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Salt Lake City 1987:

I flew to Utah. The snow was dense at the meditation retreat...

It was time to walk nowhere to move nowhere....

I was peeling the thick onion layers:

Fleeting thoughts and deep physical pain, physical pain and then errupting emotions.

The bottom part of my body felt extremely weak like shakey jello. My tired knees and feet also felt wobbily.

Powerful sexual urges were opening up. It was difficult to keep this sitting marathon up much longer. I did feel looser though after a good hard cry, but I also felt somewhat distant from the nearby meditation group.


Good! Good!

That felt better.

11:48 AM

Now the long sittings were becoming more interesting and they were moving at a much faster clip. This was a good sign.

I was becoming more sensitive as I continued plunging deeper and deeper into the psychic geology.

More dense thoughts flooded in.

My knees were really hurting too.

1:16 PM

After my fourth sitting on the fifth day....

The vipassana machine just generated wonders. I was beginning to see patterns. The environment was all important.


Doing yoga, hearing the bells, having personal safety, proper room temperature, noble silence, tasty fruit, and a luxurious feeling all helped a person to then plunge into the necessary meditative groove for starting up this curious vipassana machine.

Different kinds of psychic voyages had different kinds of psychic wave-lengths so you needed to fine-tune more.

Even a bastardized version of vipassana generated a decent altered state of consciousness for inducing even more creativity. Subtler micro-moments and eternal Samadhi were for the big masters and real sunnyasins, however.

Time was flying!

Too bad it took so much time to get into the right groove.

Ah, well....

One just couldn't plunge into this mind stuff without some preliminary experience.

There was no time for these micro-moments. Some other time, perhaps.

Ear-plugs and night-shades helped with the fine-tuning. Better fine-tuning, then allowed for more field penetration. Fields could be easily disrupted. This I had learned at Esalen. That's how I consciously and unconsciously kept the meditation group hostage.

I finally got close personal attention when the meditation leader got angry and told me to show up for all the sittings or for none of them.

My thoughts began to flow better after I had gotten rid of some heavy emotional garbage.

The yoga certainly helped.

It was becoming a little embarrassing as I started to read people's minds.

We were now past the half-way mark. Four more sittings to go. My knees were getting weak. That's probably why there was so much walking.

How the hell did one turn off this machine?

It was like an excavation gone wild.

It was better to just meditate on that. Maybe a walk in the snow would help.

The mind did indeed act like a stupid machine. I guess that's why real consciousness was so much more organic. The deeper you went, the more murky and more erratic it got.

It was mind as a silly robot going around in dense circles within this irrational maelstrom.

There were two different types of circular motion. One was repetitive and static. The other was morphogenetic and organic.

I needed to slow-down and be non-linear.


There went the bell....up to the meditation room I went with the sunyasin seven.

I was tiring. The thought stream was lessening now. I did see two weird things, though. The president was now dead and this strange old man was a channel. But who was controlling the channel? Damned if I knew. Some alien civilization, perhaps.

Speaking of Zazen. I could see why benches made a difference. My bench was too bulky. A new one, I found here was small and narrow. Just right for my legs. They touched my heels more closely and this steadied me and improved my concentration.

Why was there an air humidifier in the room?

Oy vey....

One more sitting before dinner.

I noticed this....

There were about six major thought streams per meditation session. As one thought stream popped up, it got coded and stacked in that very order. Like airplanes waiting to land at a busy airport.


The components for a theory of creativity were coming together: there was this mind flow and the vipassana machine tapped it.

I was very excited.

I saw an impending systematization of this oriental nuero-science in America someday. All Third Wave organizations would eventually demand oriental nuero-sciences in the near future.

Info-mining was only the first step towards finding these creative solutions for our most pressing collective problems.

What was also needed was insight-synthesizing and this was done by mining the brain with this vipassana machine. However, a human value-shift would be critical for vipassana to really make a difference. Beyond raw information of course.

My mind seemed clearer now. Ideas were being integrated much faster. Now that the crucial transition into vipassana has been finally achieved. I guess emotional blocks precluded this.


There went the bell for dinner. We had gourmet veggie meals. A reality sandwich, anyone?

I walked silently in the snow.

The seventh sitting: my mind just got tired of itself and I decided to tune into the fireplace. I swiftly floated away and listened to my slower breathing....

Whenever I did this, tight body pains became unmasked. In my stiff toes, in my tired knees, behind my hot ears. Suddenly a warm surge of energy shot up my spine and it felt absolutely blissful.

RADIO VIPASSANA was now revving up for fine-tuning into these more subtler realms. The dead heavy machine was gone and my mind had become this neat recieving device.

My roommate who talked in his labored sleep was tossing and turning all night. He finally left the room. Poor fellow. Probably couldn't handle returning to reality. I kept hearing voices inside my head:

Discover yourself. Identify yourself....

Gee, that's what I was trying to do.

Seattle 1987:


What a mighty city. I met a strange woman here. She had pictures of this Indian guru everywhere in her house. Even inside the bathroom. Who was this mysterious Babaji? This was the first lady I had ever known that seemed to have some kind of daily spiritual practice. Was this a leaf in the wind?

The tired earth was shaking me. I looked at the cool harbor waters of Seattle and started to pack up the cabin in my unquiet mind.

Reagan was under this Iran-Contra siege in Washington. The long war between Iran and Iraq kept on grinding away. I knew sheer hell was waiting for me in San Diego. I just could not shake away this creepy feeling. I knew instinctively that a turning point was now near.

Malibu 1987:

Malibu. I was house-sitting. My life was in turmoil. My Dad had cancer and he refused to have an operation. This would be the beginning of three years of total madness.

It was here that I got turned onto technical market analysis. Also a strange thing called Elliot Wave. This and other technical indicators would be the supreme pathway towards fifty grand wins in only just weeks.

But I was also badly looking for a spiritual exit. I would continue to seek needed spiritual sanctuaries in the years ahead.

I would study tantra, vipassana, kabbalah, Jungian psychotherapy, ayurveda, holistic healing, and Tibetan Buddhism. I would look for the ever elusive Babaji and make my first crude altar. I would also visit Yogananda's seaside ashram with my Dad.

But in the end all would simply be lost. By 1989 the Cold War would be a mere memory. The fall of the wall would signal the end of the Soviet Union. I would also meet the Dalai Lama in Los Angeles. I would have sweet dakini dreams.

My Dad would almost destroy his business and ultimately be buried in Israel. Yet he would also have his own spiritual pilgrimage before leaving his body and even meet Sai Baba in India and do a Vipassana retreat.

I would eventually abandon Southern California with just five hundred Dollars and my trusty Honda in order to start a ten year spiritual pilgrimage that would take me twice to Eurasia and all over the state of California and even on to Arizona.

It would be a grand epic.

Swami Asitananda, Rabbi Rice, pious Catholic monks the mysterious Hopi Indians and these very great Buddhist masters would all be waiting for me in swift succession.

But that was all still far in the unknown future. Now I was looking at the stupid Iran-contra hearings on TV and driving on the dangerous streets of LA.

The foamy Malibu surf beckoned and I was far from free....

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The following comments are for "The First INNER Plunge Pt.3"
by gamblerman

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