me who they were, but I felt they were messengers from God. Who else could they be?—but I did wonder about their intentions with me. I spent a lot of time in Mackenzie Park, the peaceful silent place that mesmerized me with the sound of the crashing ocean waves. At times I felt so lonely, and thought of my old girlfriend, but instead of dwelling on these thoughts, I would pour my heart out in prayer, facing east over the ocean on the lava cliffs.

After a couple days, I felt like weeks had gone by in solitude and decided to find my friends. I was surprised to find that they had moved out of the Monkey Temple, and were living right in Mackenzie Park, just a quarter mile from the lava tube I had been sleeping in. The whole group had set up different tents and tarps and was staying in Coconut grove, the sandy part of Mackenzie Park where 30 feet coconut trees had been planted long ago in rows.

By now, my sensitivity to my own anatomy was no longer the main focus, and people had moved on to other topics of gossip. Paul and Gingko had hooked up; Ora and Shon were beginning to argue more frequently, and Brother Eewok was losing his temper over small things like the lack of honey for the morning coffee. I liked to be around them, and played drums at night with Gingko, but whenever I was alone, a voice would begin to talk. One night I walked up to Gingko and Hatti and confessed.

"You guys, there's a dude in my head." I said it while throwing my arms in the air dramatically. The voices had made it clear that they couldn't tell me their names because they knew I had a big mouth and would tell everyone. I tried to convince them that I wouldn't. They told me that they would consider it if I wouldn't talk about them with anyone. And here I was, telling Gingko and Hatti—breaking the agreement, and foiling any chance I had on learning who they were.

"What are you talking about Jasper?" Gingko asked. She was one of the few people who didn't call me Grass. In the full moon party, a month earlier, she had handed me a jasper stone, and we both looked at each other, and at once agreed that it should be my new name. But people already knew me as Grass, and I didn't want to be all "hippie-dippy New Age" and insist on them using the new name. So for a while it was Grass, and some called me Jasper Grass.

"Well, I mean just what I said… there's a dude in my head!" Hatti frowned at me, rolled her eyes, apparently not being so easily convinced.

"I'm serious," I said, but laughed as I said it. I could see that Gingko believed me, but Hatti and I had a similar view on religious things, and I wanted her to believe me.

"What does the "dude in your head" say to you?" Hatti asked. She looked at me as if I was five years old and playing make believe—willing to go along with it, but certain it was just a game.

"Well…" I started to try and form the words, and wondered if I would be able to accurately depict my situation, "this voice talks to me—and I'm sure it's listening to me right now, but it plays music, wakes me up in the mornings to work out sometimes… it's really funny and makes lot's of jokes, but it won't tell me what it's name is, and doesn't want me to talk about it… or they don't—I'm not sure how many there are." I could now see that Hatti was taking me seriously, but looked a little bit worried.

"Jasper, you got to be careful man, I know it's been hard for you lately, and I think you might be slipping off the edge a little. Have you told anyone else about the 'dude'?" Hatti and Gingko were sitting on the sand by the make-shift camp kitchen. Gingko went back to making hemp jewelry, but listened carefully.

"Only a few people, but I don't think it's what you think it is—I don't think I'm crazy. It's too real, and I still feel exactly like myself, only with a dude in my head." Hatti shook her head, not hearing a word of it. That worried look reminded me of my mom when I had set a fire behind the high school, which made me give a sheepish grin, unable to further explain myself.

Later on that evening, as everyone sat around Pops telling his War stories, and as usual, passing that big white marble pipe, I noticed a couple people had unusually cartoon eyes with mischievously large pupils. Someone pointed out to something I hadn't noticed earlier. Apparently, the camp had picked about three times as many cow shit mushrooms as we had earlier, and arranged them in big wedding cake formation on an alter. I could hardly believe it, but wasn't about to dive in head, after what had happened just days earlier. I guess they didn't want me to go off the deep end again, and decided that maybe it would be best if I didn't shroom this time. I was hurt, a little, but now I seemed to have been invited to partake in the sacrament. As I began to weigh the pros and cons of eating a few, I heard a small voice, as if it was off in the distance, but heard the words clearly. "Take three for the Trinity."

I immediately went over, and took three choice looking mushrooms, crossed myself in the Orthodox Christian fashion, and popped them in my mouth. The mushrooms tasted like dirt, and foamed up a little bit like thick saliva, but knowing what they were capable of, I relished the experience. Then, without hesitating, I took about five more and put them in my mouth. As I chewed and swallowed them, I began to feel guilty, but then reminded myself that if I had done what the voices wanted me to do; I would have probably been in jail right now for crossing the intersection like an idiot in front of that cop. I went back and forth from feeling guilty to reassuring myself, and must have looked a bit awkward because brother Eewok gave his phlegm throated cackle.

"Are you alright there Grass?" he asked in his southern Hill Billy accent, "I know they taste like shit, just make sure you're not eating any!" He started to laugh again, amused at his own cleverness. I just smiled at him and shrugged. He had no idea what was going on in my head, but I figured his assumption wasn't doing any harm.

I once again felt out of place, and figured that I only had a little bit of timed before my awareness was heightened. Who knew what the voices would say then, or if they would say anything at all? What was meant by 'three for the trinity' anyways?

The cliffs are only five feet above the ocean level down in the Coconut Grove, which is called Malamaki (jumping waves) by the Hawaiians, and tonight we could hear why. As the waves pounded against the low lava shelf, white ocean water would spray, sometimes reaching twenty feet or more into the air. As time went by, we noticed the water was smashing against the rock so hard that it would shake the ground where we sat nearly two hundred feet away. Little did we know, it was high tide, and our entire camp would soon be swept away by a river of salt water, as the ocean claimed its territory.

As I felt the first giddy sensations of the mushrooms, I heard the familiar voice of one who now reminded me a bit of Isa. It was Gabriel, but he had not introduced himself as such yet.

"Ah Dipshit, you should have listened to me, there was a reason you were only supposed to eat three of the mushrooms. Tonight is a big night for you." The words came in clearly, as though he were right next to me. For a while now, other voices had been talking, but distantly, mostly encouraging me to write.

What's so special about tonight? I decided to speak candidly in my head, although I was thrilled to hear this mental friend.

"Well, why don't you just walk up the hill and have a seat." Gabriel said as I wandered through the coconut trees to a different spot in the park. The moon was only a sliver in the sky, so I used a little key chain squeeze flashlight to navigate my way.

There is almost a line half way through the park where the coconut trees stop and the iron wood trees begin, and just inside the iron wood section is a small hill, fifteen feet or so above the ocean. On the top of this hill is a flat area that could fit a three man tent. This area was introduced to me as "The Dojo" by Panda and his father Merlin, two spiritual hippie guys who fasted, and chanted Sanskrit songs while playing their guitar. As I walked up and sat against one of the iron wood trees, I became frightened of the sound of the raging ocean that crashed on the boulders at the base of the hill.

I sat, breathing deep breathes, but as the mushrooms began to psychedelisize my soul, I felt extremely happy, a bit nervous, but mainly excited about what was going to happen. I did a couple of stretches, and it was amazing how much more flexible I was, and how good it felt to stretch. I considered trying to do some pull-ups on a branch, but my thoughts were interrupted.

"Now Go." The voice was stern, and I felt that invisible force push me toward the front of the hill where the waves were crashing below. I leaned back against the invisible force—or was it a threat?! I felt wide awake now, and a bit frightened, wondering if the voices wanted me to die. They had suggested it once, so I could only surmise that they intended it all along. As I was thinking this, I felt another nudge, but this one somehow gentler.

"Come on now Dipshit," Gabriel said, "Now you're either in this thing, or you're not… and you're going to have to trust me."<> >It was the way he said it. Not sternly like the first voice that told me to "go", but he did sound like expecting nothing less than my full cooperation. Now I wondered about Hatti and her worried look. Maybe she was right and I would end up hurting myself or worse. As I sat their and hesitated, I took a step back.

"Well forget it then," Gabriel said, "You have to do it of your own free will. We're not here to force you to do anything you don't want to. Like I said, you have to trust us, or we'll never get anywhere with you."

Fuck it. I mean really—what did I have to lose? I remembered vividly now the night of the Monkey Temple when Ora had humiliated me. I was ready to get out then, and what was so different about now. I frowned, and although the hairs were standing up on the back of my neck in protest, a big part of me was yelling 'what are YOU DOING?', I stepped heavily down the steep incline, slipping on the soft iron wood needle carpet, just as an enormous wave boomed loudly into the rocks, dumping five gallons over me.

"That's right, keep going!" I not only heard Gabriel, but it sounded like cheers from an arena. But I was so scared, and although I tried to step boldly, I was trembling so much that I had to climb on all fours onto the first wet boulders.

"Now just a little further…" this was a calm voice, sounding much older than Gabriel, like a father figure, or someone trusted, almost like a Priest—or the abbot of the Monastery. I was almost in tears as I saw the water swoosh out and gather itself, knowing that the longer it went out, the more force it would come back with. I scurried onto a pink rock covered with barnacle like shells right before the big wave came.

"In the Name of the Father" the first wave slammed down on me, but somehow I was able to hang on… "The Son, and the Holy Spirit!" before the first wave swept me out, two more washed over my head and pushed me up on a big rock. The water retreated and had somehow left me in safety. I could hardly believe it—I was alive, and more than that!

"See Dipshit," Gabriel said triumphantly, "all we wanted to do was give you a proper baptism, not kill you, and that's why we wanted you to eat three mushrooms in honor of the Trinity!" I felt so alive, and reborn. All my worries, doubts and mistrust evaporated into joy. I was Saved by Water!

I walked with a big smile on my face, although soaking wet in the cooling night, I didn't shiver once. Such thankfulness and peace I felt, I mentally apologized to the Voices for ever having doubted them and promised never to let it happen again.

"Oh we'll see about that." Gabriel said, and I heard the chanting of Alleluia in the heavens.

Voices Chapter 12…Full Moon Telepathy on Ecstasy

After the flood in Malamaki, the Park Ranger showed up and said that he had seen the Family Van in the Park for a couple of weeks and informed us that we could get a hefty fine if we didn't have a camping permit. Although the Coconut Grove was beautiful, and we had been there for a couple weeks, Pops' Camp was up and out in just a couple of hours.

I hitched into Pahoa and visited with Isa, wondering where the party would end up. Mackenzie was the only place I knew that wasn't private property or frequently patrolled by state workers. In some developments like Sea View and Black Sands Beach community, there were squatters who managed to stay in abandon houses, usually claiming to have permission from someone who knew the owner—but often times, people who visited and stayed for weeks on end had no idea who the owner was. Pops Camp was just too big, with about 10 to 20 people who didn't necessarily live in the camp, but like me, ended up being a familiar face and would often eat, smoke, and socialize with the band. We needed a bigger space to set up than a fraction acre lot.

Someone informed me, that the camp had relocated at the end of the highway where the lava had claimed the land in Kalapana. This lava field had once been one of the biggest tourist attractions of the Big Island, with the best surf and resorts, but in 1986, Pele, the Goddess of the volcano, had reclaimed the land. About a mile into the lava field, there is a section of highway surrounded by iron wood trees that the lava didn't touch. It's roughly 15 acres, or so, and is called Fox's Landing. Pops' Camp had settled in the woods, right on what used to be the highway. The pavement still looks fresh, yellow line and all, but no car has driven on it for a couple decades.

I was reluctant to go down and visit the camp, feeling that something was somehow happening that I couldn't see, or figure out. Something sinister and malevolent was brewing down there, and I didn't want to get sucked in. I had a sense of foreboding when I visited with some of my friends who had joined up with Pops' Camp. I thought of Pink Floyd and agreed they all had a look in there eye, "Like black holes in the sky."—and emptiness where there had once been excitement, now darkness loomed beneath the surface of their faces.

The days went by quickly, and the nights became brighter as the moon waxed full. After spending time in Pahoa, writing mostly, I felt like the town with all the traffic and noise was polluting my soul. I had gone about two weeks without my Tivas, and my feet had formed thick calluses. Walking was extremely enjoyable, and I decided to sneak back into Mackenzie Park. I doubted the Ranger would find me if I didn't call attention to myself and packed up my things every morning. The voices were encouraging me to spend my time walking, and I found a couple avocado trees on the side of the road that gave me plenty of energy. There was also an abundance of guava's, but I couldn't eat too many, or else I would never make the morning run to the out house in time.

Every Sunday I had my routine. I would hitch to Kehena Beach and drum at Rasta Randy's drum circle, and then right around sunset, I would hitch to the Krishna Temple up on Opihikau road, about a mile passed the cow field. The temple was full of energy as the Maha Mantra was chanted back and forth between Garuda and the congregation. Garuda was an enormous haole, the size of a football linebacker, who sat in the center of the room on a car seat playing his amplified acoustic guitar singing Hare Krishna, Govinda, Radha, Rama, or any other name of the Supreme Godhead. There was also Congo drums, keyboard, bass guitar, and any other instrument was welcomed for the Kirtan. Everyone who wasn't playing an instrument would sway back in forth, dance wildly or sit in meditation during the service that lasted about two hours. After the chanting and a brief sermon by Garuda, came the Pizza feast. Free vegetarian pizza, all you can eat is a big incentive for anyone to come join the spiritual celebration, even for the people who rolled their eyes in disdain toward the blue God Krishna.

Sunday came and after having a good nights rest in the lava tube, I planned to skip the full moon party and chant with the Krishna's, but as I walked away from the beach, a car pulled over and asked me if I wanted a ride to the party. Feeling conflicted internally, I decided to take it as a sign that I was meant to go and celebrate the full moon. It just so happened that the party was at Fox's Landing, in the exact spot Pops' Camp had been set up in for more than a week.

We arrived just as the sun was going down, and could see the big yellow moon rising above the ocean. I was surprised to find that the thick souls of my feet crushed the brittle glass like surface of the lava that swirled in colors much like oil stains on black asphalt. Soon a jeep came with Dean who funded and hosted the full moon gatherings and gave it a tribal sense of unity. Dean would call for an opening circle, where everyone present would hold hands and speak out positive goals and then for about a minute, everyone would chant OM, followed by a yell of joy as the music began. I was glad I had decided to come, and was happy at the positive energy and excitement that seemed to have been missing from my routine.

At the full moon parties, I found that I enjoyed the heightened awareness of psychedelic consciousness. The first one I had gone to in February had been at the white sand beach of Kua Bay on the Kona side of the island. I had been given five baby wood rose seeds that have LSA, an active psycho-active much like LSD. At the Fox Landing party, I was sure that the energy in the air alone would fuel my dancing which I considered to be a kind of spiritual vigil. The music was really good, with the island DJ's like Bill, Tai and Rhythm Star mixing the electronic music that blasted through the big speakers. One outspoken hippie guy in yellow patchwork pants and long blond dreadlocks that swayed beneath his waist went by the name, Cookie, and would look back at the crowd in between sets of music and ask the rhetorical question, "Right?" He seemed to sum up what just about everyone felt, but as I searched myself for agreement, I felt that something was off—yes something definitely wasn't right.

One of my friends had given me a little yellow pill. It was the first time I had tried ecstasy, and was surprised how powerfully my emotions of love and understanding surged through me. Although I chewed up twig after twig from the iron wood trees to avoid clenching my teeth, I was overwhelmed with feelings of compassion and wellbeing. I felt like walking up to everyone and giving them a back rub—more than that, I wanted everyone to feel as good as I felt. But I didn't go around stroking people because I couldn't bring myself to stop dancing. For the first time, I understood electronic music. All the little beeps and glitch noises made my body instantly react in a certain forms of dance. My hands seemed to be flowing of their own accord to the melodies and I was able to hop on my feet weightlessly. Before this night, I had preferred the organic sound of a drum circle, but now I craved the infinite variations of this electronic bliss. I was sure to drink plenty of water, hearing that ecstasy caused dehydration, but between peeing and drinking (both which felt divine) all I wanted to do was dance.

About two hours after I had taken the pill, my eyes would flutter from side to side uncontrollably, as if my pupils were being jiggled for a half second or so. At this point, even breathing felt like natures' caress in my lungs, and I would watch the glow sticks that other dancers played with and the tracers they would leave imprinted upon the air where they had once been.

It wasn't all good though. No. There was something that I had been trying to force out of my mind, but as my high increased, I could no longer ignore it—could no longer ignore him. It was Pops. He sat on the side of the road on a blanket over the soft iron wood needle carpet. His head was wrapped in a black cloth with shiny sequins that glittered in the light of Tiki torches that surrounded him. Gathered around him, a dozen or more people sat, all facing the road which had now turned into a dance floor. He reminded me of Herod out of the Bible… some sort of pontiff who sat like royalty, as if we were all his subjects. As if he was in control. He was, as always, passing his big white marble pipe around, but the people he passed it to accepted it like it was sacred—like he was sacred, and I didn't like it. As I glanced up at him, it was strange that our eyes would always meet. Was he watching me?

I danced hard and fast, trying to drive my apprehension away with movement, but the hairs on the back of my neck were beginning to stand on end again. Now it was spiritual warfare—I had to overcome and conquer this vibe. I began to chant under my breath, "Positive vibes, positive vibes!"

"Now Jasper…just calm down," I heard him say. How could this be? He had said it inside my head. Was it a voice fucking with me? I looked straight at him with my eyes bulging in a small panic. His pupils were the size of quarters, matching the black sequins on his hat—pure evil! More than this, he was still staring at me.

"Is that… I mean, can you hear me?" I said in my head. This time, it was Pops who had the startled look on his face, and he looked down to concentrate on something else. Now I began to wonder about him and who he really was.

"You're okay man. Just chill out, and don't freak out, alright?" I heard Pops say. Oh it was him alright, and I wondered how much he was hearing me. Isa had told me days earlier that Pops was more than he seemed to be—the way he sat for hours on end as people would gather around. Now I could see that he was also a master of mind control. Somehow he had been able to sway those around him, who would eventually be completely loyal to him.

I couldn't win this battle, and quickly walked away from the area, down the pavement to where the lava field began. The black lava surface was glowing with a silver reflection in the moonlight. I was on the outskirts of the party, with only a couple people talking in small huddles. Looking back at the dance floor, I saw neon green and purple glow sticks shining in the black shadowy dancers. I couldn't help but move to the music, even though I was now suspicious of the crowd. Then I saw someone stand up and come walking across the road in my direction.

"Hey Grass, do you want to go see the lava?" It was Hatti. I wondered if she was sent by Pops, but only for a moment, dismissing my thoughts of paranoia.

"Sure, I hear it's pretty close." I said. "Do you notice anything strange tonight?"

"Well, everyone's on ecstasy or something, so I guess anything normal would be strange, and I haven't noticed that." Hatti's joke put my mind at ease, and I decided not to push the topic of Pops—she had been sitting with him moments earlier.

"I've got some marshmallows and chocolate," Hatti said, "I bet we might be able to make smores over the lava if we can get close enough." We broke off a couple thin iron wood branches and walked down the cinder and lava rock road. I was amazed at how easy it was to see in the bright moonlight. It was like a giant L.E.D flashlight in the sky. It was only a half mile to the active bright orange flowing lava, and I was surprised to see it was closer than it had ever been, eating away at the cinder road!

"Hatti, what do you think about Pele?" I asked, wondering how her mind had adjusted to the Island's mythology. Hatti was raised Christian and had brought a Bible with her to the Island. The night of the flood in Malamaki, we had walked down the red road to a guard rail that separated the pavement from the ocean which smashed against the cliff 30 feet below. We sat on the ocean side of the guard rail, watching the waves while discussing religion. Both of us were now expanding our beliefs and having difficulty incorporating new religious philosophies that Christianity labeled as the Devil.

"Well," Hatti said, "I'm not sure, what do you think?" We talked as we put marshmallows on the end of our sticks, guarding our faces with our shirts from the searing heat of the lava.

"I think that Pele is very real." I explained. "The reason is because so many people believe in her. It's like a cosmic creation of our consciousness that makes her real. So many people have made sacrifices to her and called upon her from the depths of their soul—I think it's faith that creates God's." I hadn't really thought of this before, but as I talked, with my emotions flooding over my rational perspective, my new thoughts seemed true.

Hatti and I ate our melted chocolate smores which had been cooked over Peles' orange hair. As we walked back to the party, we stopped several times and listened for someone who we thought was following us. We both heard, what sounded like Isas' laugh in the breeze, but couldn't be sure. When we got back, Hatti went and joined Pops' group, but I made an excuse of being tired and went into the forest and watched the party from the bushes, not wanting him to see me. About two hours before sunrise, my eyelids became heavy and I found my pack which was under a tarp that Trillium and Tree had set up for their daughter Sequoia and other mothers that came to the all night event. Luckily, it didn't rain, and I was able to fall into a deep dreamless slumber for a couple hours before sunrise.



