Also known as Michael Valentine Zamoro, 20 JAN 1918 - 28 JUL 1996
Recorded in Prescott, Arizona, December 1990
Transcribed and edited by Derek Brownlee
His miraculous birth
His attainment of Saint Hickhood
His persecution by the world
Saint Hick finds resistance to joining him in mystical experience
On the revelatory meaning of words
His remarkable progeny
On pursuing life goals
Saint Hick's transition from businessman to saint produces some unusual overlap
How Saint Hick was converted to the mystical realms
Saint Hick discovers I Ching
Saint Hick discovers the principle of female sovereignty
Saint Hick finds wisdom in the palace of excess
Saint Hick and Gurdjieff
Saint Hick moves the multitude
Saint Hick talks about his deepest beliefs
On questions of violence and power
Saint Hick is renowned for his charitable and social work
Saint Hick puts together an overseas mission
Saint Hick does not shrink from admitting his errors
The Excesses of God
On the perfectibility of the bodyOn belief systems
Saint Hick's brilliant ancestry
Saint Hick deals with the opposition that inevitably accompanies all pioneers
Saint Hick not only welcomes criticism, but incorporates it into his teachings
Saint Hick believes in salvation through technology
Saint Hick revises the story of the creation of the world
When I proposed recording the life and wisdom of this great teacher, he at first demurred. "Don't you dare tell the truth. I don't want to spend the rest of my life in jail."
* * *
Saint Hick was renowned as a great family man. I asked him how many wives he had. "Well," he pondered. "I'd have to get a tablet. . ." He seemed sure it was at least fifteen, "But not more than six at any one time. And don't forget the husbands. I must have had, oh, at least half a dozen of them as well."
* * *
Even while he was a householder, Saint Hick stood out from his suburban neighbors in his religious observance. When all the houses in the street had Christmas lights, his was dark. The neighbors came to him to try and persuade him to follow their custom, but he stood firm. This impasse was finally resolved when the neighbors on either side strung Christmas lights on his house, and provided the current to run them through extension cords, and took the lights down again afterwards.
* * *
His miraculous birth
(I asked Saint Hick about his miraculous birth. He knew this was a requirement for saints and heroes, that there be something strange about their entrance on the stage. And it happened that at age 53 he got his mother drunk and learned this essential information.)
. . .And after some trivia she stopped for a long pause, and I knew not to speak first or I'd lose whatever was coming and the longer I waited the surer I was I was waiting for the words of the goddess. And finally she said, "Did I ever answer your question?" And my training as salesman and guide paid off in that I didn't say "What question?" I said, "No. . . Not yet."
So, she told me, in response to this question that I'd never asked, that my father was not the man I thought was my father. That she had met a young man who was already engaged and they found they were soulmates forever. But he went ahead and married this other girl he was engaged to, so as not to cancel the wedding and disgrace the family and break his promise etc. And he stopped by to say goodbye to my mother and there was nobody else home that afternoon and the net result is me.
Then he went off to war and died a hero. So I'm the son of a hero who's remembered as such throughout my life, can do no wrong. God bless.
(Saint Hick's birthplace, Boerne, Texas 78006, has since become a magnet and haven for seekers after enlightenment. He spent his early years there but found Texas too tough for him. After he was run over by a car at age nine he got his parents to move to Southern California. He did this by putting travel posters up on the wall. Framed by orange trees, elegant Spanish villas looked out on the sparkling blue Pacific. It worked.)
His attainment of Saint Hickhood
(It happened at the culmination of his last legal marriage.)
. . .She was really chewing my ass out for being evil since before the beginning of time, and I sat there for a solid hour and enjoyed it until she left, slamming the door. And I thought, what was the best thing I could do for her? She'd been wanting a piece of paper giving her a share of future earnings and so on, but whatever I wrote she was sure I was too clever and would cheat her out of it.
So I took a piece of blank paper and signed my name to it, so she could put whatever she wanted on it. I put it into an envelope for her and that's when I achieved sainthood. I was glowing and amazed at myself -- what, me a saint? -- I was incredulous -- actually modest for about thirty seconds or so! And some inaudible voice from on high or inside said "Saint Hick." Which really broke me up laughing, because my hickhood made me a saint. God sends the good. Who sends the bad? Give me some of each.
His persecution by the world
(All great men who are ahead of their time have been persecuted, usually spending some time in jail. Saint Hick is no exception.)
. . . Oh yes, that is one of my luckiest things. I spent many, many times in jail. Let's see now, perhaps the most glorious occasion that comes to immediate mind is one summer in Hermosa Beach, and there's a dance hall where I play pool and drink with some hangers-on -- they like my style or something, I'm vivid. And I look around and in front of me is this beautiful ass, bent over at a weighing machine or some such, and being true blue I leaned over and bit it.
