[ . . . . ]
This is the way to put it: “What do you have to do to enter the Kingdom of Heaven?” and then the list which follows conforms to the list one would draw, in sequence, of what I experienced, back before that, too, to the distress—lost—period which ran on months if not years. What I went through both bad (before 3-74) and good (3-74 on) had to be gone through, like an enormous spiritual transcendental car wash—a human being refurbishing system, so complex as to beggar description, beginning with the drama of the flying monsters with horses’ necks (dragons) and then picking up in distinctness with the chromatic flash-cut graphics, the latter night being, if any section can be so said to be, the moment when the Spirit began to pour out onto and into me. The beginning, in other words, of the New. Up to then it had been nothing but various aspects of me perishing-dying. The rebirth began with the graphics; the turning-point in the parabolic orbit has begun. I was re-entering life, as new life re-entered me: “from above.” The thing about all this is that if it is said to me, severely, “You have to do (experience, go through) a lot to enter the Kingdom of Heaven; you can’t do it like you are; you’ve got to be very much changed, and receive the Spirit,” etc. I can say, “I know.” (Or I think I know. I hope I know. I hope I don’t just have hubris about this. I hope I’m not boasting. If I am I’m sorry.) I think, though, really, what is convincing about it when I view it objectively is that, remembering back, I was genuinely broken down, stripped down, torn down to my skeletal plating, like an insect who has woven a cocoon, rebuilding processes, all adventitious to me, improving and teaching me, altering me—well, the “possession” part alone remade me in the most fundamental way indeed—and clearly as completely remaking me as can be conceived.
(1) I believed I was someone else.
(2) From another time period.
(3) Dead centuries ago and reborn.
(4) A holy Christian person.
(5) I spoke Attic Greek somewhat and remembered Rome.
(6) I wanted a new name and trimmed my beard.
(7) All my interests and habits changed—instantly.
(8) My linguistic idiosyncracies altered permanently.
(9) Even the way I margined my pages changed.
(10) I wrote people I’d never written before.
(11) I joined religious organizations I’d never heard of.
(12) All my political alliances of a lifetime changed totally.
(13) I called cats “she” and dogs “he.”
Ergo: He who was alive died, and someone else lives now in me, replacing me.
(14) I talk to and am talked to by God.
Well, what more can you ask out of a transformed person? I know the future and things beyond my senses, but I’ll skip that because I am not sure if that counts.
(15) I stopped drinking wine and drank beer.
(16) I knew that aerosol sprays were lethal; likewise cigarettes.
(17) I could discern evil and could tell what was true.
(18) My spelling is unchanged. (To give some continuity.)
(19) I recovered from most of my quasi-physical ailments.
(20) Most of my time since I spend studying theology.
(21) The level of my intelligence is increased—this includes reading retention, speed, and abstract thinking.
(22) My depth perception is improved.
(23) Mental operations which baffled me are now easy (i.e., mental blocks now seem gone).
(24) My psychological projections are withdrawn.
The only problem is, I am in no customary sense—maybe in no sense whatsoever—spiritualized or exalted. In fact I seem even more mean and irascible than before. True, I do not hit anybody, but my language remains gunjy and I am crabby and domineering; my personality defects are unaltered. In the accepted sense I am not a better person. I may be healthier (maybe not that; vide the blood pressure). But I am not a good person, even though my emotions and moods are better under control. Maybe I just have a long way to go, yet.