Voices Chapter 13… Dark Floater

The next morning I woke up, surprisingly refreshed although sad for some reason. (Today I would know that it was because the serotonin in my brain had flooded my synapses' without reabsorbing back into the dendrite from which it came.) Looking at the bright blue sky, it seemed forlorn and sad. The iron wood trees drooped in depression and I burst into tears without knowing exactly why. After a mushroom trip, I felt exhausted, but not sad like this. People were moving slowly as they picked up the trash that was scattered on the road, trying to make the party site cleaner than when they had arrived. It's a common Rainbow tradition, respect for the environment as a sacred space.

Out of the hundreds of people who had partied, only a dozen were left, some still feeling the magic vibes of the full moon though their eyes were puffy and red from a night without sleep. On the other side of the road, Pops Camp was busy making morning coffee with a couple people who weren't regulars on the scene, but obviously weren't in a hurry to be anywhere. I felt like drinking coffee to shake off the aching depression I was feeling that made my limbs feel as if they were weighted down with sand bags. However, I couldn't shake off the suspicion that my telepathic communication with Pops had merely been a hallucination. Who was this pontiff?

A sudden surge of sadness, greater than I had felt yet swept over me, and it was all I could do to keep from sobbing out loud. I looked down the road and saw that Hatti was also teary eyed, being comforted by Gingko. I knew I was feeling Hatti's emotions somehow, as if we were linked. I thought back to the night before and had to shake my head back and forth to ward of a premonition: she had wanted to sleep with me last night. Of course I couldn't rationally explain to myself how I knew this, it was the same way I knew that I would break up with my girlfriend the night I had woken in the lava tube. It was an emotional connection, far from any logical reasoning. Then I started to feel guilty, and felt an anxiety building. Gingko looked over at me with accusing eyes, and I shrugged with my mouth open, frowning at her then shook my head as if to say it wasn't my fault. But I felt it was.

Unable to deal with my emotions of betrayal and sadness or even to comprehend how this new psychic phenomenon was manifesting itself, I angrily stuffed my sleeping bag into my pack, slung it over my shoulder and walked out of the shady iron wood area to the black flat land of the lava field. I had to walk quickly to fight off the fatigue and heaviness in my limbs, but once I was a quarter mile a way, I took off my pack and sat on it to try and clear my head.

I noticed a little spiral image, what I considered a floater in my field of vision. I have seen them, as many people do at times. They tend to look like little pieces of lint that float across the field of vision, and usually when I would try to look directly at them, they'd drift so they are never directly in front of whatever it is I'm looking at. The floater I looked at as I sat down, however, did not move. It looked to be about seven feet up in the air, but whereas other floaters are less than a centimeter in size, this one was the size of a Frisbee. Of course it was hard to tell this for sure because it lacked all dimension, but it lingered in the air in front of me completely still, hovering in silence. I blinked and shook my head, but every time I opened my eyes, there it was. It looked as thick as a plastic coat hanger, black, but with a neon purple outline. Normally I would have been scared or intrigued, but I was too worn out and gloomy for any games—terrestrial or otherwise.

"What do you want?" I asked out load in an annoyed buy relatively normal voice, as if I was talking to someone who was staring inappropriately at me.

"I want you to come with me," a sinister voice said. This wasn't like the normal voices I had in my head up to this point. This voice was definitely darker and it caught me off guard—I didn't really expect an answer to my question.

"Well you're just hovering there, or whatever it is you're doing, so what am I supposed to do… you could say that I am following you by sitting here." I was in an argumentative mood already, and simply too tired to be intimidated.

"Open your mouth," the dark voice said. So I did. I opened my mouth as if this spiraling floater was a dentist—I realized my mistake immediately. Something was being pulled from inside me around the area of my stomach. It felt like I was losing my breath somehow, but I hadn't exhaled. Whatever it was it was draining me and I felt my eyes closing as weakness overcame my body.

I inhaled forcefully, and shut my mouth, gagging on something unseen for a moment. Now I was scared, and mad. Whatever this floater was, it wasn't simply an illusion and had anything but good intentions. It took me a minute to fully recover, and when I did, I saw the spiral floater begin to float upward, and couldn't tell if it was becoming transparent, or simply moving too far to see as it disappeared completely. I'm never taking ecstasy again! I promised myself, and picked up my pack and headed toward the highway.

It was about 10:30am and nearly 75 degrees as I walked across the black rock. My mouth was dry and my Minahune water bottle was empty, so I had to tough it out until I got to the water spigot near where the highway meets the red road. Once I reached the pavement, I looked back over my shoulder, and it seemed that the whole Fox's Landing area was outlined in black with a faint neon purple. As I looked, I felt a sharp shooting pain in my eye and looked away—the pain went away. I tested it, and sure enough, every time I'd look toward Fox's Landing, my eye would ache, but relief would come when I looked anywhere else.

At the water whole I filled up my 1.5 liter bottle and drank the whole thing and filled it up again. I did this often in the morning, a ritual that I called 'camel up' that served as breakfast and kept my pee nice and clear. I decided to take everything that had happened as an omen that pointed to darkness concerning Pops Camp. It was time for me to take a trip, and follow what I felt had been messages of light, now that I could contrast them with the dark floater.

Voices Chapter 14… Hunting for Raven

"Well I'm glad you're finally thinking," a familiar voice said. It was Gabriel (who still had not introduced himself by any name) and I smiled in relief at this friend that only I could hear. I felt sure that Gabriel was always around me—watching in amusement, only speaking when he saw it fitting.

"You're lucky I've decided to give you another chance," Gabriel said, "Now I'll never tell you my name. Frankly, it doesn't translate into your language anyway. You have such a big mouth, telling all your little Earth friends about us, and insulting our intelligence by suggesting that you can keep a secret."

Well what do you expect from me? I didn't quite see why the Voices wanted to keep themselves a secret, and up until now, wasn't sure that they were the 'good guys' or evil in disguise.

"I expect you to be more considerate Dipshit," Gabriel explained in a mock overly sensitive tone. I appreciated his humor that always made me smile. I saw a red truck turn up from the red road, and immediately stuck out my thumb.

"Put your thumb down Dipshit, we need to get something straight here." I put down my thumb and the truck went by. The bearded driver stared at me as he passed, and I was positive that he would have given me a lift. On the other hand, the Voice was a friend, and I decided to hear him out.

"We've got a long way to go today, and I want you to keep absolutely silent. That means you need to get out a piece of paper and write down the name of your destination." I got out my journal and was surprised to see my hand write Kona.

I hate Kona! With all the old tourists stepping off the cruise ships and only street hustlers, usually strung out on ice. It was hot and the police patrolled the beaches at night, so I'd probably have to sleep in the old airport park. It was also harder to hitch hike with business people or skeptical tourists who would stare out of their rental cars, sometimes honking and waving but rarely pulling over.

"Well maybe I was wrong about you… maybe you should just go back to Pops and kneel down like the others."

Kneel down? What are you talking about? I didn't argue, and was ready for an adventure anyways. Even before the full moon party, restlessness had been building up inside of me. Although the writing had been intriguing and the voices kept me entertained when I was alone, the days seemed long and ended up monotonous.

Fifteen minutes later after a couple expensive cars had passed with drivers that didn't so much as glance in my direction, an older car with a couple of rust spots came rolling down the road. I smiled and true to my intuition, the car pulled over.

"Hey weren't you at the party?" The driver asked. He looked like a college student and had a friendly manner, but gave a slight frown as he saw my nod. "I'm going into Hilo, but I can let you off at Pahoa if you want." I started making hand gestures and failed in my attempt to communicate that Hilo was fine, so I got out my piece of paper that said Kona on it.

"What's wrong with your voice?" The driver asked, smiling with curiosity and looking at my face. I shrugged at first, but then decided it would be just as well to get out my pen.

"There we go Dipshit," I heard Gabriel say. I was surprised that he decided to talk—he was always quiet when I was with someone else. Then I realized that maybe he would talk to me as long as I was silent.

What should I write? He didn't answer. I thought for a moment, then came up with a plan, and wrote: I'm fulfilling a vow for a month of silence. It was hard to write with good penmanship in the car, but the driver read it and then laughed.

"Oh, is it like some sort of spiritual thing?" he asked. I nodded and smiled again. Maybe this wasn't going to be as difficult as I first expected. The next half hour as we drove to Hilo, I was surprised how much we communicated and how easy it was. The driver was in a good mood and asked me all sorts of questions that I could either nod or shake my head to—some questions I would scribble down a word or two. He let me off near Borders, wishing me luck with my vow.

In Hilo, as in most cities, it's harder to hitch hike, so I decided to walk the rest of the way through the town and stick out my thumb once I was on the other side. I crossed the street to walk on the sidewalk and noticed a familiar face. It was Raven, a 27 year old guy with a black pony tail who had been hanging out with Pops Camp for about a week. I hadn't really talked to him much, but now was glad to see he was heading in my direction.

"Oh hey Grass, what's up?" Raven said as he walked up to me. All I could do was smile at him, but then got out my paper that said Kona on it.

"Yeah, I'm headed to Kona myself… I just had to get out of there. I'm not used to settling down in one place for very long, and it felt weird there anyways." I nodded my head enthusiastically. Perhaps Raven had felt the same dark vibe that I had felt and I wondered if he realized that it radiated from Pops. "So you're not talking, huh? That's alright man; you can still travel with me if you want to."

Raven and I walked down to Hilo, and I noticed that all he had was a small pack, no bigger than a school back pack and didn't have any sleeping gear. I pointed to his back and frowned, and made a facial expression showing that I was perplexed. He didn't know what I was trying to say, so I scribbled on my piece of paper, 'No sleeping bag?'

"Oh no man, I've been doing this for years now—don't worry the churches provide everything, I'll get a blanket in Kona or something." I didn't know what he was talking about, always having traveled with a sleeping bag, but was glad to be in the company of an experienced traveler.

We had only walked a mile down the same two mile sidewalk that stops at the Hilo waterfront when we saw Pops and a big bearded guy named Scott go driving by in their Daihatsu Rocky. Both Pops and Scott yelled something, and I couldn't tell if it was friendly or not, but Raven looked panicked and ran down a side road. Deciding that he was right, and not wanting to have anything to do with Pops, I followed. We made our way to down town Hilo on side streets and stopped at a church to get two grocery bags of free food. Raven was right; apparently churches did have free give-away programs. After eating some pudding and other items that would get squished inside my pack, I loaded some cans into my pack, and we walked to the highway, crossed the steel bridge, and hitched a ride.

In about four hours, we made our way to the desert Kona region where the sun sets across the water. We got a ride in the back of a truck with a couple girls in bathing suits who took us to Hapuna Beach. Raven went up to the cab telling me to wait a moment while he did some business. I wasn't sure what he was up to, but a moment later, Raven came out and flashed a fifty dollar bill saying 'easy money'. I realized he had probably sold some weed or something, but didn't write my question.

One more ride in the back of a big truck jacked high up off the ground on enormous tires that Hawaiians used to make the trek across inaccessible lava trails to the beach, and we were dropped off on the waterfront strip of down town Kona. We were walking down the sidewalk separated from ocean by a thick three foot cement wall that waves occasionally splashed water over when we saw the Daihatsu drive by with Pops and Scott yelling. This time I could see their angry faces, and Raven bolted, sprinting across the road and up a side street. I stood still for a moment until I saw the Daihatsu start to make a U-turn to come back toward me. I ran where I had seen Raven, but he was no where in sight. Adrenaline surged through me, and I realized that Pops was probably on the hunt for me. The night of telepathy I had discovered his powers, and now he was going to stop me before I could warn others about him!

Voices Chapter 15… Arch-Angel Contract of Silence

I didn't know Kona too well, or where to go. I had no friends and was just going on the adventure after taking advice from the voices. Now that Raven had run away and I was feeling threatened and wondering why Pops had 'all of a sudden' tried to come and apparently chase me. How did Raven know to run from Pops, and more importantly who was Pops. I considered the possibility, pondering and mulling it over in cycles. The voices weren't really saying much, but I could sense a foreboding, as a slight image, very faint and dim in my inner mental visual, like the clear image you would get after reading the words, "red faced monkey"… that sort of image in my mind, not of the red faced monkey, but a image of the voices. I have the image in my mind even as I write this. It's a white face with sort of a blue ora, but it's so faint, dimly lit, only as clear as the things in peripheral image memory. As I walked through the streets of Kona, I sensed this image to fold its arms and look down on me in anxiety, but stress free, but somehow disapproving. I wondered who this voice was, my sympathetic nervous system had pumped out epinephrine, and my pupils dilated. My adrenal glands, amygdale and hypothalamus instincts of flight or fight, caused me to tremble and feel the wings on my feet… I was sure that if I had to, I could run so fast; only the balls of my feet would touch the ground. I appreciated the fact that Pops hadn't had the time to turn around and follow me. Besides, I had run up steps and a quick jog through a walkway that no car, let a lone Pops' little Daihatsu that was ready for any off road lava field beach accesses on the Kona side. To chase me, they'd have to abandon the vehicle and pursue me on foot.

It was at least 95 degrees, and I decided to duck inside the Borders & Books about 7 blocks up from Ali'i drive—the ocean front Blvd. It felt safe, and I was glad to be in with people who were preoccupied with books. I loved to come and listen to CD's using the Borders head phones. Without the trips to Borders, I only played my little plastic headed dumbeck drum, that served as a seat when I wasn't drumming it. The drum had been great for hitch hiking, but I had left it back in Pahoa.

As I walked into Borders this time, however, I only wanted to write. I knew the voices would have further instructions now… if I was too stressed out, and somehow blocking the internal dialogue I had with them, they'd instruct me by pen. They had to, as it seemed a dark shadow of fear—no it was something greater—I could sense it's presence around me. It was something ominous that caused me to feel sober, but unafraid. The presence was observing me with an authoritative stern manner. After drinking from the cold drinking fountain by the bathrooms (the only water that doesn't taste nasty in Kona) I went to sit down on the outdoor balcony, and found a half full cup of coffee on one of the tables. I had no shame in drinking from some strangers cup left behind, and wasn't concerned about germs the way America's paranoid culture has programmed most people, but I sometimes was disgusted to find a cigarette butt in some of my "free" drinks.

As I sat down and took out my pen, it felt that a strong magnetic force took hold of the end of my pen, and slammed it down on the Paper before and wrote as my hand nearly scraped through the paper with force: GET OUT NOW.

My hand scrawled this on the paper; a surge of fear went through me… it was a physical sensation of my body as all the hair on my arm stood on end. My body wasn't me for a moment. I felt as if the portentous entity in the vision I had in the corner of my minds eye that had been standing on the outside of my mental peripheral vision, had now come inside me and took over my hand and pen.

This wasn't like the effect of the voices at all. I always felt as if the voices were external, just communicating with me at a mental level, but this force replaced me for a moment as it wrote. My body, becoming aware of a different host, and for a moment, as my very soul was on the outside looking at my body… and my mind looked up at the soul, but was controlled—it's hard to explain someone taking over my body… my body itself panicked, so did my soul, but my mind was with this other entity as it scrawled the words. I thought back to the cliff above Kehena beach when I had channeled different people who I sensed were discorporate souls. Whatever wrote with my hand in Borders was considerably more significant somehow. Once the words were written, I looked down; and again being the person I am behind my own eyes, saw what was written. I felt the entity that had written the command next to me waiting. It was massive, yet some how completely virtuous. I felt humbled by this beings huge presence, and realized how small and insignificant I was in comparison. When it was in my body, as my mind beheld it, I felt an ancient presence, like beholding infinite wisdom concerning anything of consequence.

I lowered my eyes in fear and admiration, but had the spiritual appearance as a dog licking its lips with its tail between its legs in submission to divinity. I was sure that this being wasn't God, there was too much personality and I knew God to be infinitely more complex than my mind could conceive… this being had the mojo of a servant of some immortal class… yes, an angel, and it was pissed off for some reason. I had no verbal connection, this was pure emotion, and my soul was receiving a command. In my mind I kept saying to it, "take it easy, alright, I'm going… I'm going I hear you, I'll do what you say." I was almost in tears and couldn't really say why I was feeling this emotion. If someone were to ask me if I was alright, what could I say? Would I hold up the paper that said, "Get Out", and then confess that I didn't write it. I wouldn't have stopped if someone grabbed me by the arm. I was still holding the pen, and picked up my pack as the pen felt like a magnet was pulling it and me through the store and out the exit door. I began to recite the Jesus Prayer I had learned in the monastery. "Lord Jesus Christ, Have Mercy On Me." Over and over as I breathed in and out I prayed. My eyes became blurry as I walked in some kind of trance on some invisible leash. I felt completely calm, however, I believed that whatever was happening the only choice for me was to follow it. I'm certain that if I had closed my eyes I would have walked the same path, like a child being led through a store by its parent.

By now the sun was going down over the ocean and the clouds were red and pink. It was still over 80 degrees, but cooling quickly. I walked about 2 miles when I reached the Old Airport, a closed down freeway that had been converted to a city park. Near it was a big baseball field for the Kona baseball team. It had bright lights that lit up the sky when there was a game being played. Tonight there was no game and the street lights cast an orange glow and everything was quiet accept for the bustling traffic of the town. I could see to the top of the Volcano as the first stars came out on the pale blue horizon. There is almost no evening in Kona. When the sun is up, it's day, but when the sunsets, it becomes dark in minutes.

My mind was peaceful now, as I walked with a contrite feeling. I wondered how the voices could have hid their identity. I was sure this entity knew them, but somehow was different. It was greater than them, and I could never communicate with it as I did with the voices—especially the voice that called me Dipshit. I sat down on a concrete picnic table by a childrens' playground that had a soft rubber soft floor. I took out my pen, and for a moment just sat with it, wondering if the entity would come inside me again and instruct me further. I had followed it to the picnic table on an invisible leash as it guided my pen, but it had let me off now, and after a minute or so, I decided to write the question that was now most relevant.

Who are you? I wrote in my notebook. My vision became foggy and once again, my mind was overtaken by the great entity. An extreme fear and feeling of unworthiness entered my mind as the pen wrote in answer to my question: Michael the Arch-Angel. I came back to my body. My heart was beating and I was perspiring lightly. Then my hand wrote, but without the same entity entering my body. This was more like a hypnotic suggestion and not an all out invasion.

Hey Dipshit, let me ask you a question. As my hand wrote this, I smiled and knew by the question who had written it. Only the voice that sounded and had a similar personality to Isa called me Dipshit. As I came to this realization, I wondered and almost asked who it was, when I heard the voice in my head.

"Hey man, do you like us or the humans better?" It was the same familiar voice, and asked with causal curiosity.

I want to know who you are and what's going on. I demanded to know. Whoever this easy going voice was, it was obviously connected to Michael the Arch-Angel. Michael had been the first Orthodox Icon I had ever been interested in and was given him as a 12 year old kid up in Alaska. When Michael had entered my body, I sensed rage, dignity and honorable wisdom. But who was this other voice who seemed to contrast strongly with the immense presence of Michael?

"I will tell you my name if you make a deal with me." The voice said in a matter of fact tone.

What's the deal? I mentally I asked, feeling cautious and excited simultaneously.

"Well, do you like us or the humans… I just got to know before I answer any of your questions." After considering this for a moment and mentally playing back everything that had happened since the voices, I admitted the truth. I do like you better than the humans.
"Then sign at the bottom of this contract."

Once again, my hand was taken control of, and I wrote: I Jasper Grass monkey here by swear to never talk again and write till death.

I started to put the puzzle together. The woman in the car was probably sent by Michael or some other angel. I wasn't sure how Pops fit into all of this, but decided that it would be best to be on the side of the great arch-angels, whatever the outcome. If silence and writing were the only two requested things, I was sure I could handle it. I loved to write, and could tell that my mouth had gotten me in a lot of trouble. I signed my name at the bottom of the written contract, and asked, So who are you?

"I'm Gabriel." Gabriel didn't even say that he was an angel… I knew who he was: The Messenger. In the Bible, Michael is the warrior angel who fights and defeats Lucifer in the last battle of the apocalypse, as Jesus comes to save mankind. The other Arch-Angel is Gabriel, the messenger who tells Marry she is pregnant with Jesus. It made sense to me that Michael wouldn't be such a talkative Angel, but on serious business. On the other hand Gabriel was meant for messages—easy to communicate with, and apparently at a very amusing level.

Voices Chapter 16…A deal is a deal

After I had come to the realization that I was in the company of angels, a surging pride swept through me. I thought back to the monastery and to the feeling of longing when I looked at the icons of the Saints, like Anthony and especially Mary. At one point I had gone up to Fr. Paisios, the abbot in confession and said, "everything's okay… it's just that I want to go home." Tears flooded my eyes and Fr. Paisios looked down at me with a frown as he asked, "Lukas, why do you want to go home."