Well it turned out that this girl was the new true love and sweetheart of my brother, who didn't have a high opinion of me in the best of times. I was hauled away and arrested, the cops laughing at the description of the crime, and fined ten dollars for disturbing the peace. I thought it was about the justest thing I ever heard of.
But basically I went through a seeking and escape through drunkenness into a new realm that wound me up. I knew there was more somewhere, other dimensions, or I acted as if there were, kept stretching the limits. So I was in jail maybe forty or fifty times up to when I joined the service, maybe twenty-something.
There I went into the warrant-officer thing and passed miracles of intelligence and luck to do it, thank God. They promoted me so high I started getting fat and no fun. So the friendlies took hold of my head and arranged for me to steal a fellow-officer's wallet at two in the morning. He'd left it on a table in an officers' poker game. The net result was that I received a dishonorable discharge -- and if anybody knew it I wouldn't be getting a government pension, which I do, thank God. The records were burned up in a warehouse fire.
I was the first dishonorable discharge in seven generations of patriotic America-makers who fought, bled and died. Our name is on the land, our bones and blood are in it. And I was so much into suffering morality, that is, morality imposed by my culture, that I knew that these values were right and I was worthless.
Well, later on, the first time I took LSD, all that vanished and I broke out laughing because I could see, had I not done that, had the friendlies not swept me through that dance, I would have stayed in, gotten some kind of class A heart attack, just been a real mess. That was the only way I could get out. I was in extended service, I was nuclear warrant officer, knew lots of stuff. So I was lucky to get out, real lucky. The way they wrote the story was just perfect.
But instead of saying, yippee, new trip, I was still in that prison until acid let me out.
Saint Hick finds resistance to joining him in mystical experience
. . . This is 1965, going on '66, and we've all been reading and dreaming about LSD, the experience in our culture then, a big decision in those days. And once we'd decided to do it, this group of friends, getting it was another thing. I finally found five and there were five of us. We met and decided how we were going to do it, and we were all as hip as you could get without actually doing it.
It turned out that people kept calling up and copping out with one excuse or another, you know, can't do it this week, and this went on from September till the end of the year, and finally I flashed that I was glad -- because I'd have copped out if they didn't, and I didn't have to show I was chickenshit too. So I got that, and then the friendlies gave me the message that I was ripe and if I waited any longer I'd be rotten.
So about January 6th or 7th nobody showed and I took this stuff. My real fear was it would drive me crazy, but some part of me had taken this fear into account and decided to do it anyway, and I was a big winner because I'd taken a real vote in myself. That made me very happy, and I blissed up for an hour -- nothing, blackness. Then I came back down and I realized I was in this body -- I didn't know what or who but I looked at that room, and saw the purpose of this room which I'd furnished in a previous life, and the purpose of this room was to look like a whorehouse and to attract women who would drink and pass out or pretend to pass out and therefore some fucking could take place. We could overcome our culture through drunkenness. And I looked at this room and I thought that with all the effort and money they'd spent on it you'd think they could get something right. They really showed a talent for wrong -- everything was just off.
Then I realized I didn't know what kind of body this was. I would have been very happy for an alligator with tail cancer, so I was very delighted, though I weighed another 100 pounds back then, and was a miserable asshole atheist argumenter. I didn't believe in shit except more mess and that was what was going to happen.
So then I beamed back up to England in the coaching days and a half- timbered inn, and people bustling around and I'm standing beside an oak tree and one of the knots on the oak looks at me and turns into a small dragon, very friendly, and I know it's my guide. "Let's go!" it says, I nod my head, and we shoot up in the air and dive down into this scene, and I'm in every creature there. I'm a separate entity sensing each one separately and simultaneously. Very confusing. I retreat into the dog for a bit -- I can do that! Then I was the ale-wife, and then the ostler who swept out the stables and stole some hot toast, and did them all, about three days worth in 30 seconds. Then the dragon said, "You're going to love this!" and took me to a maypole, where people were dancing around in the order man-woman, man-woman, alternating, and as they went by I became each one for a step.
Then the dragon, who's on my right -- my right-hand dragon! -- asked "Do you want more?" and I said "Oh, God, yes." So he said, "You'll love this! You get your choice of roles." We go down to a courtyard where there's a gibbet set up, and judges with wigs, and he said, "Do you want a hint?" I said "Oh yes." "Choose the prisoner. He's gonna get hung!" And at that point I fell back down into this reality.
Then I went outside and my name was written in the stars, my new initial though I didn't know it yet, I just saw a great "M" in the sky. And another thing I saw was that I'd been on about a bottle of Scotch a day and it wasn't that I was a drunk, I was just blinding myself to views of this bigger world, hiding behind a plastic curtain, disconnected from meaning.
