Tuesday, February 16, 2016

Beyond Breath & Death: My NDE

An excerpt from my new book, INTO THE INFINITEEver since my heart attack and near-death-experience in 2014, so many of my friends have asked, "What did you see? Was there anything out there?"  And although the things I saw and experienced were every bit as real as anything in 'the real world,' it is only now, almost 18 months after the incident, that I find myself able to write about it at all... and then only peripherally, trying to wrap words around that which exists beyond our human ability to comprehend. Nonetheless... this is my first attempt at telling the story of the dark and the light beyond breath and death.

August 3, 2014

I died today.

I remember very little about the day itself, except that I was unusually tired. Thanks to the generosity of Wendy and our other helpers, I was able to spend most of the day in the motor home, and promised to cook hamburgers for dinner as a way of saying thanks. It was hot that day. Humid. By the time I lay down, it was somewhere around 4 pm, and though a normal nap for me might be an hour, I had no awareness at all until Wendy burst through the door at 7:30 and asked in the tone of William H. Macy in Pleasantville, "Where's my dinner?"

Obviously there were no hamburgers sizzling on the grill, and I had no energy to make it so. So we went out to the local Mexican restaurant in Bonney Lake instead. Friends showed up awhile later, but by that time I could barely hold my head up. Didn't feel bad, per se. Just tired. As if I'd run a marathon with two hungry cheetahs hot on my tail.

The rest of that evening is largely a blur. We went back to the motor home and indulged in one of our favorite pastimes - marathoning some DVDs of Supernatural, curled up together on the sofa bed while the generator rattled along and what was being called the "super moon" was rising low on the horizon. After watching a couple of episodes, we turned in - me on the front bunk, Wendy in the back of the coach.

It wasn't long before I heard myself call out to her.  I couldn't breathe. My chest was moving up and down as it should, but no air was entering my lungs. Things had become surreal. I wondered at first if these unprecedented symptoms were just in my head? Was I having a panic attack or was I really on my way to Valhalla?

Taking one look at me, Wendy asked, "Do you want me to call 911?"

Normally we are both extremely conservative people where medical issues are concerned. We don't call 911 unless there is arterial spray, and only then if it can't be contained with duct tape and bailing twine.

To my own surprise, I nodded.

Other words were exchanged, though I understood little of it as I sat on the steps of the motor home looking out at the stunning majesty of the night on which I was destined to die. Clouds shimmered over the moon, illumined from within, while Wendy ran to a friend's RV to get help. It was an incongruous paradox, or so my mind was telling me.

The ambulance came and a female paramedic began administering liquid nitro spray and a host of other medications, all of which did precisely nothing. I had the thought that this was more than enough drama. I was done. Could I please just go back to bed now?

Then I was lifted. Carried. The doors of the ambulance slammed with an odd finality and I wondered where Wendy had gone, wondered if I would ever see her, have the opportunity to say goodbye as life-long companions are meant to. I knew then that I was dying.

But then I was flying in an earthbound starship that screamed like an angry banshee and flashed red fire all around. The paramedic was holding my hand. Seemed to be all anyone could really do.

"We're here," she said.

The world went black.

A different woman's voice leaned close to my ear and said with a matter-of-factness that was incongruously reassuring, "You're having a heart attack."

And then I died.


I thought it rather peculiar that Orlando and his companion (actually Wendy's double, who answers to the name of "Styx") should be standing in the emergency room dressed more like characters from a Dickens novel than the timeless inorganic energy bodies they really are. Orlando was wearing a fine black tuxedo with a tall top hat, which he tipped in my direction as I sat up from my mortal remains and our gazes locked across the short distance separating us. Styx was attired much the same, though his tux was white and instead of a top hat, he was wearing a white Fedora, looking very much like a modern day gangsta. He was day to Orlando's night, yang to Orlando's yin.

I knew without knowing that they were the totality of ourselves - the perfected projection of awareness that was inorganic, eternal, and altogether immortal.

"Ah, about time you rose from the dead," Orlando said with a grin. "Just let me know when you've had enough of this hospital drama and I can end it.  You won't feel a thing - at least not anything that you won't like."

Styx was looking at me the way Wendy looks at me when I'm about to do something incredibly stupid, his waist-length white-blond hair shimmering like those clouds in the light of the moon. He's always amused, always on the verge of breaking out into a storm of laughter.