"No, you misunderstand what I'm saying" I explained, "I want to go to heaven… I want to go to the true home." Fr. Paisios smiled, then looked away from me with a sad expression and said, "Yes, but first we have to suffer first."

"To suffer?" I asked, confused and not expecting him to give this advice. I was just expressing the spiritual longing I felt in prayer. Fr. Paisios looked up to the cross of Christ in silence for a moment, considering what to say.


"Lukas, you are going to have to suffer must more," he said gravel. I nodded in confusion to what he had said, but went on longing for heaven, sure that I would die some day as a faithful servant of Jesus Christ in the company of the saints, but only if I spent my life fostering humility—the most evasive and crucial virtue.

After Gabriel had told me his name, he told me to take out my pen and write. I began on the sheet of paper, automatic writing, what some would call a stream of consciousness on my part. A lot of it was gibberish, but as it turned out, some of the little phrases turned out to be metaphors or parables for what was to come. One line that I wrote on a little piece of paper said, If someone crashes their car, does that mean I have to crash my car? YES! I didn't know what this meant as I wrote it, but the next day, someone offered me a cigarette and I had a realization and accepted the cigarette, which metaphorically was crashing my spiritual car—my body. I normally would have gone by strict morals, or preconceived notions of behavior, knowing I was being closely observed by angels, and thinking they would surely be against smoking, but instantly I recalled the message I had written the night before and knew what to do.

As I scribbled out line after line, that night, not knowing what any of it meant, I got very sleepy, and wondered if I was really supposed to be writing all this twaddle. I was near the end of the page I was writing on, and decided to stop for the night. It was only around 8pm or so, but that's late in Hawaii if there's no money to go to a club, and even if I had had a dollar, I wouldn't have left… I was exhausted.

As I got up, Gabriel came in my head with a comment, "What are you doing, you haven't finished with the paper you have to keep writing."

I yawned and shrugged my shoulders. I was done and mentioned this mentally in response to the absurd request. Gabriel didn't say anything, and I didn't feel the other entities presence.

I crossed the runway to the baseball diamond, and climbed up the stairs to a small tower room where the announcers for the baseball games would go up and observe a game. It was high enough that a security guard wouldn't spotlight me unless he climbed up and checked. The first night I had arrived on the island, I slept on a pavilion table in this very park and woke up to the flashlight of some park ranger, demanding me to tell him who I was and began writing me a ticket for vagrancy, when I took out my ticket stub and explained that I had just arrived that very evening and didn't have any place to go. The ranger warned me that if I was caught again I would be given a ticket, but seeing that the sun was just coming up, he told me to leave. He drove around in a normal car with a blue light on the roof, and I guessed he probably didn't check everywhere in the three mile park.

Once I was up in the tower and had taken out my sleeping bag, Gabriel warned me one more time. "Dipshit, you don't understand, you have to write now… you signed a contract and a deal is a deal."

I couldn't believe what he was saying. Was Gabriel serious? He didn't expect me to actually write until I was dead did he? I shook my head and laid down, planning to ignore any annoyance and was sure I could sleep through all of Gabriel's nagging. I closed my eyes, feeling the heaviness start to creep like comfort over my limbs. I breathed deeply preparing to drift off when I heard the high pitched shrill of a nearby mosquito. It was strange because the only water in Kona was the ocean. Even if it had rained, which it hadn't in months, the porous lava rock would have quickly drained any drops that would normally create puddles on dirt terrain. The shrill whine got nearer and I opened my eyes just a slit to see if I could make out the mosquitoes silhouette in the dim orange streetlight that filtered in, preparing to slap the life out of it.

Instead of a mosquito, I saw a demonic face on the surface of the plywood board wall next to me. It was about two feet away and was menacing. I became a bit scared, but also annoyed, determined to phase out the shrill whining mosquito and dismiss the idea of a demonic face completely in slumber land. Before I could start to drift off, however, I felt an itch that turned into a sting by my ear, then in a half second, stings all over my neck as if red ants had crawled up my shirt.

I threw the sleeping bag off in a panic, breathing heavily and wide awake for a moment. The mosquito noise was gone, and there was no demonic face on the plywood. I became tired again, but realized that sleep wouldn't happen unless it was allowed. I burst into tears, and said out loud in my misery: "What do you want from me." My nose was becoming clogged with phlegm as tears streamed down my cheeks.

"You don't know what you've gotten yourself into" Gabriel said. "A deals a deal, and if you don't know what deal you made, then just check with the contract that you wrote and signed yourself. Till death is till death, but in this case, you only need to write until you have no more paper, and then you can go to sleep."

I stopped throwing my temper tantrum and my tears dried leaving a salty residue on my face. I was mad at myself for breaking down into an emotional fit now that my nose was clogged and I would have to breathe out of my mouth for the next hour.

"Anyways," Gabriel said, "We got a present for you, so why don't you just go down to your table and write."

I looked into the duffle compartment of my pack where I had stored my journal and had a collection of paper I had acquired at places like the library. I had been out of money for two months now, and was thankful for the food stamps, but wasn't able to afford such things as journals, so I ended pilfering as much as I could without being accused of thievery. I left my sleeping bag and pack in the tower and stood up to walk down the stairs to the table. As I looked down, my heart leapt with surprise. I was shocked to see a small package down on the table, but couldn't quite make it out in the orange light. I quickly walked down the steps to find a four pack of cupcakes in a transparent plastic container. They were chocolate with white frosting and colorful candy sprinkles. There was no tag on them indicating whether they were from Safeway or some other grocery store. There was also a 1.5 ounce minihune water bottle on the cement bench seat. It was cold had had drips of condensation on the outside from the warm humid air.

My ears began to tear up again, but this time in gratitude. I looked up into the sky and mentally worded out with my mind thank you. I understood. This wasn't the ordinary angel contract, and apparently they wouldn't be too hard on me. I ate two of the cup cakes that tasted freshly made. The chocolate cake was still moist and soft as I chewed. My emotions of gratitude made the cup cakes even better, as if it was food of the gods, true manna from heaven. The water was also cool and fresh tasting. After I was done eating, I felt much more refreshed, awake and ready to write.

I wrote for four or five more hours, all in strange metaphors and contradictory phrases. Some were three sentence fables. As I wrote and wrote, my morale became lifted and a strange giddy sensation came over me. An hour later I was smiling and squinting my eyes, nearly laughing in silence as I realized I had the sensation of being on LSD. Everything around the paper I was writing on, which I didn't take my eyes off of, began to shimmer and shine as if I was no longer on earth. The pen flowed effortlessly, and at the end of the stack of papers I had brought with me, I was truly sorry that I didn't have any more to write on—not because what I was writing was interesting, but simply because I was getting high of the act of writing. Traffic had ceased and the only sound was the gentle ocean waves that crashed on the beach a quarter mile away.

"Okay, now you may go to sleep," Gabriel told me as I finished the last sentence. Although I still felt high in a psychedelic state, I had a soothing blanket of satisfied weariness, and my eyes felt dry, and eyelids were a little bit puffy. I also found that I needed to relieve my bladder very badly, and giggled at the realization that I hadn't even been aware of my body in the least as I was writing. I took a very long gratifying piss on the dry yellow grass and climbed the staircase back up into the tower. As I pulled the sleeping bag over me, I said a small prayer of thankfulness in my mind before drifting off to sleep with an asinine smile on my face.

Voices Chapter 17… We know that we know we know

I only slept for a few hours but wasn't awoken by sunlight. I heard some talking below the tower and lifted my head with instant adrenaline. (It's something developed on the road, never being able to tell if it would be the night when I'd be rudely awakened by a cop with a big Mag-light spotlighting my face. It's enough for some half crazy homeless guy to think he's being abducted by aliens.) I looked down the steps to see the security guard and he was checking in on his radio with whoever he worked for. I peeped over the edge right when he looked up and our eyes met.

"Hey, you up there, what are you doing?" I just smiled and realized that I had a contract that said I couldn't answer. More than this, with everything that had happened the night before with the cup cakes and cold water, I was sure that everything was out of my hands which caused me to feel that this was all part of an elaborate show. I felt more like a puppet than an actor.

I packed up my sleeping bag, tuning out the security guard as he looked at me confused. When I got to the bottom of the steps, he was quite upset with me, and although an angry Hawaiian was the last thing I would want to have created, at this point, I had no fear. If it came down to it, and the guy actually reached out and grabbed my arm, demanding answers, I would have let him cuff me and drag me off to jail, even though I doubted anything like this would happen. At the base of the tower, I stopped and looked him in the eye with a broad smile. I genuinely had no fear or bad intentions, and was doing anything but verbally answering his questions.

"Well don't go up there again!" he said, looking me in the eyes with a little confusion. I don't know what he thought of me, but he smiled a little, and then got himself under control as he saw my expression. I noticed him looking uneasy and reacted by doing a complete prostration in front of him touching my forehead to the ground at his feet, and if I sensed he desired it, I would have let tears roll down my cheeks. I would be as repentant as was required of me.

"Go on now, get out of here, I don't want to see you hanging around this park today, you hear me?" He said, shifting from foot to foot in complete bewilderment. As I rose to my feet, I nodded and tried to make eye contact and get clearance, but he wouldn't meet my gaze and muttered under his breath.

I picked up my pack and walked across the runway toward the highway. I felt within myself unflinching faith that I was a puppet, guided by arch-angels. As I began to contemplate, a voice cut my mental searching short as it said in a soft yet wise voice: We know we know and we know that we know we know. I sensed this to mean that there was no point in searching deeper into the matter. Thinking would only complicate things and take away the innocent trust I now felt. I agreed, and whenever my mind began to drift, the voice would remind me that somehow my soul already knew and was now in control, or rather being controlled. I had to shut off my babbling mind, my ego that tried to rationalize and figure things out. I turned down anything that searched for excitement in the future or any recollection of the past, and walked in the moment feeling a spiritual high, as the voice would repeat, "we know we know."

I walked past the free public pool about a half mile from the Old Airport Park and filled up my water bottle. Usually I would be cautious to avoid any life guard that would demand that I swim. Hawaii has an interesting rule about their public pools: In order to shower or use the bathroom, or even fill up a water bottle at the drinking fountain, the person had to swim. People in Pahoa would sometimes jump in and out of the pool quickly in front of the life guard, or else chance the risk of harassment for taking a shower without swimming. This day, I had no fear, but it didn't matter anyways because I couldn't see a life guard around.

It was a hot day, and I didn't exactly know where to go, so I walked down Ali'i drive. There is a big hotel right at the front of the ocean walk, and a calm force steered me inside the hotel lobby. Once I was in the center, I kneeled down. I didn't know why I was doing what I was doing, but I felt like praying—or more correctly, I was guided into praying by that invisible force. I wasn't a voice, but a kind of intuition, and I simply knew what was expected of me. Not even 10 seconds passed before the man who worked behind the desk came over and told me that I couldn't do that there. I took out a small piece of paper and wrote the question, WHY?

The man became very disturbed when he read what I had written, and shifted from one foot to the other, obviously as uncomfortable as the security guard had been at the Old Airport. It occurred to me that both these men were servants of the public, their jobs were to keep the cultural norms flowing at an even pace and smooth out and bumps, and I caused an alarm to go off in their heads. But when faced with the simple question, WHY?, they had no exact answer. And then it dawned on me, what I was doing was the job of a spiritual warrior. Why was it so intolerable for someone to sleep, or more than that, why was the act of prayer in the lobby a huge no, no? Never the less, I did a prostration to this glorified bell boy, who had taken it upon himself to stop me from praying. This was war, and I considered myself to be almost as a Gandhi figure—passive résistance, standing up, or rather, kneeling down for what I believed in.

Before I could feel this pride, and my ego could pat me on the back, the voice came once again and stopped me with the simple words in a wise and ancient voice, "we know we know." I stopped myself, seeing that any realization would be a vice to my soul, and cut off my self evaluation as I walked out of the lobby, leaving the angry desk man to watch me go. My heart was beating normally and I hadn't even felt the slightest adrenaline which I normally would feel when being caught in the act of the fool. What was my feeling though? I realized it wasn't what I was feeling, it was what I wasn't feeling… why wasn't I embarrassed? Yes, that was it, all the actions I had done, there was something missing, a burden had been lifted and I felt I was beyond and had overcome the hidden vice of embarrassment. How strange I had acted before—complete silliness when I thought about it! I actually took my body and actions seriously because everyone else seemed to be doing so. It had all been a kind of cultural programming, and whatever this program was, it was shocked and dismayed by seeing a man kneeling in a public place. Outside might be okay, and I almost began to wonder if this day I would walk around being kicked out of different places for praying. How wonderful that would be!

Then I felt the spiritual high beginning to fade. The high felt much like a good mushroom trip with a warmed heart by some deep connection between two people who have hit a very deep chord in their souls. For me at this time—I was feeling this connection with the unseen angel, who I could feel had a glowing purity. I could feel his humor, and realized that it was only his ancient wisdom that enabled him to stop himself from uncontrollable laughter. Feeling the angels' amusement caused me to smile and feel even higher.

Smiling from ear to ear I walked down the water front and picked up a fragrant plumeria flower that had fallen at the base of the flower tree. It was white and yellow with faint streaks of pink, and as I smelled it my high increased, almost doubling. I had to sit down for a moment, swept away by such emotional ecstasy. The drug ecstasy paled in comparison to this joy because it was based in some angelic blamelessness.

After a moment I got up and walked, surprised at how many times my mind tried to think and was cut off with, "we know". I wondered if my thoughts that had always been in the background of my thoughts before had keeping me from feeling this high before. Had something happened, had I reached what the monks had called Theoria the divine rapturous feeling of knowing God? I was very thankful and feeling childlike in my heart as I walked through Kailua.

Once I reached the other side, I stuck out my thumb, but didn't turn around to face the traffic. The walking was refreshing and every step seemed to pulse with the heart of my fate. There is nothing that compares to the feeling of absolute surrender and the love dedicated in genuine thankfulness to the Creator of this wicked stage.

A long white early 80's model Lincoln pulled over. I walked up to the passengers side, and looked in the window as a middle aged woman smiled at me and asked, "where you heading to?" I made a funny face and pointed the direction of the road we were on, and she laughed. As I got in the car, I noticed a bible on the dash board and pointed at it, then touched my heart and looked at her in earnest.

"Oh do you know the Bible?" She asked, looking at me oddly, but suddenly wanting to know more and had a certain look of desperateness for a connection. I didn't give a smile, but nodded with my eye brows knitted together. I found that the use of my face was almost all I needed to convey how I felt, and she smiled and pulled onto the road.

"That was my grandmothers Bible," the woman explained as we drove south through Kailua Kona. "It's strange that you look at it with such a devout expression, is it this Bible in particular or…? What's the matter, can't you talk?"

I shook my head, and she nodded in understanding. She had such a solemn look that it almost made me sad. Then I realized that I could write still, and grinned almost laughing at the realization that I was feeding off her energy. She had believed that we just couldn't communicate and I was so wrapped up in her 'wave-length' that I believed it myself. I could feel her emotions like a spiritual osmosis. My ability to do this had been caused by the complete surrender and openness I now had to the universe. I got out my paper, and wrote, "My name is Jasper and I love God… I am his humble Servant, and that is all I am." It was true at this instant.

The woman read the note, glancing down from the road two or three times to make sure she had completely grokked what I had written. In a moment her face switched from a solemn look to a relieved smile.

"Hello Jasper, the reason I asked about the Bible is because five years ago my house burnt down, and when I came home everything was completely charred and in ruins except for this Bible. It was sitting in the ashes, without as much as a black smudge of soot on it. Seeing it there changed my life forever. I've always been a Christian, but after that, I entrusted myself completely to the Lord Jesus Christ, and since then, my life has been wonderful. In fact, that's why I picked you up."

I could hardly believe my ears, and this confirmed and solidified my faith in this magnificent adventure. I was a character and so was she and we were there to uplift one another. The synchronicities come in drops and when it rains, it pours. I felt an intuitional guidance to get into my stack of papers I had written the night before. I reached in my pack, and without even looking pulled out a sheet of paper that was full of writing. I folded it, and put it in her glove box.

We drove to the beginning of the South Kona region that is full of coffee farms and avocado trees on a steep slope of the side of the volcano. The woman said that a lot of fruit trees had been going off in her yard and invited me to come to her house. I nodded and touched my heart with my right hand and bowed in submission to the will of the divine. We drove about two miles off the main highway that circles around the Island and parked in a quiet driveway in the shade of big green trees that rustled in a slow breeze. As I got out, I felt such peace. The woman walked in the house and came back introducing me to her sister, who seemed bothered by my presence and they went to talk about me inside.

In a moment the woman came back out and said," I'm sorry, and I hope you don't take offense, but would it be alright if you wait outside while I gather some fruit for you?" I bowed again and nodded, verbally communicating that I fully understood her sisters' flustered reaction. I almost laughed, feeling the Angels amusement at it all. It was all too much of a privilege for me, because I had absolutely no desire to go inside the woman's house—but I felt so happy to find that I could eat fresh fruit now instead of the junk that I had gotten from the Church in Hilo. The woman came back out with a full plastic grocery bag of jack fruit, passion fruit, avocados, and a red fleshy fruit that tasted much like a sweet potato, but with the consistency of an avocado. She also gave me a gallon minihune water bottle jug, which had been a secret indulgence of mine—I loved the sound of these jugs when they were empty to drum on. I put the bag in my pack after eating some of the fruit. I was impressed, thinking I'd get some bananas or a less exotic selection.

She drove me back up to the highway, and I nodded goodbye as she waved and said, "God bless you, and thank you for being His servant, there aren't too many of us left these days."

Voices Chapter 18… Oh yea of little faith

The cars were now driving 45mph, and there was only a small section where the shoulder was wide enough for a car to pull over. Soon a big blue Toyota Tacoma truck pulled over in the loose gravel. I began to trot toward it with my silly smile when I heard a Hawaiian accented voice, "Hey fuck you haole!" The truck spun off shooting gravel up at me and I heard a harsh laughter. This completely stopped my high, and I realized that I had let myself become excited and was beginning to feed my ego with my thoughts. I accepted this as an omen for me to understand that nothing was in my control and that humility was the base of everything.

I adjusted my attitude, and got out a piece of paper and watched for the lesson to appear. My hand was guided and I wrote, Humble as a naked monk, proud as a shaved lion. I nodded and realized that I couldn't become cocky and saw that there was a line between innocent thankfulness and excited arrogance. Just as I put my pen away, a gray Geo Tracker pulled over. Inside was an attractive woman about 30 or so, and seemed a bit uneasy and nervous as I opened the door. I got in and she pulled off the shoulder back to the road, and sped up quickly.

"I don't usually do this, but I saw you there, and I thought, eh, what the hell, he doesn't look like a serial killer—you're not are you?" She was amused at her own humor, but frowned when I didn't give an immediate response and looked over at me. I shook my head and smiled and I could see her nervousness disappear—but more than that, I could feel it. This was interesting, feeling her emotions and quirky mind was very different from the warm, almost maternal feeling the other woman in the white Lincoln had.

"So, I guess you don't talk huh? Well that's okay; sometimes I think people talk too much—especially me… I can talk enough for both of us." She paused for a moment and then asked, "So, where are you from." She frowned again and shook her head with a smile, "oh yeah, you don't talk, I just said that… God I hope you don't think I'm as stupid as I sound."

I was fascinated in pure amusement at this woman. I could emotionally read her like with the other woman, only she was different, but I felt her as much as I'd feel and be able to read my closest friend. I thought it strange that 95% of my rides had been men, but on this day, two women had picked me up.

"I'm only going to Naalehu by south point, but then I got to go to a meeting. I'm late already, but I was thinking of blowing it off." She paused and I could understand she was simply thinking out loud, but grateful to have someone to listen to her. "You know; if I skip that meeting, I'll regret it, my boss is such an asshole—oh I'm sorry, I shouldn't cuss, please excuse me."

I shrugged and smiled, signaling that I didn't mind. She certainly was trying to act as if everything was normal, and didn't seem too uneasy about me not talking. Then I realized that she was the type of person that would mold their personality based on whoever they were talking too, and I was quite a challenge since my only communication was silly grins and flailing hand gestures.

She spurted out little pieces of information about herself and how her life had been very stressful and that she really envied me for living so freely. She asked me if I regretted living the way I did, and I shook my head showing her that regret was the furthest thing from my mind; waving anything to do with regret or worry away with my hand.

"You seem really nice, which is strange to me because all the guys I usually meet end up to be total jerks that try and ruin my life—but you seem somehow innocent." She said this with a curious expression, fishing for more information about who it was that she had picked up on the side of the road. I didn't know how to respond, so I shrugged and looked out the window deciphering how to fight the inevitable pride that would follow a compliment. In the monastery I had been warned to flee compliments like the devil because pride is the craftiest of all the vices.