I saw the terror of the situation, a big spiral going down, gentle but inevitable, and there was my soul on its way back to the soul pool, no longer me, and that was totally just. I was now the prisoner before the judge, and he asked if I had any last thing to say and I said, well maybe some parts of me could be transplanted to somebody else. Well, that was liberating. That turned me loose inside and told me I had learned something.
That was a vivid trip. My life changed. I didn't get drunk in that fashion again and my consumption dropped to a bottle maybe every ten days. When I tried it one time just as an experiment I couldn't get drunk.
On the revelatory meaning of words
. . . It's around 1960, '61. I'm still living in Palos Verdes where Christmas lights are compulsory and I'm at a New Year's party in a big house with lots of mirrors and I'm wearing my Louis Roth iridescent outfit so well tailored that it even makes my very portly figure -- I'm at least 260 -- look good to me in the mirror. It makes me look like a penguin instead of the obese fat creature that I really am.
They're serving French seventy-fives -- sugar, brandy and champagne, I believe, but whatever they were the name seventy-five comes from an artillery gun in the first world war, and it's well named. I've had two and I'm just starting my third one when I get one of those moments of celestial transcendental clarity. It's a real high, a nice number -- you can see things clearly. For a minute all your defenses are at least partly down and you haven't yet blocked out your higher faculties. It lasts for me maybe ten minutes out of the night. It's well known, a drunken clarity. You're not yet drunk, but you're going to be drunk, you can feel it coming. When they open and close the doors, something comes through the crack.
I look at the crowd, successful people like me, merchants, attorneys, developers. Everybody's into ranking, and I've got Ward Richards, biggest store in the neighborhood, I have 30 people working for me. Can't cash my own paycheck, but they don't know that. I look at the crowd and I see that they can be divided into two classes. I realize that everybody there either couldn't say fuck or had to, and I'm in class two: I had to.
There are maybe ten or twelve people in class two, and I know they have to say fuck, and I know they have to get drunk -- or at least look like they're drunk -- before they can say it, and then they would have to. And I realize the rest of the people, I can spot maybe twenty of those, couldn't. If you were to pour hot lead up their cunt they couldn't say fuck.
I was in class two, and I had to say fuck. I was going to go around with a story. I had some plan, like the State Department, to go around here and go there and it would be time, about four drinks from now, to break out the fucks.
It dawned on me that there had to be somewhere else where fuck was just a word. So I went to Denmark and got lucky, picked up a beautiful woman in the Tivoli Gardens. I'd heard you could just go up to a woman and say let's fuck. I said I'd like to buy you a drink and could we fuck? She said yes, to both counts. Blew my mind. So we went to my place and had a wonderful sexy time, very exotic, she gave me head, suck cock in those days, big forbidden thrill, and that was just great.
The next night I was limp as a friendly worm. She tried to help, but nothing worked. Then I had a dream that night. I was 9000 feet high on a mountain. I'd gone to hunt elk, and was camped out in a tent, when I heard a noise, and here were a bunch of elk coming at me, all female. They were all saying shoot me, please shoot me! So I picked up my gun, and a little bitty bullet rolled down, and the barrel bent and the bullet fell on the ground.
Before I went to Copenhagen I thought I knew what culture shock was and that I was above that. I didn't know I still belonged to a culture where men had to chase women. But my body knew it, my cock knew it.
His remarkable progeny
. . . I have a legitimate bio-son. His name's Kalo. I delivered him myself at fifty. This was a real event in our family. It revitalized. My mother, Suzy Q, was just dying of lack of interest. She had a comfortable income and used to get up every day and go to Basketville, and she was getting bored of all this, withering.
But when Kalo showed up, this was the first grandchild of her genes, an unexpected late-blooming miracle. Kalo was really a divine spark. When he was conceived Diahi called out "Plant your seed in me!" the most romantic thing I ever heard. She knew she was pregnant, knew it was a son, painted a picture of an ovum in the stars. I delivered him with a beautiful woman named Diana, in a great house on Maui, great view, beautiful setting -- the friendlies really cooperated to make it a big show.
Kalo was collecting edible seaweed from the bottom of tidepools when he was one year old. He was telepathic. When someone needed a chair to get something down from the wall, Kalo had it in place before they even knew they wanted it.
But as soon as Diahi got half of my oil money she decided to completely jump off that trip. Which was certainly fair. She'd started off as Susan, found herself a couple of years later living as a sex goddess in a Gurdjieffian mystery school and coming for Jesus Christ with strangers.
She loved it for a while, but then she finally had a chance to sit down and think about it, when she got her first check and I told her to go to Hawaii for three weeks and think about her life. We'd been together five years then.
So she did that and decided she wanted to divorce me and take Kalo, which I approved of.
When Kalo was eighteen I wrote to him and something seemed to be opening up for a minute but that ended abruptly. I think she had something to do with that. She had cancer then, and six months later she was dead.