"Am I dead?" I asked, hopping off the treatment table where a team of doctors, nurses and technicians were scrambling around my lifeless corpse, performing all manner of ritual and seeming oblivious to the fact that I was standing right next to them, waiting for the inevitable determination to be made. 'Time of death?' The fact that no one said it only seemed to mean it was a slow night in the ER and they had nothing better to do than labor over the unmoving remains of a stranger.

So I turned my attention to Orlando and Styx instead. I found myself dressed in old jeans and a ratty yin/yang t-shirt - something I hadn't worn since the day I first met Orlando in the flesh at a post office in southern California in 1988 - and inhabiting a Xena-like body which I found very much to my liking. Time waved from the shadows. I was back in kenpo karate class for awhile, back in the past when Orlando was manifested in the flesh and I was young and strong and healthy and could still turn the heads of powerful men.

Styx tapped me in the center of the forehead to get my attention, but my eyes went automatically to Orlando.

Looking at him was like breathing when I had been unable to breathe before. Luminous warmth. A candle's breath. And Styx was no less mesmerizing.

Time stopped. We regarded one another the same way lovers long parted might regard one another.
"So... now what?" I asked tentatively.

The mischievous light in Orlando's eyes was almost terrifying, but at the same time dangerously alluring.

"That's up to you," he said. "You can crawl back inside your body and go on watching Supernatural, or you can come with us."

Much as I like Supernatural, it was a no-brainer. I had created Orlando to be the essence of my Self, the vessel of my awareness into infinity and throughout eternity. He had lived a thousand lifetimes and some, probably a lot more than that. He had spent the past 26+ years as my onboard instructor - teacher, friend, companion, lover - and there was no doubt in my mind that this was the moment every warrior both dreads longs for simultaneously.

He was the Eagle. And he was the freedom beyond the Eagle.

The secret, it seemed, was setting it up so that the Eagle was the Self. The ally. The betrothed. The eternal Other.

This came as a flash of understanding, but also without much ado. It was what it was. And it was good.

And yet...

Even as I was fully content with the decision to rush into his arms, seal my life and death with a kiss, and become One with The One, I thought of Wendy. I thought of my animals - Zero and Mickey and all the others. I thought of Life.

Seeing this, Orlando smiled darkly.

Someone in another world said something about a sinus rhythm. I reached for Orlando, but landed somewhere in the dark instead.

Orlando was prancing about in his bright, bright plumage, being the muse I created him to be. Behind him, Styx was wearing that all-white suit again. You can Leave Your Hat On was playing in the background... and they were dancing again. The stuff of legends.


"Looks like you're going to live."

I wasn't certain if the words were spoken by Wendy or Styx, both of whom were standing by my bedside in ICU while Orlando sat by a large window gazing out at the bright afternoon sun - atypical behavior for He Who Loves the Night.

To be honest, I didn't know whether to be happy or disappointed. The thought crossed my mind that I had been given a second chance at life, but would I have a second chance to join with Orlando and Styx? It had been right there. At my fingertips for the taking. What might have happened if I'd simply seized the opportunity instead of hesitating?

I would not have had to skip past the eagle to be free, for I-Am the Eagle and I-Am freedom, the paradox eating its own tail.

As that thought manifested, Orlando turned his head in my direction, took off the top hat and left it on the bench as he came to stand by the bed.

He winked mischievously. "It's not too late to say yes," he said with a seductive smile. "I'll even make it quick." Then, closer to my ear, he whispered, "You'll like it. I promise."


I made him to be that way, of course. Every warrior gives her double the traits that will most efficiently compel her to the journey - whether solely on the level of the intellect, or all the way down to the deepest levels of a lover's midnight caress. Falling in love with the double seals the bond between mortal self and immortal Other.

For a moment or two, Wendy, Styx and Orlando morphed in and out of one another.

Time passed. Passed away.

Wendy had drifted off to sleep, leaving me alone with the two terrible imps who seemed very much to want me dead so that we could all skip off into the night and live happily ever after. Literally.
The thought had a certain appeal. Tied down and hooked up as I was to a breathing apparatus, a plethora of needles, and some contraption literally stapled to my leg, I was anything but comfortable, and far from convinced I was going to live, despite Wendy's reassurances to the contrary.