"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you… I'll just shut up now." But of course she didn't shut up, but left me out of her babbling as she talked more about herself and how she came to live in Hawaii. She explained the Island was nothing like she thought it would be. I smiled big thinking back to when I first arrived on the Island, only three months earlier and the metamorphosis I was going through.

She dropped me off at the Naalehu grocery store and apologized for not being able to take me further, then sped off down the road. I laughed internally at this for a moment, and then started to walk further down the road. This town was small and a car passed about every two minutes or so. The south part of the island is usually windy with big open lava or brown grass covered fields. The town itself has big trees that were planted long ago and the feeling I had was like in a Midwestern Indian reservation—slow paced and silent. I looked up and saw a dark thunder cloud ahead and was thankful for the big umbrella I had strapped to the side of my pack.

"Put down your pack." Gabriel said. It was the first time he had really talked this day which had been filled with empathetic emotions, and the other ancient and wise angel. I frowned for a moment, then stopped and put down my pack.

"Start walking," Gabriel commanded. I became uneasy, but shook off the feeling and began walking away from the pack. I got about 200 feet away with my pack behind me on the side of the empty road, and I heard a car coming.

"Stick out your thumb," Gabriel said in a flat tone. I did, and really felt troubled wondering if I was to leave my pack which had not only my wallet with my EBT card and return plane ticket to Washington, but my sleeping bag and all the tropical fruit and my umbrella. Was I to catch a ride that would let me off underneath a dark gray and blue cloud which was probably raining? The car began to slow down, and I couldn't help my uneasiness and for the first time disobeyed Gabriel and waved for the car to drive on. The driver frowned and looked a little pissed off and his engine roared as he sped away from me.

All that happened seemed to be an omen. I had sinned and offended the driver, and this wasn't an offense out of obedience, I felt awful for a moment and then my mind started to race. It was almost a panic, and I wanted the car to come back and undo my mistake.

"Ah you Dipshit," Gabriel said, "You're not ready to surrender completely and don't act like you have done so already." I looked down in shame and then walked back to my pack and put it over my shoulder.

"But guess what Dipshit, whether you're ready or not, it's time… leave your pack, and walk away." I hesitated for a moment. "NOW" Gabriel said sternly and the hairs on my arm stood up a little. Gabriel had never talked this sternly to me, and I wondered what the consequence of disobedience would be. I put my pack down, and frowned with a completely different feeling. I fortified my determination with a grimace and felt my heart beat faster as I marched away from the pack.

"Okay Dipshit, you can stop now, you've proven yourself, and besides, you're contract didn't say anything about leaving your pack behind, but I think you would like it better tonight if you had it." My mood changed immediately and I smiled, realizing once again that the angels wouldn't harm me. Of course I wouldn't leave my pack with my plane ticket and everything!

"Okay, I know you're going to agree that the more faith you have, the better everything will be, right?" Gabriel said, "So go as far as you can, take your wallet with your plane ticket out and put it in your pocket, then leave your back pack."

I hesitated only for a moment, then did as I was instructed, trying to minimize the doubt in Gods' greater plan. I walked nearly a quarter mile before I accepted that the back pack was gone, and then I smiled in my victory, I knew that everything was out of my hands.

"That's it, you've done it!" Gabriel said with pride and enthusiasm, "Now go get your back pack, and know that it's really not there because you have truly left it behind."

In an instant I grokked the meaning. It had been a test of my attachment, not so much the material itself. It was a kind of freedom and now I could leave my pack at any time. I had not been true to the absolute faith in my fate—the ultimate plan for me. Realization upon realization unfolded on several different levels. I realized that I had mentally eaten the tropical fruit and because it had been given to me, I assumed that I would eat it—I assumed that it was indeed mine, but now, having happily left my pack and everything in it (only taking my wallet which had the plane ticket in it) I had made a sort of sacrifice and given it up to God—or Whoever it was controlling the fate.

After picking up my pack, I walked out of Naalehu completely renewed in my spirit and offered a prayer of thankfulness, pledging my submission and instantly felt a spiritual reward—that mushroom high feeling.

Voices Chapter 19… Naked Lunch

I walked about 2 miles down the road, a few cars passed by and ignored my extended thumb, but it felt good to once again be marching to the pulsing beat of life at one with all my surroundings. On the right hand side of the road I could gaze across the land to the Ocean that crashed against a lava shelf beach which had vanilla colored coarse sand from broken reefs on parts of the shoreline. The fresh air was now a perfect
temperature, unlike Kona's stifling hot humid climate.

I was lost in the beauty and the rhythm of my breathing and footsteps andwas almost shocked when I heard a vehicle pull behind me. I was pleased to see a familiar gray Geo Tracker, and waved as I walked to the side and climbed in. Yes indeed, it was that quirky amusing woman again.

"Oh hi, the meeting finished early and didn't go so well and I decided to get lunch, but remembered you in the grocery store so I bought you a sandwich, and was wondering if you'd like to join me for lunch?" She held up a brown paper bag and looked a bit embarrassed and flushed. I nodded my head; closing my eyes so I wouldn't be staring at her embarrassment… it was strange how I sensed she had wanted me to close my eyes somehow.

She drove down the road five miles more, and then pulled off to a bumpy beach access road. It was a day camp spot with picnic tables under thorny Kaiwa bushes. She slowly maneuvered the Tracker, bouncing along the jagged lava and came to a stop near a red picnic table. She parked the Tracker which faced the ocean and she reached into the bag and pulled out a sandwich, then handed me a bagel with cream cheese and tomato
inside with a little green olive in its center.

"I have crackers too and juice if you want—I hope this is alright, I didn't really know what you'd like, so don't feel bad if you don't want any. Is everything alright?" I nodded. Apparently I didn't need to worry about food, and opened the saran wrap plastic sandwich and was about to take a bite when I remembered to offer it to God with a silent prayer. I felt a little spiritual mushroom feeling of acceptance to my offering—the food was blessed, and I took a bite. The woman didn't seem to notice my prayer, and if she did, it didn't bother her.

After we had eaten, she looked at me and said, "It's really beautiful here, I'm surprised there's no one else here." There are so many beaches on the Kona side and because this one was too dangerous with the lava shelf for surfing or swimming, I wasn't surprised to find this one empty.

We sat in silence only a minute when I started to feel this warm tingly sensation on the left side of my body and realized it was radiating from her. I immediately identified the sensation as lust. It was all so clear now, and I was surprised at myself for not sensing it sooner. I slowly glanced over at her, and she ever so slightly leaned toward me, a heat radiating off her and causing a tinge in my pants.

I stopped her with a dramatic sigh, and she jumped like a cat hearing a loud noise. I shrugged and wanted to explain, but didn't know how, then realized I had already written what had needed to be said. I reached into my pack and pulled out the little parable: Humble as a naked monk, proud as a shaved.

She looked at the paper and read it, then blushed. It wasn't direct, but somehow explained more perfectly how I felt than anything I could have said in words. She started to talk about the time of day and how she had enjoyed lunch, completely flustered and uneasy until I put my hand on her shoulder, gazing at her with consideration. She froze and tensed up then burst into tears. I couldn't understand what she said next, but quickly apologized and she wiped away her tears.

"You're a monk, I didn't realize or else I never would have—," she was exasperated, twitching and although I looked at her with sympathy trying to let her know that everything was okay.

"You're probably on your way to the monastery, if you wouldn't mind, I could give you a ride, but of course you don't have to, it's just—," once again she didn't know exactly what to say or what was expected of her. I felt so confused and a little embarrassed for her. I nodded, wanting to assure her that all was well and then realized that I had just accepted a ride to a monastery. Monastery? I didn't even know there was one on the Island.

I got out my pen and wrote, asking what kind of monastery it was. She looked a little surprised at me, and explained that it was a Buddhist temple that the Dali Lama had visited a couple times. Hearing this I became excited, and had to calm myself and mentally refrain from trying to own the future. I had listened to words; she said she would take me there, but whatever would actually happen was out of my hands.

Voices Chapter 20…I only read Tibetan

The woman seemed completely changed now as she talked to me. Before she had acted a bit awkward and second guessing herself, but now she was assertive.

"I've been trying to get my life together, it's just that every time I decide on something, it always comes back to get me—even when I think it's good, bad karma surrounds me." She lit a cigarette and offered me one, and I remembered the parable. It was strange, because at different times when I would be in a certain circumstance that in somehow related to what I had written the night of the contract at the Old Airport in Kona, I would have a photographic image popping into my head, and instead of remembering it, I would mentally read it off of the paper in my mind, and I now read:

If someone crashes a car do you have to? YES!

I knew what it all meant. Here this woman who had been driving quickly to a meeting earlier had crashed her car, and it benefited her—metaphorically. I saw the demon of lust come in… literally felt inside my mind and in my body when the demon was there. It had become very strong when we had finished our lunch and sat gazing at the ocean. It sat between us and we both felt the center of our bodies, our groins lick their lips in anticipation. The electrified tingling heat caused my heart to race with this urge—impulse to merge. I defeated it when I pulled out a weapon of angelic qualities… just as some ascetics used mantras or certain prayers to meditate on in order to ward off evil, I had written my medicinal coupon and it read: Humble as a naked monk, Proud as a wet Lion. There was no demon that could tolerate such humility. I think she invited the demon…

I had another realization: Embarrassment is the feeling one gets as a demon exits the soul. If one is completely humble, there is no shame because at rock bottom, you just can't go down. Once anchored on the rock of humility, the demons; first pride followed by the rest of the deadly sins swarm above. The higher above rock bottom the ego rises, the more the embarrassment on the way back down.

Jesus said, "Blessed are the poor in spirit, the meek, the merciful, and those persecuted for righteousness sake." He knew that if they had any of these qualities, they hadn't climbed up to hang out with the vices and deadly sins.

As we drove up the highway to Palau and then turned off the and started to drive up instead of around the volcano, the scenery began to change. I had never been to a town off the main highway accept for Puna, and didn't realize that Hawaii had such dramatically different climates. We traveled higher, the air cooled and no longer had the tropical humidity. The trees weren't tropical either and it felt like some forest of Northern California. There were large red wood trees and other pine trees, possibly Douglas fir and Spruce.

The pavement ran out in a few miles and turned to dirt, and real dirt and gravel, not like the volcanic cinder in Puna. It didn't even feel like Hawaii to me and I got out the sweatshirt from my back pack. I didn't have any other clothes, and knew I'd have wished I had long pants instead of my cargo shorts. We drove for about 45 minutes, and then we came up to the temple. My ride stopped and let me out in front of the building.

"Are you sure you're alright here… I don't think I should stay because I think it's just for men or something—but maybe I'll visit when the Dali Lama comes, I think it's some time next year."

I felt a longing for a connection, someway to show her that I was grateful, so I bowed as a tear came to my eye.

When she drove back down the hill, it was completely quiet. I realized that not one car had passed us in the 45 minutes we had been driving, and the sun had already passed over the volcano, but the sky still showed two hours of light would be left. There were a few birds chirping, and the large trees caused the temperature to drop in the shade. There was a Peacock in front of the Tibetan style temple with a steep oriental roof in red with a gargoyle on each corner and in the center above the door. A red sign yelled out at me, "Private Property, Keep Out." It was so psychologically loud, but I was determined to meet the monk, or whoever it was that was in charge. I had seen a few Tibetan Monks in the Borders Books & Music store in Hilo wearing red robes, so I assumed they lived here. I took out my wallet which I had inserted my pen in that also carried some small sheets of paper and wrote:
I bow before you and wish to learn from you. My name is Jasper and I would like to help you any way I can, do chores, anything and. I do not have any money, but am hoping I could do some work exchange.

I decided I would ignore the sign, No Trespassing, and walked up some stone steps that were in a steep incline up the hill. It was wonderful how the Peacock looked at me without fear, but a little curious to know who I was. I looked inside the temple and saw that it was empty, so I sat down at the entrance to meditate and clear my head—determined to wait patiently until someone came.

I looked up and there was a short Tibetan Monk with a shaved head in front of me. I hadn't heard him come, and couldn't see where he had come from. It was completely silent and any foot steps would have been audible.

"Yes, hello?" he said. I bowed my forehead to the ground, then got up.
"Can I help you?" he asked in a calm voice. He had a twinkle in his blue eyes and a smile that I really liked. I reached in my pocket for my note to him, and bowed again as I extended it to him in my hand. He didn't accept it.

"No, um, thank you, but no… how can I help you?" I raised my head with a little frown, then touched my had to my heart, nodded, and looked him in the eye as I tried to give him the note again. He started to look nervous and shifted from foot to foot, then changed his posture to a confident manner and folded his hands behind his back. By doing this, he was saying that he couldn't take my note.

"Now tell me with your mouth, what you want, I can't read that you see." I frowned and put my arm back down at my side with the note in my hand.

"You see, it's not because I can't read or understand English," the monk explained, "but because my practice… my habit only permits me to read Tibetan—so please speak, tell me what you want."

My jaw dropped a little and I opened my eyes wide with disbelief, but was determine to show him what I meant, so I tried to show that I could work and made a digging motion. The monk just shook his head as he was beginning to become annoyed with my idiocy. I made a motion of my hand, over my hair, indicating that I wanted him to cut my mane because it was my Pride. I was a Leo and the short dreads had become my mane. I realized this now from what I had written, if I was to be as proud as a shaved Lion—than I should become a shaved lion. But any motion I did, any gesture, even kneeling before the doors of the temple, the monk looked a little more fed up with the whole charade and each adlib mime gesture I acted out.

"I'm sorry, but I just am going to have to ask that you either tell me what you want or kindly leave, so be calm, stop moving around and breath. That's it now tell me what you want." I stopped, completely shocked at what he had said. He had just asked me to break one of the only two rules I had sworn to in my contract. Instead of getting angry, I started to laugh quietly.

"Sir, please, I have to do a service right now—I'm very sorry but could you kindly—?" he said gesturing with his hand down the hill. I nodded my head still laughing. The monk didn't open the door to the temple, but walked across the grass and around the side of it.

Voices Chapter 21… I know Nothing

"Ah you Dipshit" I heard Gabriel say and start to laugh uncontrollably, then he said in a mock Asian voice, "I go eat rice, ha ha ha, you stupid hippie!" Then he laughed some more. All day long the spiritual mood of the day had been serious, and I have been sure it had been leading me on an adventure of magnitude. I couldn't comprehend how this could be the end of the day—the joke had been on me again?

I shook my head and instead of becoming angry I threw up my hands and did a funny dance down the steps, laughing so hard at the way Gabriel kept mocking the Asian guy in my head. For a while I had wondered about Buddhism, and saw how it could have been linked to Christ, but couldn't tell for sure. Now I knew, and thought of the ridiculous monk who had changed my entire perceived mission.

I reached into my pocket, to grab my wallet, pen and paper. I was still laughing, swaying from side to side when I realized I couldn't feel my wallet in my pocket. It was strange, because I had just written the note on the dirt road twenty feet away, and was sure that I put my wallet back in my pocket. Normally I would have been carrying it in my pack, but ever since Gabriel had told me to leave my pack and everything accept my wallet, I took it out of my pack and put a pen and paper with it. It was a large brown leather wallet that had a loop in the spine of it where a pen would fit and had plenty of room for paper.

At the bottom of the steps, the sign, "Private Property Keep Out" was even more malicious. The peacock laughed at me with a , 'ha-haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" cry spreading it's feathers that all looked at me in unison.

I didn't get upset, but instantly stopped laughing, methodically tapping my cargo pockets, back pockets and all the pockets on myself over and over. Then realized I had probably put it in the top part of my pack above the duffle compartment, but after taking everything out of my pack and spreading it all on the ground, the wallet was still missing. I walked up and down the steps as a slight panic button set off the Voice. I'm not sure if it was Gabriel, but it started repeating firmly and slowly over and over: "I know nothing, I know nothing etc…"

I went up and down the road and for a moment thought suspiciously of the monk… but I was sure I had put the wallet in the hip pocket of my shorts. And all the time I was looking aimlessly in streaks across the ground, the voice repeated itself, I know nothing I know nothing, soon my tongue took up the mantra in my silent mouth. I shook my head, but on and on the voice chanted.

Then I realized with certainty, and as I did, the anxiety left and this extreme psychedelic wave washed over me; the wallet was gone, the angels had taken it. The mantra continued in my head as the world spun, and I walked around, then began to trot to the beat of the I know nothing. Soon I felt light on my feet as if my arms had become weightless, and without the gravity they floated up a little from my side as I jogged on the dirt road. Now I was whispering silently and feeling extremely high, so high in fact that I didn't even feel human, my body certainly was becoming lighter, as if the invisible force was now lifting me up by the arm pits, only I could not feel exactly how. I was forced to jog, and now I was steered like a marionette puppet. My mind completely surrendered and now it didn't matter. Yes my wallet, plane ticket home, and EBT card along with my Drivers License and Social Security guard had been annihilated.

When the voices had told me to take my wallet and leave my back pack on the side of the road, I did so, thinking that the realization was that I was willing to sacrifice it all. But no, the lesson was that God had taken for Himself whatever it is I really wouldn't leave behind. It was true, I would have been completely and blindly faithful, but just couldn't seem to bring myself to abandon my wallet without remorse.

But as I trotted along the road, it was like I was being spiritually fed a complete sublime mushroom trip in my mind and body. I felt completely on the Strings of the Most High, because now I had hit the Rock bottom. I took off my back pack and left it in the center of the road and immediately felt as if I could take off and fly.

There was a dry river bed with a puddle that had gathered in a bowl shaped indention on the river beds bank. I had drinkin nearly all of the water from the Minihune gallon and relieved my bladder in this little pool, feeling weightless and at the same time completely grateful. It's hard to explain the feeling of rock bottom acceptance, and the mercy that comes when it is voluntary. I took a leak in the pool of water, but as I finished, a voice whispered in the back ground of the I know nothing mantra, "Now you have offended the water—wash your face in it and convince it that you still believe in its purity." This was an instant parable of baptism for me, and without any hesitation, I knelt down and washed my face in the water I had just urinated in. As I did, I felt somehow even more refreshed and thankful, now beginning to grok the truth of the I know nothing. It was freedom, and completely true.

It was the very essence of spiritual surrendering. There could be no loss and no gain, nothing which one could judge another by. Everything was permissible and innocent if I know nothing is true. It was complete thankfulness to anything and everything and in one as OM. It was what any living being would say when asked what it was like after seeing God. It was Zen, contradictory and even reverse psychology.

Earlier that morning, I had been woken up with the Peaceful feeling, the lulling comfort of a voice that said we know and we know we know. It was ancient and wise… but only in a rational smug sort of sense. I realized what pride and utter folly this had been. How completely arrogant I had been thinking that my soul knew everything about itself with peace and security. Clearly I saw it had been as much of a joke as the monk had been. Truth wasn't peace and certainty—it was the cosmic laugh of I know Nothing.

And where was I? I was in the very place where Zen riddles were read—but apparently only in the Tibetan language. I was a living parable and realized I know longer had to read to gain knowledge or Know something I didn't before, to be in the arms of the divine is to say with thankfulness I know nothing. The mantra continued adding more and more of a lightness to my spirit as well as my body.

I felt the Puppet Masters who I could now feel, and almost see with in my heightened sense of awareness. They steered my body as my feet lightly touched the ground a quarter mile up the road, all the while my mind listening with gratefulness as complete stillness surrounded me.

It was getting dark and was cloudy. I traveled with a flannel sheet as a bed and if I was to spend the night it might drop to the lower fifties. None of this impressed me, but some part of me was vaguely aware, and when I subtly grasped this, my invisible hosts steered me up a driveway. I came upon a big dark brown wooden house, and trotted up to a screen door. Inside there were two boys eating at a kitchen bar, and a woman doing the dishes. She looked startled when she saw me, but came to the door.
I could never comprehend what happened when she saw who it was. "Oh dear, I didn't know it was you, hold on a minute." I stood there, smiling like a fool, glad I was a fool. A Joke… no there was no reason to feel anything—not gratefulness or worry of any sort. Fate was playing itself out, and I was so high that I couldn't possibly blend her emotions or even sense them as I had earlier. The house was surreal and even though the air outside was beginning to become a bit cold, I was comfortable being vaguely aware that I was in my skin at all.

The woman walked away, into the kitchen and came back with a grocery bag. She smiled and said as a bagger would say giving a customer their grocery bag, "Okay now, you have a nice day." I laughed and laughed inside as I felt steered once again to trot down the road. What had happened? Just walk up to a door and smile and without so much as a question, the woman acted like she knew who I was and had a bag of food ready for me when I got there. She was so nonchalant as if she had been expecting a delivery man and had a package for him.