Kalo is now in the marines, reminds me very much of gentleman thug, very military. When I asked him if he ever wanted to hear from me again he said, "No, sir!" I wouldn't be surprised if he was one of the first into the Persian Gulf.
* * *
Then there was my stepson Stephen Prince. That was his real name. We used to play Wart, from Once and Future King. Wart would grow up to be King Arthur one day. I would be a hayseed Merlin and take him on drugless trips, just acting as if he were hypnotized. There's a magic secret in that, which I learned from a friend whom I'd married to a woman named Sharla in a high- minded, bless-the-world, ceremony.
He then proceeded to teach her how to steal luggage at the LA airport, and they were very successful at it. I didn't understand this at all. It was the Age of Aquarius and we hadn't yet learned to snarl and use machine- guns to write Love on the wall. We were in the first bloom of innocence.
He came to me and said he had to give me a present. It was important that it be passed on ear to ear. He didn't like me very much, but I was the only one who was qualified. That made me very delighted. He said, "Will you pay my price?" and I knew enough about magic not to dicker.
What he gave me was the secret of holy hypnotism, which he acquired by being stolen at age four and raised as a gypsy. "One of the reasons you've been misjudging me is that you don't know what's happening." I said, "That's absolutely right." He said it was his holy duty as a gypsy prince to steal from the rest of us. They even have a word for us, and they see us as their flocks for fleecing. There are complex religious reasons for this but it's supposed to be good for both sides, teaches us alertness and so on.
The secret of hypnotism is for whoever's being hypnotized to agree on what we're up to, and ask, "Please hypnotize me." You ask for it. It's a ritual, and it tells all kinds of creatures within you this is not something somebody's doing to you, but what you want to do. It's all in that magic word please.
Before I started taking acid, I was fascinated by hypnotism. I thought with my black-hearted false ego I could get women to do whatever, and had many such jack-off fantasies. Then after I started taking acid, I could see the powers of hypnotism, you could create all kinds of things. I decided that my hand couldn't hold that knife. It was too sharp.
That was one of the luckiest decisions I ever made. But now we have this new secret of holy hypnotism. How is it to be handled? One of the safeguards is to tell the person being hypnotized that they can never again be hypnotized accidentally, mechanically or on purpose without saying "Please..."
You don't use it for something silly like quitting smoking without finding out why you need to use your mouth so much. Those energies have some reason to express themselves that way. If you stop them one place they'll leak another. Christ talked about seven devils, if you chase out one, there's a nice clean empty spot where seven will appear, each one worse than the first.
* * *
My myth-son, Stephen Prince, put himself through his own Bar Mitzvah. For some reason it couldn't happen, so he decided to do his own. He acted all the parts, great actor that he was, and when he became a man by his own ceremony he handed me a note saying, Michael, from now on I'm going to listen to you because I really like to hear you, but I'm going to do just exactly what I please myself to do.
Bravo! He'd graduated. Real good young man. He learned to play villain -- I helped him on this -- so when he played Booth who shot Lincoln, he studied why Booth would do such a noble thing, from Booth's point of view of course. So when he played the assassin, he was as proud as Lucifer and cunning as a snake. He was magnificent! People came to hiss. And nobody in the school wanted those real bad parts, so he got every one of them for years. He really learned villainhood.
* * *
When I first began to move into Saint Hick from Ed Ward, I had a pad on a dirt floor in a cellar in Redondo Beach where a couple that I love called Gary and Mary were growing pot. All summer I smoked pot and threw the I Ching and came to realize I was pregnant with a mind-child of unknown parentage from a whole bunch of aliens and beings that inhabited me. I got the idea I was a crowd and my job was to become a team.
Since I was pregnant I called Zabria -- she lived in Hollywood then -- and said I wanted to be her best girlfriend, so we talked girl talk and she coached me in preparation for the happy event. Finally it happened, and I discovered that my mind-child was named Coloque, and he/she was born pregnant, continually hatching new things, ever more complex and always helping the main plot, which is to go to the stars.
On pursuing life goals
. . . When you want to pursue your life goals, and especially to attract a partner, do a little ceremony when you're nice and high, on a mountaintop or stoned or going a hundred miles an hour, or whatever makes it easier for you to communicate, because you're going to send a message up to what we call the Free Press. Do it at least three different ways, say it and write it and piss patterns in the snow. You're asking three different ways for your partner to appear.
You're sending out a signal to the Friendlies above that you're doing this, you're cheerful, and you want this for help to get their big job done. Remember Adam. You need a partner to get the job done. And what you want this time is your Eve and bring her a snake too, because you love apples. Let's do it all over again.
That's where Adam blew it. He was in charge, and God came around and said he'd fucked up, and he ducked and said it was her fault. What a way to start a world trip! Next time, say, "Why, Dad. I know I passed your test. You were just fooling. You'd never give me a whole Earth and keep back one tree. I know you do things in wholes, you were just testing me, to see if I understood you, right?" And the old fool could either accept that or start over.