(1975)
Mark 4:11 says that the parables were intended to confuse and not inform everyone except the disciples, the latter understanding the esoteric meaning, the outsiders getting only the exoteric meaning which would fail to save them; this was especially true regarding parables about the approaching Kingdom of God. I keep forgetting this. How much of the real inner meaning has come down to us? The written gospels record probably mostly the exoteric parable meanings, not the inner core. Whether we like it or not, it is there in Mark (if not elsewhere), and this favors the view of an elect within the body of mankind. At least so far as Jesus went. Maybe now there is a Third Covenant which will include all creation or anyhow all men. I am thinking in particular of the grain of wheat sown into the ground to rise again, a mystery theme common to Greek mystery religions; in fact evidently the basic one. What it really means—to know this—enables the hearer to achieve what is achieved: eternal life. The how is contained, as well as the what. I think that in 3-74, at the height of despair and fear and grieving I stumbled into the Kingdom, stumbled around for a while and then stumbled back out, none the wiser as to how I got there, barely aware of where I had been, and no idea as to how I stumbled out, and seeking always to find my way back ever since. Shucks. Drat. If it wasn’t the Kingdom I don’t know what it could be, with its bells and the lady singing and the void, with the trash in the gutter glowing, and the golden rectangle doorway with the sea and figure beyond, and the moonlight. There were people living there, especially the lady. It was all alive. It had personality. It explained everything to me. Now I don’t see or understand anything. At that time I could even remember back to my origins. My real origins: the stars. What am I doing here? I forget, but I knew once. Amnesia has returned; the veil has fallen, back where it was. The divine faculties are occluded as before. Obviously I didn’t accomplish it; I was given it, since I don’t know how to find it again. “Man is not as wise as some stones, which in the dark, point toward their homes.” My soul, sunk down in ignorance again. Blind & deaf. Ensnared by gross matter, limited. The long dark night of the soul is a lousy place to be.
Heraclitus says the Logos can be heard. My goodness.
(1975)
I am thinking back. Sitting with my eyes shut I am listening to “Strawberry Fields.” I get up. I open my eyes because the lyrics speak of “Going through life with eyes closed.” I look toward the window. Light blinds me; my head suddenly aches. My eyes close and I see that strange strawberry ice cream pink. At the same instant knowledge is transferred to me. I go into the bedroom where Tessa is changing Chrissy[44] and I recite what has been conveyed to me: that he has an undetected birth defect and must be taken to the doctor at once and scheduled for surgery. This turns out to be true.[45]
What happened? What communicated with me? I could read and understand the secret messages “embedded within the interior bulk.” I have been placed under God’s protection. The advocate now represents me. I hear a far off quiet voice that is not a human voice; it-she-comforts me. In the dark of the night she tells me that “St. Sophia is going to be born again; she was not acceptable before.” A voice barely audible in my head. Later she tells me she is a “tutelary spirit,” and I don’t know what that word means. Tutor? I look it up. It means “Guardian.”
I dream that “Elias” is sunk in despair were I not to turn the Monopoly play money and gold watch I found over to the Mexicans in Placentia. Who is Elias? I look it up. It is the Greek form for Elijah. Monopoly money-gold watch. Code—capitalism. Why should Elijah despair if I fail to return the watch and money to their proper owners? What is at stake here? After I give the watch and money to the Mexicans I realize they came from them in the first place. I go outdoors & no longer need hide from or be afraid of the cops.
Will I ever know why what I did was important? For several years I had sensed divine forces secretly at work guiding, protecting & helping me. But in 3-74 I saw them. So previously I had been right. My meeting Tessa—Christo
pher’s birth. The secret sacraments I performed, hiding them—him?—from the Romans.
Ich weiss. [I know.]
My work ist getan [is done]. I never need fear again: Because the work was brought to successful completion. There is no need to hide. They were looking for X,[46] but did not find it. X got into print and on synch schedule. Alleluja! Marenatha!
Really, secretly, I know. The Revolution was a success. There was no way they could keep X from corning into print on schedule. “Nats” “Pol”—AMORC[47] code words. The Knights Templar on the march against the man hiding in the darkness inside the building. Sentences to death. The wise old king had passed judgment.
I saw the final days. Time fulfilled itself. We are safe now from the world, which has been overcome. I got to see God as he really is, & I saw what we are like. “We shall be like him” 1 JN[48] 3:2
(1977)
Pain is the good which most effectively keeps me alive. & it is good that I am alive. This pain, my pain, but not pain as such, is good. Due to something in my DNA nature, if I felt pleasure I would give up the process & die. Pain is the most economical drive to keep me going, and the dialectic process must conserve its energy.