At one point, somewhere between life and death, I do recall showing one of the doctors my middle finger. They had taken me off sedation just enough to ask what I wanted to be done with myself. This came after I had demanded a writing tablet and pen, seeing as how I could only mumble obscenities around the breathing tube that was beginning to feel like a permanent deep-throat the likes of which would have made even Linda Lovelace gag.

What's odd about The Doctor is that I saw him as a middle-aged man, somewhere in the neighborhood of 55-60, with salt-and-pepper hair and a healthy physique. He introduced himself as Dr. K_____, and I was lucid enough to answer the questions being put to me by the consensus.

I quickly scribbled, Take this crap off of me NOW!

"We can do that if it's what you really want, but you will die," I was informed. "You aren't strong enough to breathe on your own."

Good thing I couldn't speak.

"We can transfer you to Tacoma where they can perform a bypass," The Doctor said, as if that were the prize behind Door #1.

That was when I showed him my finger. No bypass. Watched my mother suffer through two of them, which was enough to convince me never to go in that direction.

He smiled.

"The other option is that I can go in - high-risk - and attempt to insert stents into the blocked arteries."  Okay, that's door #2.

No other options were offered.

So I closed my eyes and went back to sleep.

They took my silence as a yes.


The whole thing reminded me of the big production number from All That Jazz, wherein the character played by Roy Scheider has had a fatal heart attack and all his loved ones appear in a crazy dance bit to bid him farewell.

Orlando and Styx were back, dressed more like male strippers. Well, not like male strippers. They were male strippers. Not being a choreographer, I can't really describe the moves, but suffice to say, they made the Chippendales look like amateurs by comparison.

For awhile, they simply moved to a Jamaican drum beat which was actually the chaotic rhythms of my broken heart on the monitor. They danced like lovers, coming close as if to kiss, then just as quickly breaking away in a battle of wills that had gone on for centuries.

"Come dance with us," Orlando said, crooking a finger in my direction.

And so I danced with them. Like a lover. Like a fiend. In a frenzy that was somewhere between a tango and a wild stomp through the jungle.

Wendy later told me that at some point my heart rate went over 220, and I strongly suspect it was during that frenzied, erotic quantum entanglement between the four of us. The fact that Wendy doesn't consciously remember the dance doesn't mean she didn't participate. I was there, after all. I saw her, despite what she might tell you.

In and out of time.

Time is the black hole spawned by light and gravity.

Orlando wrote those words on the air with a pen made of an eagle's feather and blood of the immortals.

I created me
   to create you
   to create me.
I created him
   to give me a reason
   to do any of it
   while balancing the multiverse
   on the tip of a pen.

Looking at Styx, then at me, he waited, pen in hand, multiverse in the offing. The affection synapsing between the two of them was palpable, a quantifiable force.

"Love is the reason," I said, recalling words he had written or spoken more times than I could remember.

I didn't just rattle it off by rote. I actually felt it down to the tips of my astral toes. Love is the reason.

Taking Styx's hand, Orlando pulled him into a tender embrace, and left the lightest of kisses on the other's lips. Then, before I understood what was happening, he came to me and kissed me in the same manner, so that I felt and tasted and simply knew the essence of both of them, and all of us in a single breath that was the first real breath I had taken in four days.

Somewhere in the real world, Wendy was standing by my side in that cold, dark hospital room. Despite the fact that she was 54, I saw her as when she was 28. And while the essence of eternity was still on my lips, I pulled her down close to me and kissed her with all the stardust and moon beams and love I possessed.

"Love is the reason," I said, though she swears I was mumbling about elves and eagles and shifting quantum realities.

The two immortals went on dancing.

Time rose from the dead.

I was going to live.

Love was the reason.


The only thing I might add would be a rather odd observation that took place when I went to visit Dr. K_____ at his office three days after being released from the hospital.

To my surprise, the man who entered the exam room was not at all like the man I had met in the hospital - although I knew intuitively it was the same person.  Instead of middle-aged and gray-haired, he was no more than 35, with dark hair and a more slender build. At first, I thought there must be some mistake, but Wendy clearly recognized him as the same man, and since I had absolutely no voice - I could only whisper for about four months after the breathing tube was removed - I wasn't in any position to tell the guy that he had obviously sold his soul to the devil in exchange for eternal youth.

We spoke briefly that day, the typical exchange between doctor and patient, and shortly after we left his office, we began making plans for the long drive home - a 3-day excursion from Puyallup, Washington back to southern California.