Right as I got to the end of her driveway and almost stepped to the dirt road, I felt the invisible force cause me to stop. I wasn't out of breath, and suddenly the voices who had been repeating the mantra stopped. It was silent for a moment and then I heard the sound of a vehicle coming down the road. It had been the first sound of any kind other than birds since my arrival. In a moment, a truck pulled up to me. I hadn't stuck out my thumb, but stood there at the roadside with that grin on my face.
Once again, it was as if this man had been sent, or like I had been waiting. As if I had been in a city waiting for a bus that came to pick me up, used to seeing me every day. The truck pulled over, and the driver opened the door. He had a straight face and nodded with his head for me to get in.

The man didn't say a word or expect me to say anything. He was dressed in blue jeans, work boots, blue denim shirt and a green baseball cap. He drove down the road at the comfortable speed of someone who has driven it many times before. A half hour later when we came to the highway, he pulled over. I looked at him with a puzzled expression, wondering if he wanted me to get out.

"Yes, this is where you get out. You go back to Naalehu, but I've got to go to Hilo where I'm building the house—I'm a carpenter, son." It was obvious to me that he was all part of the plan, and I wondered how many people the voices were in control of—surely these people wouldn't just be everywhere taking direction from angels… and it seemed to me like they didn't even know what they were doing as they talked to me. But how couldn't they see what was happening? It didn't matter. I know nothing so there was nothing to be amazed at more than at any other thing. It wasn't that nothing was amazing, on the contrary—everything is.

I got out of the truck, and as I did, he handed me a small sandwich bag with a little nugget in it that had so many crystals, it looked as if it had been sticky and rolled in sugar. I smiled at the gift, never having seen a more beautiful nugget.

"Just do what you're told and you'll do alright—and only smoke on Sundays," was the carpenters' final advice before he waved goodbye and I shut the door. It was late, but I saw a little tarp that had been put up on the side of a building, I went over to it and sat down feeling immensely well. Almost before I could get my sheet out, I was amazed at the thick cloud of sleepiness that came over me. I wrapped myself in it and fell blissfully asleep almost immediately.

Voices Chapter 22…Prayer of the Heart

In the morning, the sky was overcast as I opened my eyes with a smile. I couldn't remember dreaming, but felt refreshed and very happy; apparently the serotonin hadn't gone through the process of reuptake, flooding my brain with that 'feel good', but more naturally then with Prozac. I put my sheet in my pack, and got out an Oduala green drink from the bag the woman gave me. It increased my euphoria and I remembered to not get excited, but giving thanks for the blessing, which always sends an actually physical pull in my heart.

I learned to activate my heart (chakra?) in the monastery when chanting the Mantra of the Jesus Prayer in Greek: "Kyrie Isu Xriste Eleison Me". The first time I felt it when saying the prayer was on my first visit to St. Anthony's Greek Orthodox Monastery in Florence Arizona right outside the State Penitentiary.
The Suaro Cacti were twenty feet high all along the sides of the highway. But looking through them, one could see the reflection of the brass dome of the temple, five miles into the desert valley off the lonely road. There is only a small blue metal state sign on the side of the tar streaked sun baked road that only a few cars take. The town of Florence is 20 miles away, and because the State Penitentiary is so near, hitch hiking is illegal.

Through a friend Priest, I learned that St. Anthony's Monastery in Arizona was founded by a Spiritual Legend, The Elder Ephraim from the Philitheo Monastery on Mt. Athos. My family and I flew down from Washington for a week, and I, dressed all in black with my prayer rope, did chores and lived with the monks. In Vespers, an evening service before dinner, I took my wool 33 knot prayer rope out (used like mantra beads or the rosary) and quietly whispered the Jesus Prayer (Lord Jesus Christ have Mercy on me). I had said this prayer before at home for a long time before this after reading a book that changed my life The Way of a Pilgrim. The prayer is recited like a mantra really. The idea is to breath in the first part of the prayer, concentrating the nous, (a word the Greek use to call the minds eye or attention) on the heart. Breathe in the name of God (Lord Jesus Christ) for a moment with the breath right to the heart. Then to exhale the request, "have mercy on me".

Many argue that this is the kind of prayer Jesus warned about when he said to not use vain repetition, or take the Lords name in vain. But the Orthodox Christians maintain that any other prayer (accept prescribed prayers) is like vain repetition that the Pharisees used, but that this was the only prayer (besides the Our Father) that Jesus condoned. It is the prayer of the publican, and to say anymore is not recognizing the vast comprehension that is God. The Orthodox believe that God knows what is best for each one of us, therefore, to ask for anything but mercy is to go on and on like the Pharisee in ignorance of God's omnipotence. The prayer has many levels and is much like the Hare Krishna mantra, in that it believes in the power of the name of God.

I would stand on the right hand side of the large orange cathedral and bow my head as I recited the mantra during the services which were all in Greek. For the first time, I felt an actual physiological sensation that the mantra was creating. My heart felt a twinge of pain, but a good kind, very hard to describe. It was a longing, but a pinching feeling a little warm but caused me to tear up a little overcome by a strange emotion. Contrite would be one word, but to ask and belittling myself before God and repeating the name like it was a life vest and I was drowning.

I became addicted to the prayer, and fell instantly in love with the silent life of the monks. The prayer was a drug, and it was a monk's choice to leave the world in search of God… the greatest Cosmic Drug Dealer one could ever hope for. The physical labor in February was a joy, the temperature in the mid 60's. Only the guest master, Deacon Ephraim (not the Elder) would talk to the guests, and usually in the guest house. The monks were busy constructing an underground sprinkler system, and I helped them dig trenches and screw the PVC piping together. The monastery was founded in the early 90's and apparently had an endless income from donations of the rich Greek Orthodox from all over the country. Three hundred acres of desert land to begin what was to be a spiritual haven for the faithful when the shit hits the fan during the apocalypse.

I didn't doubt that it was the end times. Whether it was the green house effect, over population, martial law, or countless other spiritual forces in the media tabloids… or even worse TV—I didn't plan in participating in the madness. I was the only person in the room in my high school that didn't raise my hand when a guest asked the class who was planning on attending college. What would be the point? The only thing that was important was spiritually, and if the choice was heaven or hell for eternity, I sure didn't want to chance it. Looking at the way I had lived life up to the point, I knew that the only way to walk the straight and narrow path would be to leave the world.

I was still in my junior year, but knew I wouldn't be staying in Babylon for too long. The week we stayed down at the monastery was like finding my ticket out and I was so thankful for seeing that it was all I had ever dreamed it would be. I met with the Abbot that had been appointed by the Elder Ephraim, a Greek by blood who had grown up in Canada named Fr. Paisios. He agreed to be my Spiritual Father (which is Orthodox for Guru) and gave me a prayer rule and a 300 knot prayer rope that was almost as long as I was tall. He told me to say Jesus Prayer 900 times (3x around the rope) and then say, "Most Holy Theotokos (God birth giver) have mercy on me," dedicated to the Virgin Mary—one time around the prayer rope.

After leaving the monastery, however, I found that the world, school and TV swallowed me up with its pleasures quickly. I was a little guilt ridden after having read a quote by a saint who said, "You will know it is the end times when the chrome metal horns of the icon of the Devil are in every household." This was a long time before television, but it was all too obvious. In the back of my mind, I planned to start living the Spiritual Warriors life—fighting against Satan, biblically called, 'the Prince and Power of the Air". Some day, I knew, I would leave all the temptations, not being strong enough to resist the system as it roared all around me. It was strange to think that I thought of the monks' life as the easy way out and a comfortable refuge from the world.

Not a real popular tourist place and the monks like it that way. In the summer it gets up to 120 degrees, but the monks always wear black robes with black vests on top… underneath they wear black pants and shirt. Working boots and a big Mexican style sombrero if it's a day to dig trenches, haul cinder to put around the big date palm trees, or carpentry out in the sun. After a hard days work, they wash their face feet and hands. Asceticism is a way to resist the pleasures and comforts of the body so that the soul can flourish—a belief that says when one is fed, the other is starving.

The monks black robes represent their death to the world and all its temptations. They don't cut their hair or beards, they don't shower or bathe or look in mirrors. They keep clean by sweating and using their clothes to sop up the excess oils. They say that after a while the body produces enzymes and dust mites on the skin that eat away at any foul smelling bacteria with good bacteria. Sexy huh?
It was told that the Virgin Mary took a trip around Greece in a ship with the Apostle Luke (long after Jesus had resurrected) and had pointed to the Mountain Peninsula of Athos and was amazed at its size and beauty. After she died, the Mountain was dedicated to her and monks came to worship. Now it is a central place for the worship of Christ, but especially Mary who loved the mountain, and no females (even animals) are allowed to go there. There is a famous icon on Mt. Athos that was painted by the Apostle Luke although now it is nearly black, having oil vigil lamps burning in front of it for centuries

Arizona is a little bit less ascetic than Mt. Athos where the monks put the Navy Seals to shame with their harsh lifestyle. The monks' work hard in Arizona however—the day is full of work, and little sleep. The official day starts at midnight. At 11:50pm they get up and have a cup of coffee to wake up a bit, then go outside to the court yard and chant the Jesus Prayer together in Greek. Not in unison—if one were to stumble upon them between midnight and 1:00am without knowing who they were, they'd think they'd come across zombies or ware wolves yelling incoherently in the bright desert starlight. This first hour is used to focus on the prayer vocally, listening to it and building a rhythm in the mind.

Then at 1:00am, the monks go back to their private rooms to practice the prayer of the heart. They do this by sitting on a stool (sometimes on a stool with one leg so that it will fall over if they fall asleep) in the darkness and slowly breathe in and exhale the prayer. The goal is to focus on the name which cleanses the heart of impurity (bad karma). Thoughts come, especially at 1:00am in a dark room sitting still—not only thoughts, but the beginning of dreams. After years of practice, the rewards pay off spiritually. Saints who had lived as monks wrote of divine rapturous revelations and a complete bliss which they call Theoria, becoming one with God for a moment on earth.

At 3:00am, the monks come out of their cells and walk silently into the temple which is warm and dimly lit by red glass olive oil lamps that hang 7 feet in the air above the large icons. After venerating the icons, the monks (and guests) go to the sides of the church where Stasithia (standing chairs) that have arm rests to help people that fall asleep not fall over. Before the Stasithia were built, I could hear loud stomping of people who had drifted off but saved themselves from falling over at the last moment.

Large sections of the Psalms are read each night, so that in a week, all of them have been read. There is also chanting to different saints and age old other chants to Mary and Jesus and all the heavenly hosts. This service is called matins and varies depending on which saint is being celebrated.

At 5:00 after matins, the Liturgy of St. John Crysostom begins and lasts till 7:00am or so. It is such a struggle to stay awake all night. Night after night, one gets used to it—theoretically at least. After the morning services there is a breakfast and then everyone takes a two hour (or less) nap, followed by work, lunch, more work, an evening service (Vespers), dinner, another evening service (Compline), then bed around 8pm. And this is what I considered paradise.
The most important rule for community monks is obedience to the Abbot or Spiritual Father. Other than work and prayer, there is only the mind and soul, so after fulfilling the duties of the body one has to control the nous (spiritual eye) and focus it on the mantra. All the monks were told to confess every thought they had other than the Jesus Prayer. Confession was every night, somewhat informal when they all went up one by one to the abbot with a little list of their thoughts before the 3am service began.

If a monk is completely obedient, he doesn't have to worry about his own salvation—the abbot takes the eternal consequences once a monk submits to his guidance. This way, even if the Spiritual Father tells the disciple to act strangely, the disciple should do so knowing that his salvation is secured in obedience. This was an idea and later became dogma taken from the Old Testament when God told Abraham to kill his son Isaac. At the last moment before Abraham stabbed his son that was tied to an altar, God told him to stop saying, "Dude were so seriously going to kill your son because some Voice in your Head told you too—I mean are you completely insane?"—well that's not exactly what God said, but is similar to what Lucifer might say.

So who is God and who is the Devil?—you can't decide so I'll be your guide…
Voices Chapter 23… All Saints Day

After waking up after the mantra, "I know nothing" having totally rerouted what I had faith in, an internal weight had been lifted. I put my pack on my back and headed for across the grass toward the highway, glad that no one had woken me up as a trespasser the night before. It was a little cool outside still, and the road was completely deserted, a car passing every three or four minutes. Most of the cars looked like rentals, and I never expected a tourist who was up for an early morning look at the funny crabs dancing on the black sands at shore break to pull over for me.

As I walked about a quarter mile, I noticed a card and picked it up on the side of the road. It was the two of clubs, and instantly had meaning for me. The game was hearts… my hearts' journey, and in order for the game to be played, the two of clubs must be led. I wrote the name 'Don Quixote, Knight of Christ' on the card and put it in my pocket… my business card.

A truck pulled over with a white surfer with bright ocean blue eyes and yellow surf board in the back. Sublime was playing out of the stereo, and he was smoking a joint. He asked me if I wanted a puff with a smile, as the truck descended closer to sea level, but I put up my hand in refusal. It wasn't Sunday, and my last ride had given me a knew rule about when I should smoke.

"What?—You don't smoke bro, come on, I see your starting dread locks, and I aint never met no Rasta who didn't toke," he said dramatically to his own satisfaction, and extended the joint once more, sure that his proud offer would not be denied.

I declined his offer once more, and when he looked confused, I got out a little scrap of paper and wrote, Only Sundays. He smiled and nodded.

"Oh my bad, you're probably one of those REAL Rasta's who use the herb with more respect, I'm sorry brother, here, let me make that up to you." He got out an orange prescription plastic pharmacy bottle for pills that he used for storing his bud, and handed me a small, but fruit smelling green nug.

I tucked it in the paper I had written 'Only Sundays' and put it in my pocket, knowing that the little piece of paper was now a prescription, and the small coincident of it coming from a pharmacy bottle in the first place seemed hilariously significant to me. I reached into my pack and pulled out the crystally nug in the plastic sack I had received earlier and gave it to him.

"Woe man—and here I thought I had the A-grade, where'd you get that?" He just looked at the nug, and handed it back, but I insisted he take it, and he did with a smile, putting it into his orange pharmacy bottle with the others.

We sped down the highway and he cranked up Sublime once he discovered that I didn't talk but liked the music. I drummed on my water jug and the vibe felt high and fresh all the way to Naalehu. He let me off near the grocery store and said he was on his way back from the beach he had surfed at sunrise.

There wasn't much in Naalehu but a small park with a Pagoda where I filled up my water bottle. I did a few push-ups and sit-ups, than used the cross beams on the pagoda ceiling for pull-ups until I was wide awake and breathing hard. I drank more than a liter of water and headed back toward the highway, walking the way I had come from South Kona.

I walked through the town, still drumming on the bottle, but saying the Maha Mantra, Hare Krishna Hare Krishna Krishna Krishna Hare Hare, Hare Rama Hare Rama Rama Rama Hare Hare! I didn't feel quite as high on mushrooms as I had the night before, but felt so awake and refreshed, that I knew I should skip my usual morninh coffee. Then I realized that I didn't have any loose change, let alone my wallet for any of this—the thought was quite liberating. I had only drank the green Oduala and wondered if it was the spirulina or wheat grass that had given me this wonderful feeling. Whenever I would start feeling overly alert, I would convert my energy into thankfulness, trying to keep my energy down a little—I really felt like running, but even though my feet had been bare for almost a month now, little pieces of gravel on the pavement still hurt with the weight of the pack, although it was very light.

I zigzagged up some switchbacks, drumming on the water bottle to the beat of my foot steps, once I had walked to the other side of town heading toward South Kona again, I realized that the walking was effortless. There were a few more cars than earlier, and soon someone offered me a two mile ride in the back of their truck. They drove off the main highway toward South Point and I hopped out and noticed a small tractor that been parked on a half acre of grass about 50 feet off the side of the highway.
It might have been the light, but the tractor seemed to stand out from its surroundings with more vibrant colors and impressive imaging as if it were computer animated. Although I wasn't tired, I decided it would be a good idea to go over and sit in the tractor and perhaps meditate, but more importantly, write about what had happened—or better yet, see what the pen would write of its own accord.

I situated myself comfortably in the tractor cab that had a small metal roof that provided shade from the sun that now beat down more strongly. I was amazed at how quickly my body relaxed itself and my clear mind focused on my breathing. I took out my pen and a piece of paper and wrote, using the black steering wheel as a desk:

The cat must fall asleep and the Kernel of corn must not pop.

The pen stopped and my hands, of their own accord moved to my knees as I straightened my back and closed my eyes. I felt tears of compunction flutter my eye lashes a little, then stopped, as if my minds' eye began to sense light. It was hard to explain, almost like being on railroad tracks staring at the light of a train in the distance coming closer and closer. As the light grew closer and began to brighten, Gabriel in my head started to talk for the first time that day.

"Okay cat, don't wake up, and you corn kernel, don't pop… steady, steady"—the light grew brighter and brighter, and I felt my heart began to beat a little quicker as Gabriel went on encouraging me—"steady, we're almost there… keep focused…"

But I couldn't, it became to bright and I didn't know what was going on, it seemed without my consent my eyes popped open and I gasped for air out of my mouth, although I had been breathing deeply through my nose. It was a reaction of waking up with a start from a nightmare and I took deep panicked breathes, wide awake and feeling a little shaky.

"Oh you Dipshit!" Gabriel said with disappointment, as if I were a star kicker and had just missed an easy field goal. Apparently he had a plan for me and the metaphor was his instructions. I had understood at once that I was the cat who had to feign sleeping, at least with my eyes closed staying calm through the white hot bright light that could easily pop the kernel or my eyelids open like pop corn. Before I could consider the significance and ponder about it, I felt my body straighten again and took a deep breath. I hadn't really been consciously aware of the decision to move my body in this way, but I didn't feel the invisible force either. Perhaps my body knew as my mind was struggling to catch up.

"Okay," Gabriel said after his disappointed outburst, "are you ready to try this again?" He was softer now with his tone, and I relaxed more deeply into my breathing.

I nodded my head, a little bit more prepared this time. After thirty seconds the light began to grow lighter and than excruciatingly bright. The brighter it became, the more I felt my eyelids begin to flutter, trying to open, but I tried to relax them and keep them closed with calm determination. Just as it became almost impossible to remain composed as I felt a strong urge to open my mouth and gasp for air with an intense excitement which is hard to explain—I was no longer in my head, but had burst through the bright light and got out of my body.

"Sleep calmly cat, the kernel won't pop anymore, but you still must not become alarmed or upset," Gabriel said, his voice no longer in my head, for I was outside of it myself also. I heard his voice behind me, but as I turned (not my head, I suppose my nous) to see Gabriel, I felt something block me from looking.

As my soul (I'm guessing) floated above the tractor, I was a little concerned for a moment. Although I completely trusted Gabriel, the Dark Spiral I had seen the day after the full moon party had tried to draw me outside of my body. I had gagged then, thinking the Dark Spiral was trying to suck my life out of my body, and here it had happened. In the tractor, however, my soul had left through my head and the Dark Spiral had tried to coax it out through my mouth. Perhaps it had been my fear that made me judge it, but I had felt a malicious presence when looking at the Dark Spiral, and always sensed that Gabriel was a true friend.

I was still vaguely aware of my body, and could feel it, in some part other than myself, breathing—perhaps as one feels that a car is turned on and the motor running, yet is not the car them self, only aware of it. I wouldn't have been able to voluntarily open my eyes, although I felt that my brain was aware of itself, and yet this too, was not me, but had grown with me and witnessed everything in the world. In Freud's terminology, Id had just left the ego and superego to wonder in amazement at the dissociation… but I don't think that Freud knew too much about this sort of experience.

My soul, as it floated felt so young and curious, innocent also, as if I was once again 8 years old and my 'muscle men' toys could talk and have a life of there own. My brain witnessed this happening, listening to the adventure, connected although I was looking down from a height so high, the tractor was the size of a pin head, and would have been too hard to see if it wasn't bright yellow on the green grass. Then I passed into the whiteness of the clouds. I couldn't feel the air as my soul rushed through the clouds faster than any plane, nor did the speed at which I travel feel fast. It all just was as places often change without cause in a dream.

We (Gabriel and my soul) came to a place in the clouds, and I saw a place where the sky opened up, much like a science fiction worm hole connecting two points far removed from one another by space. In a second I was through the hole and was standing on green grass. This vision was almost cartoon in nature, and much like a dream, except that I remember it more clearly than any dream because I was completely lucid in my mind which was somehow attached down below.
I tried to look back at the way I came, but was blocked by Gabriel who I could only see by a blue glow and was not permitted to look at him. The green grassy area, extremely bright and vivid in coloration was not empty. There was a man I recognized immediately from the Orthodox icons I had seen growing up in churches. It was St. Ephraim the Syrian, a Christian poet who my mom admired for his soul filled writings. Every lent we recite one of his prayers:

Oh Lord and Master of my life, give not to me thy servant, the spirit of faint heartedness, lust for power or Idle talk. Give to me the spirit of purity, humility, patience and love. Oh Lord and King, grant me to see my own faults, and not to judge my brother, for blessed are you forever. Amen

St. Ephraim smiled joyously and came over with an animated comic expression, laughing and said, "Oh yes, how are you doing, I'm so glad to see," he was laughing and such joyous ecstasy was radiating from his person, much different from the somber almost pained humble look the church had portrayed him as being. I told him that I liked his writings, and he promised me that he would help me write, then walked away after a bow of his head.