This is the way I am, and in total knowledge God knew that this was the best way for me. Reality for me is painful—must be and always will be—but (that) reality is good; all realities are good. God does not err. His decision is always right. Therefore it follows from this premise that even if reality is necessary and painful it is always good.
(c. 1978)
Oh God, I am so weary of this lonely world! Can’t I find my way back? Its power reasserted itself, its power to compel me to see it & live in it but knowing & remembering. We were so happy preparing for the return of God! & then we fell asleep—bewitched— Klingsor & his castle of iron. Libera me, Domine! [Release me, Lord!]
(July 1978)
Yes, it was a mercy to me—I went over the brink into psychosis in ‘70 when Nancy did what she did to me[49]—in 73 or so I tried to come back to having an ego, but it was too fragile & there were too many financial & other pressures; the hit on my house & all the terrors of 1971 had left their mark—& so, esp[.] because of the IRS matter suffered total psychosis in 3-74, was taken over by one or more archetype. Poverty, family responsibility (a new baby) did it. & fear of the IRS.
Only now, as I become for the first time in my life financially secure, am I becoming sane. Free of psychotic anxiety (R. Crumb’s case is very instructive),[50] & career-wise I am doing so well: I am at least experience genuine satisfaction (e.g. my car, my novels, my stereo, my friendship with K.W.[51]) & there is far less responsibility on my shoulders. Also, my accomplishments last year-traveling, being with Joan[52]—did wonders for my psychological health. I learned to say no, & I conquered most of my phobias. I think they lessened as I learned to enjoy living alone for the first time in my life. & the therapy at Ben Rush Center helped.
But I think that when all else failed & external pressures & inner fears drove me into psychosis, God placed me under his personal protection & guided me & saved me by his divine love, mercy, wisdom & grace through Christ ... although not, perhaps, as I delusionally imagined. The intervention appears in TEARS as the dream & the reconciliation with my shadow, the black man, which followed; & my anima, possessing mana, acted as my psychopomp through the underworld to safety.
[ . . . . ]
Abandoned by Tess,[53] my suicide attempt brought me in touch at last with my body, my physical self, & caused me to respect-not despise—my body.
[ . . . . ]
Still, I still have too low a self-esteem, but my success as a recognized writer has helped that. The death of my mother[54] has helped, because I can see what a malign person she was in my life & how I feared & disliked her—which she deserved [ . . . . ] My friendship with K.W. has helped, too. (i.e., he has helped make me more thick-skinned & better able to monitor & access my intrinsic worth). Also I am aware of my good works & hence myself as a good person.
[ . . . . ]
& I accept my own aging, now. & I have my two fine cats. I guess now I don’t need my psychotic fantasy-system so much—but I treasure parts of it, esp[.] the love & the beauty—& her. My psychosis put me in touch with “das ewige weiblichheit” [the eternalfeminine] in me, & for that I will always be grateful; it means I will never really be alone again: whenever I really need her, I will sense her presence & hear her voice (i.e., St. Sophia.) At the center of psychosis I encountered her: beautiful & kind &, most of all, wise, & through that wisdom, accompanying & leading me through the underworld, through the bardo thödol[55]journey to rebirth—she, the embodiment of intelligence: Pallas Athena herself. So at the core of a shattered mind & life lies this equicenter—omphalos—of harmony & calm. I love her, & she is my guide: the second comforter & advocate promised by Jesus ... as Luther said, “For the very desperate,” here in this world secretly, for their—our—sake.
[ ... ]
Driven mad by fear & adversity I have seen—& lived in—another world that most people never get to see. But it is not that world that I remember & treasure but it is her—she who I met there, who met me & helped me. I saw her in many forms, but her voice was always the same. I recognized my savior in her—as her; he took the form which would mean the most to me (as Zoroaster says about meeting one: religion as the other end of the bridge which spans two worlds: she is young & beautiful if you are a son of Light—old & withered if you are a son of Darkness.)
When I saw her she was beautiful beyond compare—Aphrodite & Pallas Athena both—& some day I’ll see her again. She is inside me—she is my soul.