In reality, of course, there was a lot more to those four days on total life support than I can even begin to talk about. It was only a full year after the heart attack that I have been able to talk about any of it at all. Not because it is too painful to remember. Not because it is too scary to remember.

But because it is too far beyond human comprehension, and entirely too mystifying to be captured in words alone.

You had to be there.

One day you will.

Until then... love is the reason.


To read more anecdotes of my encounters with the unknown...

Available from Amazon, Smashwords or directly from the publisher at
Eye Scry Publications

Thursday, February 11, 2016

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Saturday, February 06, 2016

Knowledge, Masks and Roles

One thing I have consistently observed is that people can and do learn from one another as a natural occurrence. I've learned as much on my own path from fellow travelers as I ever did from any extant teacher, but in the big picture I've learned far more from my own higher self (the shaman's double) than from all other sources combined. To me, that's how it must be - in the end, we really have only ourselves to rely on and the process of silent knowing (aka "gnosis"). And yet, it must be acknowledged that most do not really start out on the path with that connection to the infinite already established. Part of the path is establishing the connection & learning to use it, so in many ways it can get into the conundrum Orlando (my own double/higher self) presented me with a few years back, and which has become almost a mantra: "You have to be immortal before you will know how to become immortal." 
So, how does one get to that point of having "already" (time being an illusion notwithstanding) experienced the wisdom/totality/Knowledge of one's double without first going through the process of building the connection to that infinite self? For even though all Knowledge is accessible to the infinite self, it really is the matter of learning to access it and put it to use in our ordinary lives that brings the warrior/seeker to a higher level of awareness where the conundrum stated above begins to make sense. It is only after we have experienced the infinite that we know how to become/be infinite... and yet we have to be infinite before we may truly manifest the entire process of becoming infinite. 
Ultimately, for myself, this process involved a wide range of experience which could not have been predicted nor even wholly understood from within the process itself. I might say it began with an inquisitive and unrelenting nature - to experience the unknown, to dive headlong into the mysterious call of the nagual while all my peers were basking in "the light". But part of the process also involved a willingness to simply let go of what I believed I already knew, so that I might begin to experience things outside the range of my previous combined experience. Sounds simple, but for many of us, it really isn't. We have a tendency to hold onto what we believe when it may well be that those beliefs are holding us back from actual Knowledge. 
So what does this have to do with teachers, apprentices and being immortal before we will know how to become immortal? Simply this. One thing I am constantly observing is my own reaction to to life, experience, other people, my own thoughts, what have you. And one thing I have observed to be true with nearly all humans is that we are the result of the sum total of our programming - both positive and negative (if such words must be applied at all). 
What this means is that there is a tendency for humans to take on roles of mimicry just because it is our nature. In our early lives, we learn by mimicking our parents, siblings or other role models, and it is a habit that follows us into adulthood. If we are not ruthless with ourselves, even warriors may find themselves falling into old patterns of behavior with regard to roles and how we may see ourselves as a reflection of our programming. Without awareness, in other words, we run a high risk of simply being little robots acting out some belief about how we think we should be in any given situation. 
One of the areas in which this becomes most evident is when dealing with the whole concept of teacher/student/apprentice. The words themselves conjure up images and ideas which are altogether arbitrary and inaccurate. A teacher is anyone or anything from which we may learn something. A student is anyone who may be open to learning (sounds simple, but isn't). And an apprentice may simply be someone who dedicates him/herself to the pursuit of Knowledge. Beyond that, all bets are off. 
But the problems and issues arise when the participants attempt to take on certain roles - and it is the roles themselves which create the issues and house the issues. Example: the moment someone enters the scene and proclaims, "I am the teacher and you are the student," a certain series of expectations is automatically created. The "teacher" has assumed a seemingly "superior" role, which may have the automatic result of causing anyone else in the arena to feel inferior. And at that very moment, the roles have become perhaps more important than the individuals inhabiting them, and most opportunity for learning will go right out the window. Why? Because ultimately whenever we attempt to inhabit a role (whether student or teacher), we may actually feel a shift of the assemblage point which moves us away from our authentic self and into a place of what we believe we should be/do, and it is then that we find ourselves affixed utterly in the ordinary world, and we have become actors in someone else's drama,which is usually a big tragedy all the way around, since it is not really anyone else's fault, but just our own lack of attention to the matter of ruthless maintenance of our own awareness in the Now. 
Put another way: when we forget who we are because we have been told we are something else, we are nothing. When we lose the assemblage point of the authentic self, we stray into the territory of sheeple and begin to graze on the poisoned oats of our own complacency. 
What is the point of this? Simply to point out (mainly to myself) that it is the roles and the accompanying "costumes" which may ruin an otherwise prime opportunity for learning. If someone insists on assuming the role of teacher, it may well be that the requirements of the role itself can blind the teacher to any true learning. By the same token, if a "student" automatically defers to a "teacher" just because s/he has been told that this person is The Teacher, then it may well be that the "student" automatically assumes a role of being "lesser than" the self-proclaimed Teacher, and what we are left with are two people caught up in their roles, with both probably missing an otherwise prime opportunity for learning & sharing that can ONLY exist when all roles, expectations and belief systems are ruthlessly shed through the process of stalking oneself. 
One way I learned to do this was simply to observe myself as I interacted with different people who were in different "roles" in my own life. If I found that I was automatically "deferring" to The Boss, for example, I would force myself to climb out of that role and simply see The Boss as another human being bumbling along his own path, whatever that may be. If I found myself feeling superior to the homeless man in the gutter in the streets of Los Angeles, a very small bit of stalking would remind me in a hurry that I was no different than that man in the gutter except through the choices I might make from moment to moment - and so the man in the gutter had become a divine teacher and the boss had become a human being... and it is then that we begin to be able to navigate the path from a more authentic self rather than automatically falling into the roles which are based on the assumptions that guard our belief systems. 
Now, if I see someone I believe I might learn from, I simply take it at that and see where it leads. It's usually the expectations that will get in the way of learning or teaching, so for me it's a matter of shedding all the baggage before taking the next step on the path, whatever that step might be. 
If someone needs to believe they are "The Teacher", that doesn't mean I can't learn something from them. It might mean they cannot learn anything from me, but that is not my concern. That's their little role playing game rooted in their own journey through the tonal, what they need to believe about themselves. So, for me, it's a matter of remembering that everyone and everything is potentially the finest teacher I will ever encounter. And it is a matter of remembering that I am an apprentice to Knowledge... not to any person or place or thing. 