Next I saw St. Anthony the Great, the first monk who had left an enormous inheritance to his sister when his parents had died and had moved into a tomb out in the desert. He fought demons for 20 years without leaving the tomb and emerged healthy and strong after reaching enlightenment. I was so overwhelmed with excitement mixed with a feeling of unworthiness, but completely shocked when he did a full prostration, bowing to the ground in front of me.

"Oh I am truly unworthy"—I began, but he cut me off.

"You and I are much alike." He said with a smile and a twinkle in his eye.

"How can you say that? You lived in a tomb and fought demons and I live in the world with many pleasures!" I was determined to ask for his blessing.

"Oh this isn't necessary Jasper, you haven't come into yourself yet, but if there is one piece of advice I could give, I would tell you that there is nothing more that the Devil hates than laughter, so be sure to have the last laugh!" St. Anthony laughed heartily himself, although his ascetic thin gaunt face was aged with wisdom, he seemed very child hearted—then he went away.

Next I saw a man dressed in a white robe with white hair and recognized him as Seraphim of Sarov a Russian monk who had knelt on a rock 1000 days and nights in repentance. Unexpected visitors witnessed a light coming from his room and snuck to his window, surprised to see the light shining from his face as he levitated two feet from the ground. St. Seraphim conversed often with the Virgin Mary and was given the gift of healing. To this day in Russia, many pilgrims travel to a spring that he blessed and there are rumors of miracles that occur as diseases vanish when the sick are bathed or drink from the water.

When I saw him across the green grass, he was looking into a pond of water, and I could tell it was like the water on Mt. Olympus in Greece that the gods used to see what was going on in human affairs. Seraphim smiled up at me without saying a word, but I wasn't permitted to look into the pool. His kind smile said more than any words could have, and I looked down feeling grateful for such a blessing. Seraphim raised his hand to me, then turned back and looked down into the pool in silence.

I was guided by Gabriel, who I was still not permitted to look at across the grass to another out door decorated courtyard and saw the Virgin Mary herself, larger than life sitting on a maroon throne. She was dressed in blue with gold markings on her shoulders and scarf on her head. She seemed to be enormous as if everyone I had seen before was a pawn and she was the queen on a chess board. To my own surprise, I felt immediately drawn to her, but not as a religious figure to offer prayers and receive blessings from. I felt a much more close and intimate relationship and ran across the grass and jumped up on her lap. She was vast, and the inner child of my soul spoke out excitedly, "Oh mom I'm so glad to see you again!"

It is strange as my soul was somehow doing this; completely shocking my mind. The two were linked, one rational, and the other innocent, but the shock my mind received had almost brought me back to my body in the tractor, but Gabriel blocked it somehow. I felt a small pull, but clung onto Mary as a shy child might cling onto their mother if a stranger tried to hold them.

"You know, you don't have to be mute if you don't want to," Mary said to me in a soft maternal voice. Just to be there sitting on her lap, I felt so safe and secure.

"Yeah, but I want too it's fun," my soul said like a child, "but mom, do I have to leave, I want to stay here with you," I asked, even more like a child begging for something irrationally but I really meant it. I knew I belonged here and the rest of all the nonsense that I was so detached from at this point seemed ridiculous, yet some part of me knew that I should cherish these few moments with my mother.

"No, you realize there is many important things for you to do—but I'll be watching over you the whole time," she said. I nodded looking back toward the door… which was a golden gate that I could now see. This whole place had the vividness of a cartoon, but a happiness that couldn't possibly be contaminated with any negative vibration. This was the rest after the war—the renaIsance after that dark ages, but only for those who proved themselves by walking with bravery through all the trials of life on earth.

"Okay Jasper, it's time to go," I heard Gabriel say. I slowly got off Mary's lap and Gabriel led me by my ethereal spiritual body hand back to the gate. I waved goodbye to the saints, and was out the gate and drifted back to my body in two or three seconds.
Once I was in my body and could feel my vision behind my eyelids and realized that I had soaked the top of my shirt with tears. I style="mso-spacerun: yes" slowly opened my eyes to a world that seemed brighter and fresher than before, as if mirroring the beautiful heaven I had just visited—clean and colorful. I sighed in deep moist breaths. My heart was throbbing with the good hurt of prayer, and tears were still flowing freely down my cheeks.

Thank You God. I got down from the tractor and walked slowly toward the road with calm I can only compare to experiencing when I had done yoga for two hours with Hayward at Yoga Oasis near Pahoa. I had to wait a few moments before I felt ready to stick out my thumb, contemplating the innocence I had felt in my soul. For the first time in my spiritual life, I was not afraid of being condemned to suffer in the afterlife.

Voices Chapter 24… Elder Ephraim

August 7, 1997. My 18th birthday and I was back in the desert. This time I flew in with my mom, the rest of the family was back in Washington. My mom had a friend in the area who had known her since junior high, and she gave us a ride from Phoenix to the little gas station, bank, grocery store town of Florence. Most of the town's people worked at the State Penitentiary 10 miles away and raised little trailer park kids, culturally contributing to the white trash stereotype proud as pie.

I rode in the back seat of the minivan and talked about how happy I was, and felt as if I were going home. Seeing the giant Suaro Cacti jutting out of the pink/brown dirt, and feeling the spiritual joy of relief, I fingered around the balled thirty three knotted prayer rope made by Metropolitan Hieretheos Vlahos of the Greek Orthodox Church The Metropolitan had written a psychology book that promotes the Prayer of the Heart and its positive effect on the psyche and overall happiness and sense of well being.

I felt his blessing as I repeated mantra of the Prayer of the Heart, "Lord Jesus Christ have mercy on me, [Kyrie Isu Xriste Eleison me in Greek]" silently with each breath. It would be considered Pranayama in a Hindu belief system or a yogic exercise. I suppose the Chinese would consider it a type of Chi Gong, or the Buddhists might consider it meditation. But the Greek Orthodox used the name of Christ.

My father and mother were both devoted Sunday going Christians, and we had joined the Orthodox Church when I was 10 years old living in Eagle River, Alaska. When I reached adolescence I began taking the faith seriously, believing that all other Gods were from the devil or simply idols. It had read many biographies of saints' lives accepting them to be completely true. It didn't seem possible that any of the stories could be tall tales because the Church approved them.

I had read Sayings of the Desert Fathers a book about the first men who wandered to the desert in search of God. They made baskets, living in small stone and dirt huts as they said the discovered the Prayer of the Heart around 500 A.D. Some prayed in other ways, but all had turned their backs on the entrapments of the world, exchanging it for the religious ecstasy of knowing and obeying the Gospel. If one were to follow the teachings of Christ, one would leave the cities, live in poverty, share everything down to the clothes on ones back and ask nothing in return. Then Christ said, "If you love me you will follow my commandments." After reading countless other stories about saints who became fools for Christ, despising worldly comforts and cares, I realized that the stairway to heaven was a lot straighter and narrower than most Christians were willing to admit. I couldn't live with the hypocrisy, feeling ashamed every Sunday as an Acolyte in St. Johns Orthodox Church in Wilkeson Washington. I decided to follow Christ in the footsteps of my spiritual role models and leave the world.

We pulled off the lonely highway and drove three miles on a dirt road, crossing a couple dry desert river beds that would flood during the autumn electric storms. This day in August had been hot in the upper 90's, but we were cool in the air conditioning system of the mini van. We said goodbye to our ride that promised to pick us up a week later when it was time to leave. There was an eight foot pink stucco wall that ran in front of the monastery about the length of a foot ball field. The large parking lot had only a few cars in it, and we were dropped off right at the open arched entrance.

A thin monk in a black cassock and thick glasses came up quietly, and folded his hands in front of his chest and said, "Oh Lukas and Marie, welcome back, did you have a good trip?"

We exchanged pleasantries and were led along the red flagstone path to the guest house. It was like a hotel, each clean new room had a shower, dresser, bed and closet, but of course there were no mirrors—no encouragement of vanity and pride. My mom was offered a long blue skirt to wear over her pants, she declined the offer of a blue table cloth for a head covering having already brought her own head covering scarf. The dress codes in the monastery made the Amish seem flashy. I was wearing black Dockers and a black button up T-shirt with Dr. Martens boots.

The monks saw the shoe print that my Dr. Martens made in the dirt when I walked, and explained to me that the soul was designed by Jewish engineering that despised Christianity and created the tread mark that would form crosses wherever people walked—an insult to Christianity itself. The monks had me cut part of the tread off my shoe so it would no longer make cross's in the dirt.

There were a couple of pilgrims who had come for various reasons, but my mom was the only woman. One man was using the monastery as a sort of rehab, trying to get his life together after loosing everything. The monks didn't permit cigarettes, but he couldn't help but sneak off in shame and light up out of sight. Another pilgrim visiting was my age, Mika, whose father was a priest. Mika was soft spoken and planning on staying to become a novice if he felt God was calling him.

Once the Deacon Ephraim (guest master) had taken us to our rooms and we had put our suit cases away, he invited me to come and work in the courtyard. The PVC piping that I had helped install in February was now completely underground, but the water would run across the rock hard surface of the ground without soaking into the roots of the date palm and other fruit or flower trees that had recently been planted. I ended up wheel barreling loads of cinder and dumping them around the base of the trees, then used a shovel to form foot high barrier around the trees to contain the water.

I worked for a couple hours, and saw other monks come quietly in and out of surrounding buildings with their heads bowed and lips moving silently repeating the Jesus Prayer. It was tranquil and I worked conscious of every movement, repeating the prayer rhythmically in time with the shovel movements I made. I recalled Genesis and realized that God had appointed man to tend to the garden, and was happy to finally be acting rightly.

The sun was beginning to cast long shadows when a young monk with a pony-tail sticking out above his robe walked in a circle around the courtyard on the flagstone walkway beating a wooden board rhythmically. Five minutes later, Deacon Ephraim told me that I should get ready for the Vespers evening service, and that I was lucky because the Elder Ephraim was ready to see me for confession. I was shocked at this news. The Elder Ephraim was a living Saint from Mt. Athos, the abbot of Fr. Paisios who was the Abbot of St. Anthony's. Apparently he was visiting from Greece for two weeks and I was lucky enough to have the synchronicity of his visit coincide with mine.

I stood in the back of the temple during Vespers trying to think of what I would say to the Elder Ephraim. Fr. Gregory, a visiting monk Priest performed the service in Greek. He was dressed in a golden robe and walked around slowly swinging the chain that held the metal container of incense, bowing in front of all the icons. Then he walked around the temple and swung the incense and bowed to each individual, and we would all bow back and cross ourselves.

Manellos, the monk who had beaten on the wooden board before Vespers came in and softly whispered that the Elder Ephraim was ready to see me now. He led me through the Narthex of the church and into a small room with a desk, grandfather clock and two icons portraying Mary and Jesus with a red glass vigil lamp burning in between them on the wall. There was a little old monk with a white beard hanging down to his chest, and although he was sitting down, I could tell that he was very short. He was praying, using his right hand to count the prayer rope knots silently when I cam in.

The Elder Ephraim smiled up at me with piercing bright blue eyes. He looked almost like a child although he was obviously over 65 years old. He had a scratchy high pitched voice when he talked, but it was all in Greek. Manellos was still in the room and acted as my interpreter.

"The Elder Ephraim wants to know if there's anything bothering you, or if you wish to confess something," Manellos translated. I thought back through my life and began to tell of all the times I had stolen, lied, smoked, drank, and any thought of envy, lust…especially I focused on lust, and started to weep as I spoke of the girls I had messed around with in high school. I admitted to a time when I had gotten caught masturbating my freshman year and had lusted after the girl sitting next to me and pictured her in my mind as I did so, but she had been leaning back on the back two legs of her chair and had seen what I was doing. I spoke on and on as Manellos translated what I said to Greek and the Elder Ephraim would nod gravely. He still looked peaceful although I was quite shaken up. When I was done, and a little teary he said something, looking at me with eyes that shined so bright it made me looked down with embarrassment. He offered me the box of Kleenex of the desk next to him and I blew my nose and tried to gain my composure.

"What about when you tried to kill your little sister by holding a permanent marker to her nose when she was taking a nap," Manellos translated. I was completely shocked and didn't know how to reply. I had heard that the Elder Ephraim was clairvoyant, and now, more than being embarrassed or repentant, I was excited, and couldn't help my jaw which dropped.

"Yes, you are right, I nearly forgot," I stammered, trying to mask my excitement in a mock penitent voice, and then added, "forgive me." He looked at me with his glowing eyes and smiled a bit and his tenor voice cracked as he talked in a merry tone.

"Lukas, it is alright, you do not really feel sorry for these things because in the world they are everywhere," He paused for a moment and his fingers worked their way across the prayer rope, "what do you want to do with your life?"

"Well, I have one more year of high school, then I want to join a monastery… maybe see Mt. Athos, or maybe visit Russia, but I want to leave the world," I said, now looking in awe at his face which seemed to radiate peace.

"Yes Lukas, you want to do these things, because some day you will be a monk here." Before Manellos finished translating what the Elder Ephraim had said, looking very excited as he translated it, I heard the pounding of a large board outside, declaring that it was time for dinner. There was a knock on the door, and Deacon Ephraim popped his head in and apologized for interrupting but announced that the Elder Ephraim had to say the opening prayer before dinner.

I barely had time to grok what the Elder Ephraim had said. I had heard that he was a saint that could read into the future as well as the past. Now that he had told me that I was to become a monk at St. Anthony's, I felt my journey had come to an end before it had begun and was grateful; my search was over. I had complete faith in the Elder Ephraim and was determined to fulfill his prophecy.

After dinner, I explained to my mom that I was going to stay and become a monk. I was 18 and there was no point for me to finish high school. What would be gained from the academic brainwashing crusade? It would only contaminate my soul and wouldn't provide me with any skill that I could use in the monastery. She was very upset, and told me that I could stay, but asked me to first go to a wedding in my family where all the relatives would be meeting. She said that I would feel better if I got some sort of closure and was able to say goodbye to the family.

After a week in civilization, disgusted by the humdrum and the cheesy protestant ungodly wedding, I returned with a spiritual release to the brotherhood. I was given a black robe and black cloth hat to stick my hair up in. I became a novice beginning the life where it was prohibited to shave, shower or look in mirrors, dead to the world and alive in Christ. The day I became a man was the day I left the world behind.

Voices Chapter 26… The Fool
"The connection between holiness and foolishness is traditional"—Aleister Crowley

If you ever look at the Aleister Crowley Tarot deck, on of the most, if not the most significant cards you will find is The Fool whose number equation is zero. He's a prince who has left his kingdom wandering aimlessly. He has just spiritually descended onto earth from heaven and is divinely inspired in all that he does, but does not make any sense in his actions. In the card there is a dog biting his leg, but he smiles idiotically completely unaware of the pain or bothered by it. It is not that he doesn't feel the pain, but it is simply because the pain does not matter. He is not of the world and completely without an ego. His card may symbolize adventure or inspiration, but is highly unpredictable and unstable. If someone had asked me if they would become rich, and this card had turned over, I could only say to the person, "You're about to lose it all, but this is a good thing, you have to go from wherever you are now back down to zero, and if your concern is wealth, way up in the Tarot ladder, the fall might hurt a bit, but like I said, it's all for the best." The fool is rock bottom.

May 2001. After the vision of heaven in the tractor, I was thankful to have a ride in the back of a pickup truck. The two lane road winded through coffee orchards 1000 feet up on the side of the volcano as I rode through South Kona. I was breathing the Jesus Prayer, and looking at the beautiful scenery more grateful for the precious gift of life than ever before. No voices were saying anything, but I now could sense where Gabriel was flying above the truck.

We were going through the small town of Kealia above Hookena beach on highway 11 past coffee shops and tourist rental shops for snorkeling and kayaking, but it was nothing more than scenery. The commotion was somewhat intrusive to my eyes that seemed unusually focused since my other worldly experience. There was a man on a dirt bike motorcycle behind us with a yellow off road helmet that completely covered his face. There seemed to be a fuzzy haze around him like a cloud of tiny mosquitoes, but more like a shadow on the air, and then I realized it was a dark halo I was seeing. Just too look at him was overwhelming, so I bowed my head and prayed, feeling his eyes burn into me. It was a little unnerving because I could almost sense a threat.
"Okay, it's time to get out," Gabriel said, and I banged on the top of the truck cab. The driver pulled over and gave me the shakah "hang loose" wave and drove onward without a word.
I was in the parking lot of a mini mart next to highway 11, waiting for further instructions from Gabriel. It seemed to be a random location, bustling with traffic in both directions; people getting sodas and snacks before going on with their daily business or play. I stood still letting the tranquil sense of well-being and sureness of my actions to come.

I stood still for a minute before I felt the Invisible Force push my back. As I walked, it seemed that my feet lifted weightlessly. Although the traffic was a continuous flow at around 30mph, I walked straight across the road, barely missing the rear bumper of a car that passed in front of me, and getting to the other side before a car going in the opposite direction felt the need to honk. Once across the highway, I saw a beautiful Jackeranda tree with purple flowers. It shimmered, looking like a cartoon against the green and blue that surrounded it. The small road wound down to Hookena beach, but I only walked a quarter mile when I felt the Invisible Force push me up a driveway.

I stopped after a couple feet and felt the intuition to get out a pen and a little scrap of paper. I carried the pen and paper in my pocket now that my wallet was gone. I was shaking a little bit with adrenaline, but I couldn't see any reason for it as I wrote in big bold letters: The cowardly Lion must not fear. Then in a more curved round girlie sort of writing: I haven't had a shower in weeks.

I got up and walked up the driveway, smiling at the comfortable force on my back. It was a long black asphalt driveway, but I had hardly walked up when a shaggy dog came running out at me. I still had the little note in my hand, and held it out at the dog. It was my shield, and I felt an almost animalistic instinct as I glared at the dog and felt my upper lip form a snarl. I didn't slow my pace but walked with aggressive steps toward this dog.

The dog got out of my way, but once it was behind me I was a little concerned to that it might nip my heels. I started to march swing my legs backward and forward maniacally as I walked, and as the dog lunged at my heel, my foot caught its jaw, slamming his mouth shut with a clunk as its teeth snapped shut. It yelped a little, and jumped back and reduced its barking to a deep growl and followed at a distance.

There had been tall trees on either side of me, but 100 feet from the house opened up to a green grassy lawn on either side of the driveway. It was more of a mansion than a house, three stories tall with big white columns on the porch. A woman opened the door a crack to see what her dog was barking at. I had almost reached the steps when she spotted me. She came out of her house and looked at me with a little concern, but didn't appear nervous.

I smiled up at her and she smiled back and yelled at her dog to leave me alone than asked in a pleasant voice, "Can I help you… are you lost." She was an older woman, dressed in pastel color clothes and had a soft expression.

I shrugged my shoulders and handed her the note I had written. She looked up at me and it seemed that a light of recognition and curiosity went on in her brain. As we looked at each other smiling I heard the voice of a man yell from upstairs, "Tell that bastard to leave… get him out of here!"

"You'll have to excuse him," she apologized, "he's not well, but may I ask you a question? Is your name Jasper?" She said this cocking her head to one side and nodded along with me. "I thought so--," she was cut off by the 'not well' man upstairs who was now yelling even more furiously for me to leave.

She looked very happy when she had identified me, and went back inside her house, excusing herself for a moment. I stood outside and turned around to see the dog panting happily, at ease with me and looked at me with a dog smile of recognition. I could hardly contain my excitement, but through the door, I could still hear the yelling of the man. After a minute, the woman returned, but only opened the door a crack to talk to me.

"I'm sorry that you can't stay Jasper, but I was told to give this to you," she handed me two $20 bills and said, "God bless," and closed the door. I was dumbfounded as I stood looking down at the money.

Once again the Invisible Force pushed on my back with such magnetism that I almost tripped as I went down the stairs. The dog had now lain down on the porch and watched me with disinterest with its head between its pause. I smiled, and began to wonder what the money was for. At the end of the driveway, it was as if I hit an invisible wall and stopped abruptly. There was a row of mailboxes that seemed to stand out from everything else.

"She did very well," Gabriel said, "so well that she earned that money." I walked up to the first mailbox, opened it and stuck the $40 in it, shut it and walked away.