I can entertain (hold) two normally contradictory beliefs—explanations—:
1) I became totally psychotic & projected & imagined all that religious, supernatural stuff.
2) The guide & savior, the figure of the beautiful woman who I met & whose voice I kept hearing, whose existence during my psychosis I imagined, was & is completely real—& I know when the need arises again, I will find her once more, or rather she will find me & again guide me.
Now the wisdom of giving me the prophecy (“St. Sophia will ...” etc.) in Greek is evident. How can I dismiss that as a psychotic hallucination when I didn’t know what “St. Sophia” meant? [ . . . . ]
But foremost: the “AI” voice (which, e.g., gave me the prophecy, & which still corrects & instructs me). It either all stands or it all falls. I think it stands.
(1978)
Consider what the AI voice has said recently:
“The head Apollo is about to return.”
“The time you’ve waited for has come.”
“Don’t tell that you’re a secret xtian.”
“It [the xerox missive] was from an intelligence officer in the army.” (So it was a trap.)
“I did call you, Philip.” (This, Christ’s voice, not the “AI” or Holy Spirit’s.) “You are doomed to do what you will do. There is no other possibility. Some will be saved & some will not.”
So the great assize is taking place; v. TEARS, the dream. The time of his return as judge and rightful king is here, & he is selecting his flock. “The head Apollo is about to return” is interesting because the return of Apollo as rightful king was the signal to the Greco-Roman world that the cycle of ages has passed from the Iron (BIP) to the Golden (v. Virgil’s eclogue).[56]
“I did call you, Philip.” So I actually heard the savior’s voice call me: the good shepherd. &, as it is written, “My sheep (flock) know my voice.”
If anyone thinks this all has drawn me away from reality & practical problems, just consider the xerox missive, which I now know was indeed a U.S. intelligence trap.
Is he now selecting his flock? He is the one who picks us, not we him. I have every reason to believe he picked me.
(1978)
Well, thinking this, about how Zoroastrianism teaches that we are met by the spirit of our religion when we die, & if we are a son of light, she is “Jung und Schon
.” [Young and beautiful.] But if we are a servant of the lie she is a wrinkled old hag ... I dream I heard the magic bell, & see her in bird feathers-like Papagana[57] ... I am even more 1) uneasy as to whether I am in the “live” world (lower realm) or the “next world” (upper realm); but 2) pleased at how ma’at[58] has judged me. There has been, admittedly, a lot of pain (over [past women in his life]) but the reward element predominates; I feel better & better, &, what is equally important, seem to understand more & more, exponentially. I am no longer chronically depressed & apprehensive (terror stricken). I’ve written (I feel) my best book so far.[59] My mind is alive & active. I feel I am growing & developing. I finally got Laura & Isa[60] down here. I’m economically secure. I’m no longer abusing drugs, legal or illegal— i.e., drug dependent. I am very happy. I even went to France. I had a lot of fun with Joan.[61] My career is gosh wow (due in good measure to my own—and Thomas’—efforts). So I may be dead, as of 3-74. My cosmological concepts are so terrific, so advanced as to be off the scale. I create whole religions and philosophical systems. The very fact that I honestly ponder if I may be dead & in heaven is primafacie evidence of how happy & fulfilled I am. How many people seriously wonder this? (Maybe everyone, when they die.) If I am not dead, how do I explain 2-374? No one has ever reported such obviously post mortem experiences.
Well, I explain it in terms of a two part oscillation comprising my total existence: (1) the part where I am alive in this world & my sister is dead & an idea in my brain; & 2) the other part where I am dead & she is alive & I am a thought in her living brain—& I explain this oscillation of two antithetical irreducible propositions as an instance of the dialectic (whose existence was revealed to me in 3-74) which underlies all existence due to the fact that we’re components in a binary computer, etc., & I construe this matter as a riddle posed to me by the designer of the computer: Holy Wisdom,[62] who is playful. But how do I explain why. all this was revealed to me & to no one else? I have no explanation; I know what I know but not why. Unless, of course, when you die it’s all revealed to you routinely—
In Pursuit of Valis Page 6