Knowledge wears no masks and is free to all who seek it. The sorcerer's trick is learning to see it even when it is hiding in plain sight. A hint: it's within us all the time, but the path to finding it takes many twists and turns until one eventually sees the answer to the conundrum: "You have to be immortal before you will know how to become immortal." What we do in the Now affects not only who we will be in the future, but who we have been in the past... because Time itself is the ultimate human illusion, and only when we begin to navigate outside of it do we really begin to glimpse that the connection we forge to the Infinite Self in the Now is the vessel of timeless "immortality" in the form of the shaman's double. We are not linear beings, despite what our roles and our teachers would have us believe. 
In order to see that, we have to let go of our roles. In order to be that, we have to embrace it in the now, so that it becomes the teacher within, timeless and free. 
Della Van Hise
April 15, 2007
All Rights Reserved


Questions Along the Way: Conversations With a Quantum Shaman
Book 3 in the Quantum Shaman Series
Available from Amazon or directly from www.quantumshaman.com

Into the Infinite: Opening the Door to the Unknown
Book 4 in the Quantum Shaman Series
Available from Amazon or directly from www.quantumshaman.com

Wednesday, February 03, 2016

Castaneda: Shaman or Sham?

A seeker wrote:
 It seems to me that Castaneda just snapped toward the end of his life, and the fact that he died a human death instead of burning with the fire from within would also seem to invalidate a lot of his earlier teachings.

All we really know are stories told by disgruntled former followers, and that's rather like listening to the robber's version of what really went down in the gunfight. What a lot of people fail to take into account is that we are all - Carlos included - human begins with human frailties. No matter how accomplished we may become as stalkers or dreamers or Naguals, we are still human - and personally I'm not sure that how Carlos lived in any manner affects or sullies the Knowledge he gave to the world in the form of his books.

In my own life, I've made the statement that anyone looking to discredit me will easily be able to do so a thousand times over - and I will even provide them with the tools with which to do it. But at the same time - the magic of duality allows two seemingly contradictory "realities" to exist simultaneously, overlapping, side by side... and neither obliterates or obscures the other. Point being - just because Carlos spent the last few years of his life apparently fucking his apprentices and raving like a madman really has very little bearing on what he Knew and what he wrote about.