Of course we're still playing that number. The pot plant is currently forbidden and look at all the fuss around that one. The more things change, the more thay stay the same. Details change, but the pattern is still there. The fundamentalists could set us straight if they ever got round to reading the first page of the Bible.
(Genesis 1:29) And God said, Behold, I have given you every herb bearing seed, which is upon the face of all the earth.
This whole thing started with bureaucracy, a fellow called Anslinger who wanted to expand his empire, and he had to lay some blame so that drugs could become illegal, our God-given gifts denied us. So he waged a campaign about black men down south raping white women on pot (and worse than that, if the women got some they might enjoy it). And that's what the whole thing comes from.
Saint Hick's transition from businessman to saint produces some unusual overlap
. . . In the Mind Machine company we had seven engineers. I advertised for them on the come -- if things worked out I'd give them some stock. They all came for their intitial interview to my downtown apartment in L.A. This was a third-floor penthouse, but the building was old and coming apart, with dog-shit in the halls and weird spice smells.
Diahi and I lived there, and to get to us you had to go to where there was a wire hanging down which you pulled and rang a little handbell in our apartment. Then Diahi would come down and get you.
They all came dressed up, shoes shined, and they were met by this exotic woman and brought through a maze of rooms full of plants and a walk-through closet to an immense room where the Mind Machine experiments were arranged. We were making pieces of cards with random thoughts in response to questions such as what three things would you wish your parents had given you, or would you give to your children? We had one that said "Rave, slobber and yarp." I stole a bunch of books on creativity from the library and cut out bright sayings and had people make up the cards. They were organized by shapes which had a meaning. A triangle would mean firm foundations. An octagon would mean stop.
We called this one of our Mind Machines and I've a whole bunch of stuff like this going on then. The engineers would look at these and come back in a room with a couch and a coffee table and meet me for the first time, and I was naked.
I weighed at least 230, on the edge of obesely fat, but I was turned on, and I had the ability to pick up people's frontal lobes and turn them around to see the world my way. I'd learned this in the waterbed business. When somebody got fired up, I didn't think they were fired up until they were gone for three days and then came back.
When they came in and sat down I'd ask them "Do you smoke pot?" and they'd all say no, at least at first. Whatever they did, I said they'd passed the test. Maybe seventy engineers came through in three weeks.
Then we had a meeting in a real engineering plant where I invited twenty and seven showed up. They were so impressed by the difference. I showed them left hand first. This was an orthodox meeting.
I'd sent them copies of a proposed contract in advance, and one of them who had a mockup of a wristwatch skin resistance monitor and was really eager stood up and said if he signed the contract he should be committed for insanity, because it was a rotten-dog slave contract which promised everything and secured nothing and depended entirely on whether I was honorable and decided to give them something.
Then the owner of the building, a fine independent engineer with seventy-odd patents in his own name, stood up and said, "I trust this man." At the end, I went up to the man who'd rejected the contract and said, "You're chief engineer. Write your own contract. Fix it so you and I share equal."
He looked at me and said, "You crafty, cunning old son of a bitch. It's a deal!" And he recruited all the others.
The first Mind Machine product was a thermistor you held in your hand and watched a meter for biofeedback to help migraine headaches. It was a six-inch scale and one degree change would move it the full range.
I had a nice ad in Cosmopolitan which brought in half its cost, not bad for a first ad, and also a suit from the A.M.A. for false advertising at $2500 per exposure times a million readers, or billions of dollars. I was immensely flattered. I had negative worth at the time.
I thought I was prepared for this. In our group we already practiced Giftie Gi'us -- give us the worst, the best, and how to improve the act -- and for the worst everybody said A.M.A. So we'd backed up our claims, but I'd also read of Reich where the U.S. government ganged up on him and threw him in jail where he died a miserable death at 53, which was just about my age. So we figured out the best thing to do was to quietly disappear, which is what they wanted us to do anyway.
Later on I went back and talked to the man who started the suit, who was doing biofeedback research of his own, and he said I could probably have gotten away with it by sending news releases to little country newspapers. That could have had the horrible effect of making a million dollars for me before I was ready for it, and getting me trapped in manufacturing, which I know isn't my business.
How Saint Hick was converted to the mystical realms
. . . I was not just a skeptic, I was a cynic originally when I was Ed Ward before I took acid. I was totally convinced that if you couldn't measure it with hard science it didn't exist or was meaningless. I didn't believe in intuition or any of these things.
Later when I was on about my seventh acid trip, around Easter, 1966, Lots of realities were floating around. I was looking at a wonderful book of drawings by Abner Dean. He used to draw thin, wierd-looking wimpish men wandering around, all naked. And women were usually more powerful and above all, they were brighter. One picture was of bare mesa country like Arizona with the naked men walking around, and on top of their heads they wore small platforms, like mortar-board hats, and on each platform was a naked woman. The men were blindfolded, and tended to walk off cliffs and fall into the canyon. The women, who could see what was happening, stepped off one platform and onto another going in a different direction. This cartoon was titled "Women's Intuition." I laughed so hard I started peeing.