I wondered what this living parable meant for me, but if nothing more, it strengthened my faith in fate. Everything was going so quickly and the synchronicities were all so profound, but before I could contemplate their greatness, I remembered the mantra: 'I know nothing'. I walked up to the highway, no longer feeling the Invisible Force. It just seemed right, but I could have just as easily decided to go the other way. Any action has as much significance as any other, and on the path of The Fool, all the experiences add up to zero.

Voices Chapter 27… Waimea Bible Thump

I decided to make my way back through Kailua Kona and eventually back to Puna. Considering everything that had happened, especially my out of the body experience in the tractor and the cartoon-heaven, I realized that I was perhaps a fool for Christ, but there had to be something more to it than that. All the saints I met had treated me with such familiarity, and I didn't know what to make of St. Anthony's prostration in front of me. He had been such an inspiration as the first monk to leave the world. Perhaps it was simply his humility.

As an Orthodox Christian, I was taught that to bow to someone was not to bow to their human self, but to the Christ in them. Christ had explained that he would abide in his followers as they abided in him. He explained to come into his flock by drinking the water of life that would quench all thirst. He also said, "Unless you eat my body and drink my blood, you have no life in you." His metaphors were not always understood. There was a woman who was fetching water at the well and he said to her, "Whoever drinks of the water that I give will never thirst."

The woman replied, "I would like some of this water because it is hard work going back and forth to the well all day." It is the only recorded reply which is completely naïve in the Gospels. I always thought this was extremely humorous that his disciples would put her reply in there. Every other metaphor Christ uses seems to be grasped by those listening, or at least they don't reply like the woman at the well did.

The sun had set by the time I stopped traveling the day of the tractor seat abduction. Having completely surrendered to the angels, I rode in each car with a completely different view point. I was just there to raise the vibe and help in any way that an angel saw fit. I saw that any prediction I could conceive of was probably going to turn into a joke on me, so I let my mind completely be absorbed in my surroundings. It was so light and carefree to be The Fool.

Everyone seemed completely at ease and content to have me in their vehicle and I started getting rides with groups of friends. One was in the back seat of a car next to two shirtless Hawaiians who spoke with heavy Pidgin accents. They were quite amused to see that I didn't talk at all, and agreed that haoles should just be silent on the island anyways. They nodded to each others comments about the complete commercialization of the island. They spoke of their families and how their grandparents' life was extremely different then theirs.

I silently thought about how it was the apocalypse and thought how everything was speeding up at such an increasing rate that it would end in one hell of a grand final blow up. If the Mushroom and the Cross had been the Alpha, surely the Mushroom Cloud of the atom bomb would be the Omega. History had been a yin and was about to cross over into the Yang to balance time. As the burning bush had told Moses, "I am that I am"… Eminem explains, "I am whatever you say I am."

All the prophets of the 1960's had come to explain it in song, but as Jim Morrison sang, "This is the End." Then all the prophets whose name began with "J" died at early ages, we see: Janice Joplin, Jim Morrison, John Lennon, Jimmie Hedrix"… were they the first J's to go, and now was I, Jasper to go as John the Baptist, the forerunner of the apocalypse? Why was I given the J name?

Archangel Michael and Gabriel appear in every time segment of time, whether in the creation story of Genesis, the birth of Jesus, in Revelations at the End, and now, they were around me. I wanted to get my hands on a Bible, and read about what was happening. I had heard that the giant locust had been interpreted as helicopters, but I didn't know what to look for in other things that would happen before the end.

As I headed through the lava field desert in North Kona on highway 11 riding in the back of the truck looking at three dark spiral floaters, like the one I had seen at the full moon party, trailing me as I couched in the back of the truck. I felt that same oppressive energy radiating from them. This lava field was earth but had been full of fire like hell, and perhaps these were the demons that flew over the waste land and sensed my intrusion. Surely they knew who I was eternally and the temporary amnesia of actually living on earth didn't apply to the aerial realm.

The ride in the back of the truck across the lava fields was about an hour. I felt a bit distressed the whole ride, and was glad when I was let out where the highway T'd off. The driver turned toward Hawi and I stuck my thumb out and caught another quick ride up the steep windy road toward Waimea.

It was dark and the windy air was cool and crisp up the hill from the lower flats of the northern Kona Bad Lands. I was in cowboy country, Waimea, home of Parker Ranch, the biggest Ranch in all of the U.S.A. The town itself was situated on the North West part of the island and had green grassy hills surrounding it.

The Dark Spirals that hovered above me on the lava flats were gone, but I sensed the great angelic presence of Michael the Archangel near me. I had sensed it once before, but now that I knew who he was it all made sense to me. As the warrior of Heaven, he hated cities and the ungodly lifestyle that went with them. I let his mood influence my own and felt like I was at war in a spiritual sense with this small town. I couldn't help but frown in disgust at the corporate institutions on each side of the road. I walked through the windy town with my thumb out, but didn't get a ride.

At the end of town, I realized that it would be too hard for traffic to see me and there wasn't a shoulder on the side of the road for the vehicles to pick me up, even if they wanted to. Knowing I would end up spending a cold night, I prepared for an all night prayer vigil. There was a small church that looked as if it were built half a century ago, but freshly painted white. I decided that it would be good to spend the night on the church porch underneath the protection of the cross.

As I crossed the highway, I noticed that the parking lot was full of cars. There weren't any windows, but I could see light coming from the porch area radiating from within the church. I walked up, still feeling the angry presence of Michael around me. In the Church there was a pastor speaking to the Church excitedly. I could look through the screen door to where he had an overhead projector showing pictures of a rural Asian community. As I listened, I found that the Church was planning on donating money to help out the Taiwanese.
I thought about the parable of the Good Samaritan where a wounded man on the side of the road that had been beaten and robbed is ignored by people who profess spirituality. He is finally saved by the 'sinful' Samaritan. This parable could be applied in modern society. The example would be a hitch hiker on the side of the road passed up by people on a Sunday morning on their way to Church, but then a drug dealer pulls over and helps the hitch hiker out.

As I listened to the sermon, I realized that the congregation was happy to donate money to the poor if the poor were far and away, but probably not so eager to help in situations up close and personal. Feeling like a living parable, I took out a piece of paper and wrote: The Least of these. I did this because Jesus explained, "What you have done to the least of these you have done unto me."

A half hour later the service was over and one by one excited talking people would come out of the door, smiling eager, but when they saw me sitting outside, they averted their gaze and ignored me. It wasn't until the last of the parish had come out when a chubby teenage Hawaiian girl asked me what I was doing. She read what I had written on the sheet of paper, but didn't understand it.

I smiled and wrote that I was hungry. She surprised me by inviting me to McDonalds with a couple of her friends. She was very kind and bought me a value meal which I ate thankfully. After asking me a couple general questions which I had pre-written on a piece of paper like my name, where I lived, etc, she asked me what I was doing. I finally wrote that I felt it was necessary to confront people in a direct way in order to test their beliefs.

"No, that's not nice to shock people like that," she said quite upset at what I wrote. I tried and explain that it was very good to shock people because it only shocks the ego which is so used to mundane cultural stimulus. Perhaps I was doomed as John the Baptist was doomed in his way of shocking the world, but I felt it was my calling. Perhaps it was because of the anger I shared with Michael, but I couldn't seem to communicate by writing.

After dinner, they asked me if I wanted to go anywhere else in town, but I didn't want to impose upon them further. I wandered out of McDonalds and back to the church which had a pew on its porch. It was dark and a little bit out of the cold blustery wind that howled through the empty streets. I was surprised how drowsy the McDonalds value meal made me and soon fell asleep curled up on the pew. I spent a fitfully cold night on the hard pew and couldn't straighten my body out, but it fit my hard external demeanor. Perhaps I had been given enough grace and ease and had moved to a time where I was to prove myself through asceticism, denying the world and its false comfort.

I woke up to a man and a woman coming up the steps. They were dressed in Sunday clothes, and indeed it was Sunday. They smiled at me kindly, but didn't treat me like the scraggily bum I was. I still had my blue flannel sheet wrapped around me and looked up at them, trying to smile, though I was really quite exhausted and still a bit cold from the cold night.

One of the two women in a white hat and red lip stick smiled at me with a maternal sympathetic look and handed me a small white pocket Bible. The other woman and man talked to each other, and glanced at me. It was strange, because although they were speaking perfect English, I simply couldn't understand a word they were saying. I smiled at myself and decided to tune in to what the woman with the red lipstick was saying, and couldn't understand the straightforward words that I knew that I knew.

I smirked sheepishly and nodded in appreciation of her effort to communicate, looking her in the eye, but then I noticed by her tone and expression of expectancy that she had answered a question. For a moment I was worried, mainly because I simply couldn't understand the English language anymore, its symbols were just out of reach of my grasp, (like an acquaintance who introduces themselves and you nod, and realize that you nodded without hearing their name, although you know you just heard it). I struggled a little and shook my head as she repeated herself, this time annunciating more clearly the language that was so familiar. I started to smile and soon was laughing, restraining myself from the ecstatic convulsions of the humor in the situation.

I realized, it didn't matter in the least what this woman had asked me, and if I had understood her exact wording. I reached into my pocket and unfolded my sheet of paper that had all the answers, prewritten for first acquaintances. Like. My name is Jasper; I've been on the Island for Five months; I can't talk, but I love to hear stories; My mouth is big and my penis is small, I'm changing that now; I'm a servant of God.

I had organized this paper into folded up squares and would unfold it and fold it to answer specific questions that were typically asked. Another paper had names of towns and places on the Island where I was hitch hiking to. All I needed were two pieces of paper to communicate with just about anybody who would pick me up. Most rides ended up with the driver having a heart to heart with me.

The woman in the red lipstick, however, was the first person who I couldn't understand as she spoke to me. I had been dreaming fitfully, waking up through out the night shivering, although I doubted my lack of sleep was causing the miscommunication. I felt so refreshed by this new cosmic joke on me. I found it hilarious that I was experiencing what it would be like in the times of the tower of babble. Oh, but I was fortunate, the reading on my paper also looked to be gibberish, but I knew it would be in the language of these strange church goers of Waimea. This is why I laughed.

As I laughed, I began to feel elated and the cold restless night seemed to vanish completely, leaving me with the realization, that the whole night I had been in the company of a warrior, Michael the Arch-angel. And now he was gone, and with him his ascetic mentality. I had adopted his outlook and truly disdained the world's comforts, but now there was that mushroom feeling of freedom and connection to all. I saw that I was loosing my ability to communicate, but I could feel the distinct vibe of this woman in the red lipstick, and once I recovered from my eruption of laughter, and saw that she was beginning to smile herself, I sensed the appropriate expression to make. As my expression changed, her mood changed and I felt it.

It's hard to explain exactly what it felt like to empathize on an emotional level. Almost like looking in an empathetic mirror. Each emotion that overcame me would effect whoever it was I was talking to—in this case the woman. I saw that my electromagnetic field had melded with this woman, and I felt the need to suddenly look away, trying to cut the connection, a bit afraid of it and embarrassed, wondering if she could feel it also. But I immediately sensed how her mood changed abruptly; a bit nervous at the way I looked down with a frown. Instead of breaking the connection, my averted eyes back fired on me and I felt a bit of a threat. Not exactly a threat, just an annoyed frustration radiating from the woman, and I could almost sense her expression; almost see it in my minds eye.

I broke up in laughter once more, seeing her view me as completely insane. This telepathy that I felt rather than heard was too ridiculously funny to me. The man who had been talking to the other woman behind the woman in the red lipstick suddenly spoke and I could tell by his authoritative tone it was time to leave. He might have said just that.

I managed to take control of the laughter even though I was now completely high, like peaking on a strong dose of mushrooms. I wasn't sure if it was the laughter that caused it or maybe it was something else, but I packed my bag with tears rolling down my cheeks which were pleasantly sore from smiling so broadly.

I had my eyes downcast, feeling with a clear mental imagery of these people who were now watching the top of my head as I packed. I started to convulse in laughter again as I stepped down the five stairs onto the gravel parking lot. Another car pulled into the parking lot, and I could hear the church door being unlocked and that strange English being spoken.

The woman hadn't had time to read the sheet of answers I had in my hand, and I looked down at the words which seemed to be swimming on the paper in front of me. Every color around me was bright, but I felt that instead of squinting, my eyes were wide open, absorbing every detail. I tried to focus on the paper, and the words suddenly came into focus and I could understand them.

"Ah Dipshit, at least now you know that you can go all over the world," Gabriel said as I looked at the paper. He spoke in his animated voice, and I was happy to hear him instead of sensing the dreaded Michael.

Michael had been with me for a long time. He had probably been battling the Dark Spirals and perhaps had driven them away before I reached Waimea on the North Kona lava flats. I wondered if he had been appointed to guard over me. I had the distinct impression that he didn't want the job by the way he felt so stern when he was around me; so proud and angry. I realized to take care of a moron like me on earth wasn't really what an Archangel would want to do—then I thought of the small white Bible the woman in the red lipstick had given me. Perhaps the answers to all this madness was inside.

Voices Chapter 28… Golf Ball Parable

It wasn't surprising that the first ride I received was from a pick up, but unlike I had intended things to go, the driver didn't let me ride in the back. He was Hawaiian, looking like a construction worker, or perhaps worked for Parker Cattle Ranch. He wasn't amused by the fact that I wouldn't talk, and seemed a bit uncomfortable as I rode in silence.

"Okay man, I'd take you further," he said as we reached Honokaa, after a half hour drive, "but you must be some sort of maniac. The only reason I picked you up is because I'm tired and wanted some company to wake me up."

What he said seemed a bit of a surprise to me. He only had asked me my name, and when I had handed him the paper with all my written responses, he brushed it away and sat sullenly the rest of the ride. The last thing I would have thought a person like this would have wanted would be for some hippie to chirp in his ear.

I hopped out and the truck pulled away slowly. The driver didn't even glance in my direction as he headed in the direction we had been traveling. Across the highway was a laundry mat, and on the other side of the residential road from it was a Café that advertised 'Ass kickin' coffee and the sign had a donkey kicking it's hind legs in the air.

Not too many cars were on the road, and the ones that passed went by quickly without looking in my direction. The side of the road was almost the size of a lane. I kicked a couple pebbles as I waited, completely content to spend the whole day there if necessary. After a few minutes, I noticed a golf ball on the edge of the pavement, and happy of the new found toy went over and picked it up. It was then, that Gabriel decided to speak. The whole morning had been quiet and fairly bizarre without being able to understand English.

After bouncing the ball a couple times and catching it, more fascinated and gleeful then a Golden Retriever playing fetch, a surreal sense of not really being there swept over me. For a moment, it was as if my actual intelligent rational side left the imbecile that had taken over my actions and listened with discernment to the metaphor.

"You are the ball, and we will treat you accordingly," Gabriel said in a lulling tone. He said this as I was bouncing the ball. I suddenly stopped, frightened, thinking that the ball would be in great distress for being treated with such brutal abuse.
Another car went by, ignoring me as I stuck out my thumb. I became so distracted, for a moment I forgot about the advice Gabriel had given me, and mindlessly bounced the golf ball on the pavement two or three times before realizing what I was doing with horror. I pet the ball and kissed it, feeling the sneer of the archangel as if he silently said to himself, 'so be it'. I didn't trust myself and put the ball in my pocket.

After hitch hiking for years through different towns and cities all over the U.S., the one place that is truly home, the only constant thing in traveling is the little space on the opposite side of the white line from traffic. This is home. Sure, there were fast food dumpsters to check along the journey for food and rides in the passenger seat, but all those things weren't constant. Only the shoulder of the roadside would be there to greet me when the rest of the world went by in a blur. After a while on the side of the road in any one location, the anticipation for a ride decreases and the sense of time resumes it's normal pulse of tick tock tick tock… the side of the road is the same as any living room. It's the place to be after the errands have been run and the stomach has been fed. Relax and enjoy. Once I'm no longer waiting and expecting a change, I sigh with a certain relief. At this point, I brush my teeth, play hacky-sack or drum a beat on the guard rail, if there is one.

Across from the Kick Ass Coffee above Honokaa I decided to pass the time by working out. I wasn't guided by Gabriel, but I did hear music begin in my head and felt an increase of positive energy. After doing push-ups and using my pack to do curls with, I smiled, satisfied and feeling the warm blood pumping through my arms and chest. I kicked a couple rocks, and thoughtlessly, felt the golf ball in my pocket. I don't know how many times I bounced the ball before I realized what I was doing.

"You see Dipshit," Gabriel said, "We're gonna bounce you. What good are you if we can't bounce you? Like you, we can put off the bouncing for a while and even hold you close to us and make you feel loved… but some things are just meant to be bounced."

I was a little bit worried about what Gabriel said, but then looked at the golf ball in a different light. It was a white "Spalding" ball a little bit scratched from the bouncing, but it was alright. It almost felt as if the ball smiled back at me as I looked at it with interest. I mentally greeted it, and then slammed it on the ground as hard as I could and watched it bounce high into the clear blue sky. I tried to catch it as it came down, but it slipped out of my hand and bounced out into the highway, just as a minivan came speeding down the road. My adrenaline pumped—not in fear of the minivan, but afraid that I might lose the ball.

"Yea though I walk through the valley of the Shadow of Death," Gabriel said as I crossed the highway when the car had passed, "…Just as you have temporarily lost the ball, and as far as the ball knows, you don't care about it anymore. You threw it down so hard, and it went so high in complete trust, just as you will, and when it came down it found itself lost. But just as you are desperately searching for it…"

I found the ball in some tall grass. I picked it up like a little lost kitty and squeezed it to my heart as a tear formed in my eye. I looked to the other side of the road, and noticed a car had pulled over. It was a Honda two door sports car with tinted windows and shiny chrome rims. I walked up and heard the loud bass radiating from the back of the car.
I couldn't really see through the window, but had to go to the other side to get my pack, and as I did so, the passenger door opened, and I could see the driver leaning across.

"Hey man, if you need a ride, I'm going to Hilo." He was a Haole without a tan, but I could tell from his pidgin accent that he was local. I got in and he smiled and introduced himself as Daniel. Unlike the sullen truck ride before this one, he was happy to read my little paper. He read the whole sheet before pulling out on the road.

"So are you some sort of monk or something?" he asked as we sped down the road. I nodded to his question, but he seemed a bit amused and also a little confused at my response.

"I've never met a monk before, but I've heard about the whole silent thing. I just thought you guys all wore brown robes and shaved the top of your heads, are you on some sort of mission—oh that's right you don't talk, sorry man, no really I'm all about peace. Do you like this music? I have a whole CD case full of other shit if you want to check some out."

I flipped through his CD case and found the Dead Kennedy's album I had listened to in high school. We had been listening to hip-hop, but I didn't recognize anything else from his collection which appeared to be mainly R&B.

"Right on man, I never thought a monk would like punk, but I'm guessing you're not a normal monk. But I've got another question, can you hear confessions and shit like that, or can only Priests do that. No offense by saying 'shit' it's just how I talk, you don't mind, I can see that anyways but…?"

I simply shrugged to his question. I really didn't know one way or the other. Typically confession was to be told to a Priest who would absolve the person of their sin, but the Jesus encouraged his followers to confess sins openly to one another. Daniel took a deep breath and blew the air out dramatically, then turned down the music a little.

"You see, I got this problem. For a year now, I've been taking Ice (methamphetamine) and don't know if I can quit. I know it's real bad shit, and I used to weigh a shit ton, and now I'm so thin I had to buy all knew clothes. I'm pretty sure my boss knows, but he doesn't give a fuck. The thing is, I feel like the Devil is trying to take my soul." He looked at me as he said this, and I could tell that he really was scared.

"I have these awful dreams, I mean they're so bad where I kill people and I even… man I don't want to say it, but you're a monk and all. It's not that I feel guilty about it, but it's like there's another part of me. Just this morning I woke up after having a dream where I raped this pregnant woman, and I woke up smiling in a way that I would never do. It wasn't me man—do you understand what I'm saying?" He looked at me with desperation, his eyebrows knitted together with concern. I nodded gravely.
"What do I do man, I mean I know you can't talk, but do you think I should quit? Shit, that's not what I mean, I know I should quit, but it's just such a habit now, and I can get twice as much work done on it. It's like I'm a machine, I can concentrate better and am right on top of it all, no matter what the boss gives me, he knows and I know it'll get done. I originally started smoking Ice because some of my braddahs told me I could lose some weight. I used to work on a road construction team on this highway, but that didn't last, so I went around Hilo when I met my hook up. I used to be like you hippies—well not you—but you know, smoking herb and kicking back, but then I got this new job and I don't know man, my life is going to shit."

It was strange how things are beneath the surface. Here I was a grungy hitch hiker with nothing but a sheet and some scraps of paper in my pack, completely destitute and happy about my home on the side of the road. And he was a handsome successful young business man, but inside he was a complete wreck. I had tried speed before and knew about its dark energy and sense of absolute control. The come downs were full of paranoid delusions and agonizing depression—to be hooked would be like selling the soul to the Devil. I didn't know what to do, but it was apparent there was nothing required of me but to listen.