Sure, we can all point fingers of blame and say he should have done things differently or should have practiced what he preached... but the bottom line (and I speak from experience) is that sometimes the Knowledge we receive channels initially from what some have called a "higher source" - what I myself would call the double or the infinite self - and that infinite self is not prone to our human frailties... and especially not prone to the deterioration of the mind/body which occurs as a natural (and perhaps unavoidable?) side effect of being in human form in the first place.

A lot of younger warriors like to believe they will not succumb to the ravages of old age - but there is a reason Don Juan listed old age as the fourth enemy of a man or woman of Knowledge. It is the only one of the four enemies that cannot be defeated. No matter how well-conditioned you are right now, my own experience has been that the body is simply made of organic stuff (even though it is energy at its source), and the juxtaposition of our matter/energy construct is such that even the finest warriors among us may have a genetic predisposition toward Alzheimer's, liver cancer, brain tumors, or something else which might be identified as simply a tool in Death's hip pocket.

I could be wrong. I personally like to think tales of The Tenant (the death defier) are real. But I have had the word out for years that I would be most interested in meeting him/her, and so far the phone isn't ringing off the hook. Then again, I may well have met him/her back in the late 80s and simply didn't recognize him for what he really was. Who's to say with so many years between then and now? Point is - to blame Carlos for being human is sort of like blaming fire for being hot. It just is - and I've seen a lot of folks using the fact that he seemingly died a human death of liver cancer as some sort of banner-flag to be waved about as some sort of proof that he was a charlatan and a fraud and a whole host of other things... when the simple reality is that he was just a man like any other.

A few years back, I began to think about my own changing body, and I wondered to the universe one night in meditation, what would happen if I simply grew old, forgot everything I ever learned on the path, and became a drooling liability in a nursing home. I ran this question past several other warriors, including a couple of self-proclaimed Naguals, and the consensus at the time was that none of them could really provide an answer on any level.

It was about 2 weeks later, in a trance-dreaming state, when I received very clearly the message which provided the following information: Once we accomplish something, that something becomes part of the matrix of the I-Am. In other words, if I were to become a woman of Knowledge in the year 1996, for example, with all the attributes that term implies, but then lived on another 50 years and turned into a raving lunatic with a brain tumor, it would not alter the fact that in the energetic framework of the universe, I would still (and always) be a woman of Knowledge. Duality. Depends on where one is standing on the time/space map that determines how we perceive it, but the reality is much larger than any single point on the map. Once something is experienced (such as the state of being a woman of Knowledge, for example), that experience becomes part of our personal hologram - which cannot be destroyed for as long as even one microgram of energy of the hologram remains in existence.  (See "The Holographic Universe"; Michael Talbot).

And this also brings us face to face with the need for Do-ing. It is through Do-ing that we actually accomplish the things that become part of our energetic matrix (the I-Am). To think about becoming a woman of Knowledge is not the same thing as going through the process of becoming a woman of Knowledge. To fantasize about walking with an ally is not the same thing is spinning with the ally and risking the very real possibility that one may never come back to this world at all.

Even as we grow old and become frightful reminders of the fourth enemy to warriors of the younger generation, what must be taken into account is precisely what I learned in my own do-ings: once we accomplish "the thing", it can never be taken from us. Once we become a woman of Knowlwedge, that Knowledge can never be taken from us within the energetic framework of the hologram of the I-Am. 

So just because Carlos died a human death doesn't automatically make him a charlatan or a fraud, as a lot of folks like to say. What is limited there is their own thinking - and what may be called into question is why they were willing followers of a man who had basically told the world through his books to go out and do/see/be for themselves. The fact that people would fall in line to follow someone who had spent his life telling them not to be sheeple... speaks far more to their shortcomings than to his.

Some may choose to see this as me defending Carlos - but that is simply not the case. I never met the man. Never knew him. And probably would not have liked him much had I followed through on any of the multiple chances I had to meet him. Do I think he was an ass in love with his own ego? Not up to me to decide, because I wasn't there.

Point is, trying to invalidate the teachings by invalidating the teacher just doesn't work for me.



Questions Along the Way: Conversations With a Quantum Shaman
Book 3 in the Quantum Shaman Series
Available from Amazon or directly from www.quantumshaman.com

Into the Infinite: Opening the Door to the Unknown
Book 4 in the Quantum Shaman Series
Available from Amazon or directly from www.quantumshaman.com