It wasn't that the men weren't logical. The women had a better viewpoint. If we were smart we'd take our blindfolds off and get a better view.
After that I really came to believe in my wife Dori's intuition. One time I had a CPA, a very smooth man who was going to make some money for me selling stock in my business. What he did was fix my books so that it looked like I was making money when I was losing money. Then I paid tax on money I hadn't earned with money I didn't have, and I didn't know it. I wasn't in on the scam. I gave him stock in the company and he didn't bother to tell me about the thing he was doing.
I was totally impressed with him and his wife, his house, his style, his education, his diction, he was nice, quiet, he was all the things I wasn't. And Dori said, Ed, deal him out. I said why? She said, I don't know, but I know it. It's going to happen. You'll see.
I went bankrupt twice there and saved the thing. I was the only man in L.A. who ever did it once, with a furniture store. The creditors take over the stock and if they think you can get any money from it they let you run it. I'd seen it coming about 48 hours and I got all my friends to take furniture home and stash it in their house. Fortunately I had good reliable friends.
The creditors asked if I'd pay ten cents on the dollar. They'd have been happy with that. I said no, I'll pay you all in full. They said, you're crazy, you don't have to. I said, I don't have to for you, I know you'll keep on selling to me. I have to do it for me, it's important.
And I went ahead and paid them in full, paid them ahead of time. I was still in the bonds of honor in those days. It was necessary that I go through that process. This was after I'd gotten my dishonorable discharge. I was scrabbling to get back some shreds of self-respect and honor.
Saint Hick discovers I Ching
. . . Then the I Ching came along. I bought it, naturally, out of false ego. I had lots of books, and the only book that people in my new drug club (namely pot or acid) asked me about was, do you have I Ching?
So I got one, and then I watched these people do it. I felt as if I was in some Asian city where they were burning paper sticks to get fortunes, very superstitious. But the answers they got seemed to me to make very good sense. They came to my house to ask questions about business, because I was business manager of the Oracle. And frequently the I Ching gave better advice than I could have, in much better words. I was impressed.
But I noticed they never wrote the questions down, and after the I Ching told them one thing, the question would change and the answer would become another thing entirely.
As time went on I adopted the I Ching as a wise old friend who was in no hurry. It didn't live in time, as it were. At first I'd ask it for my best conduct at social or business situations, and I wouldn't look it up until afterwards. I was just amazed, not only at its correctness, but at the wisdom it spoke to me.
And as we became closer, it began to show me some very witty things, especially laughing at my own false ego-pretensions, and amazing things, I'd see all kinds of interrelationships. What it was doing was vastening my head -- Frederick Pohl's term, I didn't know it then -- but it was certainly doing it, my head was growing vaster.
Saint Hick discovers the principle of female sovereignty
. . . I discovered, with the help of several good women -- I was very lucky to discover this -- that it was a good idea when we got intimately involved to have a rule that I'd stop whenever the lady wanted to. Just pat twice, it meant stop.
Of course I was coming from false ego, it meant I could try anything, any position, and if they didn't say stop it was OK, and it also meant they could be more daring because they remained in control. I didn't realize until then that all women want sovereignty. But the friendlies led me through my lowest to this great truth. Or perhaps you could say I found the jewel of wisdom in the palace of excess, another principle I was to draw upon frequently in those days.
We were saved by the stop signal, Saisha and I. We could easily have both killed ourselves. After she invented a better game by asking, "How can I give you better head for Jesus Christ?" she came up with the words, "We come as Christ irresistable we." I can't tell you what a powerhouse of a phrase that is on that level. Since Christ is irresistable and forever and so on, there's no particular reason you ever need to stop coming. You could use up your total energy reserves, first wind, second wind, and central core energy. We could have killed ourselves, but one of us, I still don't remember who, gave the stop signal and we stopped. Then we realized that we'd stopped right on the edge of a cliff. There was only one question for both of us. Should we get back into it and go over that cliff and kill ourselves? That came down as the coward's way out. We had a job to do.
Saint Hick finds wisdom in the palace of excess
. . . When I was with Diahi and Saisha and several other very lovely wives, with every drug and ritual and mirror and sniffer and whatever we could get hold of -- the general idea was to find the jewel of wisdom in the palace of excess, and we were palacing up excess -- several times I and/or my partner slipped into a complete new realm. We popped into another world.
I had been reading that the object of all this stuff is that we wanted to become god. "Thou art God" and all that, which I was really working at. And it turned out that is indeed the way. But I had to take another 15 years and get rid of whatever was holding me back. I had first to become a good human. No way to become god until you make human first, it goes in stages.