The way he drove, speeding around cars at 75mph mimicked his internal reality. As we came closer to Hilo on the Hamakua coast highway 11, he started to tell me more and more about himself. I realized that he really was treating me like a Priest in a confessional. He focused on his addiction to Ice and said that he had never been a religious person until he felt the presence of the Devil.

"I'm sorry I went on and on like that," he said as we pulled up to the parking lot of the Hilo bus station on the water front, "but I can't tell anyone else or they'd think I was crazy." His expressions changed from a desperate man on the edge of sanity back to that of an every day Joe. I smiled and made the sign of the cross over him.

"Thank you Father." He said, and I wondered if he had gotten that line from some movie he had watched. He drove up the hill into town, and I got out the golf ball and looked at it. Perhaps he was the golf ball lost in the grass on the other side of the highway, having completely forgotten that there was an angel who would take care of him—but maybe his angel was a demon, or fighting a demon. Several different scenarios presented themselves to my mind and I frowned a little in contemplation, and then stopped myself realizing that to try and decipher the hidden meaning would ruin my beloved mantra. I know nothing.

Voices Chapter 29…Return to Pahoa

I walked down Kamehameha Avenue, glad to see the different hippie styles of clothes. It was more cartoon like here. The people in Kona had all been so similar. I wondered if they all went shopping together before they went on the cruise ships or hopped on Hawaiian Airlines with their package deals. It scared me how cut and paste they were; especially the men. Older men with kaki shorts, ankle socks and white tennis shoes with polo shirts and sun glasses huddled together with their hands in their pockets looking across the ocean. Some of the more daring ones decided to wear the Hawaiian style ‘Aloha’ shirts with floral patterns, probably bought at Hilo Hatties. They were like a flock of migratory birds and didn’t much with the locals, at least not the ones who did not present the stereotypical view of their version of Hawaii.

I walked through Hilo and noticed that even the air felt fresher. It was a little bit more humid and didn’t have the raspy vogue (volcanic ash in the air) that plagued the Kona side by the trade wins that blew the volcanic vapors west. I had my thumb out as I walked and was smiling, looking down as I tried to process my trip. It hadn’t been too long since I had left the East side, but so much had happened in that short time, it felt like I was coming back after a long journey. Time had slowed down.

I spotted Isa walking the opposite way and ran over to him with my umbrella thumping on my pack. He saw me running toward him, and a shadow crossed his face. Something had happened. Before he had always been so excited and happy, but now he avoided my gaze, and as I joined him, he looked at me, concerned and almost sadly as if something tragic had happened.

“Hey Grass, everyone has been looking for you,” he said. I gestured with excitement, grinning like a moron—but it was hard to contain my excitement and I felt like I had so much to tell him, but it was hopeless.

“Oh so now you’re not talking, so I suppose you can’t tell me where you’ve been.” He looked concerned and almost depressed. The twinkly in his blue eyes was gone replaced with an uneasiness that I didn’t like—I wanted to cheer him up somehow.

I made a motion with my hands demonstrating that I went over the mountain, and he guessed that I had been in Kona right away. I was happy to see that I really didn’t have to say anything, and wondered why I had ever talked before at all. I was bubbling with excitement, but he remained somber throughout my maniacal motions.

“Have you talked to Pops,” Isa asked, glancing up at me with one of his eye brows raised and his blue eye twinkled with curiosity which I was relieved to see. I shook my head indicating that I hadn’t talked to Pops, but hearing the name, my heart began to beat faster. I could sense that something was wrong as my heart dropped to my stomach where it sat, sickening me with anxious anticipation.

Isa was silent for a moment, but his subtle body language, the tenseness in his shoulders told me that there was something important I had missed in my absence. The churning feeling like sour milk in my stomach built momentum and my ears began to feel the sensation of hot sand near the drum, beating to the rhythm of my heart that was now audible. Did my body realize something my mind hadn’t caught on to yet?

I felt like making Isa confess everything, but with all the nausea distorting my train of thought, I sat down on the sidewalk. We were on a stretch of road between the Hilo water front and Wal*Mart which is a bit difficult to hitch-hike because of the side walk which runs along the shoulder of the road. Isa offered me a cigarette which I accepted with thanks—I needed to ground my thoughts and assure my body and mind that everything was alright, but was it?

I thought of Pops, and his head lingered like an enormous effigy, much like the head Wizard of OZ in my mind. His dark eyes, pupils fully dilated seemed to be able to locate me, and for a moment, I felt like he could see me, as if I were Frodo and had slipped on the ring unaware that Saruman could see me—I shuddered and took a deep drag off the little fag.

I thought back to Pops and how he was always the one who sat as people flocked around him. He seemed a bit like a yogi in a way, always calm and patient and never eager to go do this or that, and had such magnetism; he often told us, “Yeah, wherever I go, people always tend to gather around me.” Maybe this wasn’t a coincidence, and my mind began to search out possibilities. A light went on around a possibility that immediately seemed plausible: Pops was also guided by voices. Of course!—It all made perfect sense to me, and I looked with wide eyes at Isa who looked like the sad donkey Eore, the despondent friend of Winnie the Pooh.

Isa gave me a quick glance then looked back down at the sidewalk, a bit perturbed at me for not speaking. I wanted to share my speculations about Pops with Isa, and I began to pat down my pockets feeling for the pen and paper I carried with me. Isa stood up slowly, motioning for me to not bother with writing anything.

“He’s looking for you Grass, and I don’t know what to believe, you better talk to him and clear things up,” he said shaking his head. I motioned to him that my lips were sealed and he sighed.

Clear things up? What had happened? I went back through my memory to just a couple days before when Pops and his buddy had driven past Raven and I. Raven knew that Pops was bad intuitively somehow. I pondered the book of Revelations and knew that at the end of time, Michael and Lucifer would have a final battle and Lucifer would be cast into hell. My eyes widened as a terrible realization entered into my being. For a moment I felt dizzy with weakness. This was all written ahead of time. I was just a puppet! It was all happening again and probably had happened many times in history already. The angels were only Puppet Masters!

“Listen Grass, I don’t know why you’re not talking, and I’m not sure I want to know, but I’m telling you as a friend to watch your back.” The hairs on my arms stood on end. It was something about the tone in his voice that made me realize Isa probably knew something he wasn’t telling me. Perhaps Gabriel had talked to him, or maybe Isa had a different guide.

“Where are you going right now?” he asked. I shrugged my shoulders. I really didn’t have a plan and was excited to be hanging out with my friend. Perhaps his stomach was also churning, but I was worried—I had never seen him without his trickster sparkle behind his eyes.

“I’m just heading down town, but if you don’t have any plans, I think you might want to go to Puna,” he looked at me sideways, “and just be careful and remember that the truth is all that matters.” I wondered what he meant by that, but decided that he was right, and after giving him a shoulder hug, I turned around and headed toward Pahoa.

I caught a ride with a local who seemed a bit threatening. He kept asking me if I had any bud as beads of sweat dripped down the side of his face. He was swerving all over the road, tail gating the car in front of us, then hitting his break and cussing. He must have asked me a dozen times if I had any bud, and wondered if he even knew what he was saying. He didn’t turn violent, and let me off in front of the natural food store in Pahoa.

There was a strange air in the town. It seemed haunted a bit although the faces were all familiar from Kehena beach and the town scene. Rasta Randy was selling his incense in front of the Bank of Hawaii next to the Cash N’Carry. I didn’t have any money and decided to sit down at the table and write.

Watch your back

As my pen wrote this in dark scrawling letters, my heart began to beat again faster and I felt a surge of adrenaline as if something were about to go wrong. I knew instinctively to get up and leave—it was time to hide, get out of view. Before I got up, the pen began to write something else.

The Good Shepherd will lay down his life for his flock

The instant it was written, I knew that somehow, this meant that I was going to die.

Voices Chapter 30… Pops Revealed

I walked quickly up the driveway of the Natch and crossed the street next to Rasta Randy. I still had the pen in my hand and decided to go up to the baseball dug outs. I walked up the steps and crossed the field and sat on the far corner of the field. It was curiously empty this day, not even Tim, who was always up there drinking his 40oz or at Cash N’Carry buying a new one.

I sat down on the bench and opened my journal and began to write. As I wrote, the mysterious anxious feeling of terror began to unravel as my mind caught up with the physical uneasy sensations. My body and soul were able to communicate impending doom, yet the feeling was inarticulate, so I used automatic writing, hoping for a clue. I wrote in parables, yet each one pointed to voluntary death of the hero. In one small story, the hero was a mouse who walked up to the mouth of a snake and waited. Although I felt much more like a rat lost in a maze, I wondered if the Snake was waiting for me at the end instead of the cheese. Perhaps my metaphorical cheese would be waiting for me after I had done my job.

Slowly it dawned on me, and although my brain was able to grind the bits of information together coherently for the first time, and the coded message embedded in my nauseous stomach was able to be translated, I was hoping for a happier scenario. Pops was going to kill me.

I thought about my friends and how they all ended up by his side, sitting there with vacant stares, not doing anything with their lives. It was so fun before he came, but now, the darkness of his magnetism held my friends captive. I felt like Atrayu from ‘The Never Ending Story’ and had the mission of saving Fantasia. I felt like Peter Pan and Pops had captured some of The Lost Boys and was trying to make them grow up. I tried to think of a plan to wage war on Pops, or at least rage against the dying of the light. I wrote on a blank piece of paper with heavy strokes, warning that Pops was dangerous.

I had a purpose and walked boldly feeling the fire of Michael beside me. My pen was a sword of Truth there to cut the heart of evil out. All I could do was try to give a true testimony. I walked down to the Natural Food Store, and although there wasn’t anyone I recognized, I showed them all what I had written; a warning to all to avoid the web of Pops. I made eye contact in all seriousness, trying to convey the weight of the information with a look as I handed around my paper.

I must have showed five or six people, and I was surprised to see that they all seemed to listen to me with concern. I was making a difference! I became excited when another hippie guy a little older than me said that he knew of Pops and also had a bad vibe from him. He seemed like a very righteous guy and I wondered if his guardian angel had given him the intuition to see the darkness in Pops.

After I had shown everyone around the Natch my message, I walked out of town and hitched a couple rides to Mackenzie Park. I spent the night there in the lava tube and had some wild dreams about the end of the world. I woke up in pitch darkness with the song, “The End” by the Doors playing in my head so perfectly that I thought it was really playing in the cave somehow. I lay still in the darkness as visions swept through me.

The End. It was a song about me. The Roman Wilderness of Pain was the world and how it had reverted back to the mundane pursuits of materialism, and all the children were insane for following its dark demise. They were waiting for the summer reign, the return of Christ King, or summer rain which would cleanse them. Pops lived on the edge of town where there was danger and I had already ridden the highway west from Pahoa to Kona. Then the song went into images I hadn’t seen or even conceived of. I had heard that Mackenzie Park was part of the Kings Highway, as it snaked to the ancient Green Lake in Kapoho. The snake was 7 miles from Mackenzie. I was astounded at this prophecy. I had read that Jim Morisson was on LSD when he free flowed this song for the first time which led to his discovery in LA. I didn’t know what the “blue bus” in the song referred to, but sensed that it had something to do with Pops and how he had called my friends, the children to join him. He was the driver and was on the road to the darkness of hell…

I climbed out of the cave, wide awake after the song ended, amazed at how hungry I was. I drank the rest of the water from my gallon jug and then walked to the Mackenzie Park entrance. I hitched into town and ran into Rasta Nate, the tattoo artist. He wasn’t the least bit alarmed that I was mute and only wanted to tell his story of how he had messed around with Kelsie, one of the visiting hippie girls, up in the dug outs.

I smiled as he told his story. He seemed animated, and I felt warmed and comforted by the sharing of energy. It was strange as I realized that through the night I had somehow opened up becoming more intuitive yet vulnerable. After a brief pause, I showed him the piece of paper explaining about Pops. He took a quick look at it.

“Woe man,” he said, “Listen I don’t want to get caught up in this drama shit yo, you gotta not involve me in this shit man.” He was shaking his head as he handed it back to me. I nodded, but could tell that he was no longer comfortable around me. The sword had pierced his mind and for a moment he realized that he might not be the center of things, and I sensed that he somehow felt cheated as if I weren’t interested in his story of Kelsie. A sad emptiness engulfed me as he walked back up the stairs to his tattoo shop. I stood there feeling dejected and alone, but it was the hunger in my stomach that growled and brought me back into my own little life. I began to giggle to myself and realized immediately that I was letting a demented sort of self pity run away with my emotions—perhaps I did have a message, but that’s all it was, and I was a dipshit.

In the town center where by the Mexican Restaurant where so many tourists got food poisoning Luquin’s wall, pan handling everyone who passed for beer money. Tim was with them, and decided he could talk to me. His blood shot eyes were friendly, and he asked me if I had a cigarette which I didn’t. I decided to show him the warning.

“Oh, well, I’ll be sure to stay clear of him,” Tim said with innocent confusion, and I wondered if he even knew anything that happened outside of beer money and getting drunk. He gave me a look that I had never seen before, as if for the first time he was wondering who I was. It was strange to see that look which reminded me of the sadness I had seen in Isa’s eyes.

Slow Eyed Steve, a really spacey looking guy around my age with bright blue eyes walked by me, and said, “Hey Grass, what’s up?” He didn’t look at me as he said this, but looked past me as if he were trying to spot a friend in the distance.

I took out my paper and was about to hand it to him when he interrupted me an pushed my hand away.

“I’m not gonna read that Nazi, Gestapo shit man! Why the fuck are you writing this shit man… I know what it says, and it’s bull shit!” I thought it ironic that he had mentioned bull shit because this whole trip had been a product of it. He was smiling at me, but with a bit of malice. I tried to give him a look of intent and calmness, but he told me to “fuck off” and went walking away with his Hornsby in his hand.

Word of Pops must have been getting around by now. I realized that two sides would rise up—those with and those against Pops.

I felt protected by divine forces and after so many years of reading books of martyrs and saints in heaven, I knew that even if I died, I would be rewarded. I thought back to Pops’ and the night when he ate the ounce of Cubensis. He wouldn’t talk about his experience with us, but all through the night I caught glimpses of him crying out in agony, as if he were fighting the Prince and Power of the Air—Lucifer.

It struck me with full force, like a thunder clap of reverberating truth. Without any doubt, I knew it with my being. Just as I had an alliance and agreement with Michael the Arch-Angel, I knew that Pops’ must have made an agreement, or perhaps realized that it was his duty in life to be ruled as a puppet on the strings of Lucifer. It made sense in a way that I couldn’t quite put into words in my mind.

I walked up to the dugouts to write and was surprised to see my drawing not form words but a picture of a mushroom. The picture turned into a metaphor. At the base there was Bull Shit—the very materialistic and thick earthly life, yet out of that grew the stem like a latter into the unseen mysteries. The cap I saw as the heavens or heavenly realm that umbrellas the earth. All parts of the mushroom were necessary, yet seemed to oppose each other. It seemed strange and almost like some sort of cosmic joke to have the divine food growing out of filth.

I thought of how people often said, “Bull Shit” if they suspected something to be false, and, “Holy Cow,” if they were surprised—this couldn’t be coincidence—it just couldn’t. I began to label the different parts of this map of the mystery and walked started to walk down the stairs.

On the way down I ran into Yuka, the self proclaimed Island Thug who called everyone, “Nigguh” and talked like a G. He was walking with two of his cronies, the haole Pahoa High School graduates who were just as vicious as the locals, raised in an environment of scrapping and a clearly defined pecking order.

“Hey Grass, where’s the grass,” Yuka asked shifting his weight from foot to foot and hitting the palm of his hand with a closed fist of the other. He didn’t scare me, but I didn’t want to caught up in a one way conversation, so I didn’t slow my pace as I pattered bare foot down the concrete steps.

“Oh what Grass?—you’re too good to talk to us now?” Yuka asked, but I knew by the way he said it that he had heard I was mute. I was lucky enough not to be harassed too much and they muttered among themselves as they walked up the steps to the dug out.

My mind was racing with all kinds of metaphors about the mushroom being a link from heaven to earth. I went to the bulletin board near Jo Mamma’s and tacked up my diagram of the mushroom. In my mind I saw the town of Pahoa casually walking by and looking at the mushroom, a bit perplexed at first, but then a light going on in their head as they realized the genius in God’s creation of an arrow towards the heavens.

I smiled as I walked through Pahoa, heading toward the Keau-Kalapana highway. It felt as if I were being divinely tickled once again. As I passed by the Pahoa Daggers high school, I felt each breath of moist Hawaiian air resonate meaningfully in my lungs and thought a prayer of thanks to God, which only increased the euphoria I felt.

The pavement was still wet after a heavy dark cloud had showered the town for a few minutes. I looked up and saw that the cloud had moved a couple miles outside the town and was now raining near Lava Tree State Park. It seemed to be looming ominously over the Albezia trees, and I shuddered as a soft gust blew against my cheek. I felt a bit of uneasiness and sensed that something under the cloud was calling me.

As I got to the end of the fence of the Pahoa Daggers High School, I saw a small truck pulled over. An arm out the driver side window was beckoning me. I walked quickly up to the Geo Tracker and opened the passenger door.

“Well hi there, I’m headed down toward Lelani and I saw you smiling so happily and decided I had to pull over an offer you a ride… are you headed that way at all?”

I didn’t really know where I was going—the cloud was over Kapoho, but I decided to accept the ride which was headed down highway 130. I knew the driver was gay—he didn’t have a lisp, but something about the look in his eye and the motions that he made. I didn’t feel threatened, and if anything, I felt he might go out of his way to help me. I nodded my head, which made him frown in confusion for a second, so I pointed to my mouth and shook my head.

“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t know you couldn’t talk… are you alright honey?” He now had the look of a concerned mother, which seemed particularly amusing to me and I beamed a smile and shrugged my shoulders. He shrugged also and sighed, but I could tell he was no longer worried about me.

“You know, I see you walking all over the place—just the other day I was driving through Hilo and saw you walking toward the Walmart and I said to myself, ‘that boy sure does have a positive outlook on life’ and I almost pulled over then, but I was late—are you sure you’re alright?” I nodded, and considered touching his shoulder reassuringly, but decided not to send any message that might excite him.

“Tell you what,” he said pulling off highway 130 near the big water container at the top of the hill, “I haven’t had my dinner yet and I bought a snack—are you hungry?—Good, because I hate eating alone.”

It was true, I was hungry, the gurgling in my stomach had been forgotten, and I was happy to see a vegetarian tofu sandwich from the Natch. He handed it to me and pulled out another one for himself.

“So… you’re name is Grass, right?—you’re one of Aden’s friends?” I nodded, realizing that he was in with the butt boys who toasted their buns on Kehena Beach.

Chapter 32…Omega



Chapter 31… A Burp in the Road

It was dusk as I begin to walk toward Lava Tree State Park. Although the cars passed by hissing as they sprayed mist and grit that gathered on my shins, I was alone in a foreign land. Everything shimmered with energy, but the sense of something ominous awaiting me prevailed, making the beautiful world ominous. Small spiraling floaters crossed my line of vision.

“Keep going, and don’t look back,” Gabriel said. His tone was unusually flat and morose. Although the dark cloud was in front of me, I felt as if the world behind me was unraveling and that if I happened to glance in back of me, I would see a black void. I thought of The Nothing on the Never Ending Story, and my tongue began to move within my mouth. It flipped up and down and I saw transparent energy shooting out in all directions. It was a prayer—clean and uncontaminated with human intention—a prayer in all the tongues of every man who had ever prayed without guile. Though my tongue moved, no sound was uttered. I felt that the purity of the prayer summoned angels and sensed a battle above me in the air. An internal confirmation somehow assured me that I was simultaneously calling out to God in every language at once—I was speaking in tongues silently.

Passed Nanawale on Highway 132 the Albezia trees formed a thick canopy and the dark cloudy sky let little light through the thick foliage above my head. Although I was barefoot, the thick skin on the bottom of my feet felt much like thin leather moccasins. Every ten seconds or so, three or four cars would race by me, and occasionally I would hear a Hawaiian yell out a threatening squeal, but it wasn’t the Hawaiians I was worried about this night.

As I neared the fork in the road trepidation and a mournful woe filled my soul. It felt as if Michael, my faithful guardian had stepped back for a moment to see how I would handle the minions of demons, gnashing their ethereal teeth in front of me. I let a furrow of rage against these invisible foes, as my tongue began to move of its own accord in my mouth. The heavy cloud, along with the feeling of horror lifted, and I let an ecstatic smile cross my face. This experience was under a minute in duration and I had only walked the length of a football field toward Kapoho.

To be continued...