But I would go to these god levels. The first one was a great big space with a mockup of the planets, a clockwork arrangement, and I was the god Thor with my hammer. But I couldn't keep this little solar system working. The planets kept banging into each other and bouncing off in different directions. The message I brought back was that I had no business being a god. I was too fucking stupid. This was about the lowest form of god-work, but no could do. So I got the lesson: be a human.
Then a week or three later, I popped into another of these god-worlds where again I was inadequate. It was a beautiful little 300-foot globe that had everything in it I could ever want, women, beach, sand, mirrors, and guess what? I forgot water! That was about the driest I ever was in my life.
So I was driven back to where I was, an inadequate human being, with lots of work I could do, starting with myself. If I wanted to change the world I had to change myself first -- all the spiritual standards came through, like I was learning reading and arithmetic. I didn't know that basic stuff yet.
On one of these god-trips with Diahi I discovered that there was a net of consciousness around your head, like a big hair-wig or a bubble, and this net is important, it's vital for certain things you have to do. And I'd destroyed both hers and mine, through taking acid without a guru, by plunging ahead on my own. I'd destroyed her net, which was vital for her soul-growth, so I'd ruined her not only for this life but forever. Nothing could be done about it, and I was lucky that I couldn't appreciate how horrible I should feel about that because my net too was destroyed. I could only perceive about 1% of the real horror. I saw her face warped and ignorant with an IQ of an idiot. Finally I was going to be put in hell, and had to agree to that, since I had been warned and gone ahead against warnings. A demon appeared and grabbed me by the left hand and took me to a big old-fashioned firebox, like you'd use under a boiler in a factory, and it was full of burning wood. Before he threw me in he asked "Do you love Jesus Christ?" I said "Yes!" and he threw me in the fire.
I popped through the fire into a great big old-fashioned very ornate oriental-influenced Christian heaven. Father was on an immense throne, obviously several hundred feet high, looking over his universe, and I was at the very back and it was my job to stand there and admire. That went on forever. Nothing to do but admire.
I had a Gurdjieff school on the big island. I woke up during that thing for a few days, in the Gurdjieffian sense. On graduation night there was a man named Jerry Sumner, a psychologist, beautiful guy, brilliant man. He played the role of "somthing else" in this school. He'd been through some such training.
Diahi drew a card which said "Fuck two students for Christ," which turned out to be Jerry and me. And the great god Pan appeared to me, an archetype, about eight feet tall, and smelling very pungent. He too looked at me and said, "Do you love Christ?" I said "Yes," and then Diahi and I fucked with Pan's blessing, Jerry too, and in the morning we knew she was pregnant with twin female Christs.
After a few days she said, "Do I have to be?"
I said, "Of course not. If you don't want to be, you aren't."
"Oh, good. I don't want to be."
So that didn't happen. But during that same trip, towards morning I saw Moses in a white robe, who turned into Elija and flew out the roof access -- we had a deck up there -- and vanished into the sky, getting smaller, while I ran up the ladder trying to catch him, saying, "Hey, wait!"
I came back down in drug shock right back in my total logical mind, and I wanted everybody to write it down and witness to what I just saw, three different accounts from three witnesses and so on. And Jerry said, "Mike, would you realize and accept that I don't know what you saw, but I've seen what you saw? . . .We don't need to write it down. You'll never forget it."
You can see how sanely he handled that. Because if he'd agreed to write it down the next step would have been a logical argument about the difference.
* * *
When I made the jump from that ring of experiences, I was still with Diahi on the Big Island, and on one of those trips I ended up exceeding the limits of soul adventures, or something like that, or I wasted myself. At any rate, I did not pass soul course, and down I went in a funnel of dark swirling liquid. At the bottom were rotary blades like a blender that would grind up my soul, which was like an octopus with only five tentacles.
There was still time to have a conversation, and I had to give my opinion of the justice of the situation. I wasn't being judged. I had to judge. I decided it was fair. I didn't like it but no complaints, the system was fair, I'd been warned or whatever. At least I didn't try to blame it on anybody else, that's the big test. So I passed that one.
But I was still about to be ground up, and they asked me was there anything else I wanted to say before I went? So I asked the only question that could do it. I said, "Well, could they save any of my parts for somebody else?" And that passed. End of that one. And I quit having those jobs where I was the only god around and was always inadequate.
Saint Hick and Gurdjieff
. . . I started having dreams, in three of which Gurdjieff showed up. The first time he gave me a pair of silver earrings. The left one fit perfectly but the other one didn't. I interpreted it to mean that my heart was OK but my organizational brain wasn't tuned in yet.
Again he appeared and this time he showed me a boxing ring. . . nice, plain, square, level, vacant, ropes -- that was all that was there. Then he went down with a conspiratorial wink, very sly, very Gurdjieffian, Armenian rug dealer, and pulled up the skirt, as if he was pulling up the skirt of the world, this is how the cunt works, this is creation, I'm showing you THE secret.
And underneath the boxing ring were immense magnets, ray guns, springs, pendulums, gyroscopes -- so that even though on top nothing could be seen, the game was rigged. There were secret forces off-stage, and ways to cheat. So I was never to think these boxers were independent and that I was seeing the whole operation. Lots of stuff offstage.
He came to me a third time and again gave me the earrings. This time they both fit. And when I put them on they turned to gold.
So that's the Gurdjieff I've seen.
Saint Hick moves the multitude
. . . About the fall of '69, Diahi and I had Kalo and were about to take a trip around the world -- we hadn't started the waterbed business yet -- and we'd been instrumental in starting a commune, with a woman named Sharla in charge of it. I wrote her a little ad and put it in the L.A. Free Press that said we'd get acquainted or raise consciousness or talk about sex or something. They had to mail in five bucks with their phone number and we'd tell them where it was going to be, so there wouldn't be a million gatecrashers.
Forty-two showed up, which was great. Two hundred bucks would pay the rent on a twelve-bedroom house then. Sharla was upstairs getting stollified. She was drinking orange juice and vodka half-and-half reasonably rapidly, because she had chickenshit: her blood was starting to shit and her heart was pumping it.
The people were beginning to get a little restless and Sharla wasn't going to make it, so I went and got a robe that Diahi had got in Hong Kong, made of Thai silk with iridescent colors, and when I raised my arms there were wings that hung down. I got somebody to announce, "You're in luck! Michael Valentine is here tonight."
I believe in starting off a crowd by making them do something, so they start moving. You're there to move them and you cheat them unless you do. So I say, "Stand up!" if they're sitting down, or "Sit down!" if they're standing up, or move the chairs, or something so everybody get's the idea, "OK, we're here for a show and it's going to happen. We're in it." You're getting the audience into the act. That's what they want.
I had them ohming a bit and moving in a circle and alternating men and women, loosened them up a bit. Then I said we were having a rebirth ceremony and of course everybody knows when you're born you're naked. And I took off my robe, which was all I had on. I had two or three shills who started taking off their shoes and socks, and everybody went along with it. There was a Swede carpenter about fifty-six and his daughter who was a schoolteacher, and one of Sharla's buddies who was wearing lots of strappety corset-type underwear, and there was a guy I threw out because he couldn't help playing with his cock.
I got them rotating and dancing and chanting, "I am God, Thou art God, We are God..." and after a while, suddenly we were. Which shows how a crowd off the street has the power and the possibility. It just takes the right leadership. They want to go there. That's why they came.
You're looking at the earth, your mother.
And it's turning around, and it turns faster and faster and stretches out and now it's a dancing woman,
about 900 feet high, and you're a little bitty fly-thing, one of billions crawling around on her, and she looks around at all of them and chooses you.She picks you up very tenderly on her palm and in her most seductive voice she says, please, please, will you marry me?
Saint Hick talks about his deepest beliefs
. . . I'm really convinced that there's an entire miraculous world of two people -- let's say two or more people -- who are coming together for Christ, with a deliberate and ritual intention of acting as if various myths are coming through them, or they are the center point of a baton: One end of the baton is the cornucopia and one end is hell. They're a bridge between these various myths that come together as opposites or composites and unite and transcend in their understanding, right in their very own minds.
I believe we're ready for such play, to the idea of conjugate mind-sex. And now even computers are info-fucking the world. How rich it gets!
Saisha and I, and Zabria too, used the Aquarian deck of cards. There are some very powerful myth-pictures in that. Lust is shown by a golden lion, with a naked woman lying on its back, face upwards, in a circus. You can ride this lion of lust from stars to moons or whatever cards you choose. We did that a lot.
When I think of the life I used to lead, and the life I live now, it's just totally impossible for me to picture the expansion, the vastening of the various theaters my mind lives in. And yet this is just the beginning. The rate of change is accelerating, and that rate is also accelerating.
I believe that it's possible to wetware and hardware and cheatware and software yourself so that whatever happens you keep coming more complexly and enjoying it more. So that you yourself just become a process of expanding enjoyment, outrageous, divine. And that's what we're up to.
* * *
Praise God for pills! These are something you buy mail-order, that are advertised in some of the gaudier sex magazines. They're the chemical equivalent of weight-loss pills, not recommended for people with diebetes such as me. So naturally I thrive on them. I just cast the dice to take two more and they said yes. Usually I take one.
When I was just starting off as acid guide, in the early days of the Oracle, I'd taken ten trips, and then read all the books about it. I was still caught in logic, a lot, but I knew I wanted to be an acid guide, and had a talent for it, though I was afraid of it: What would I do about suicides? Big deal in those days.
So finally I said, OK, I'll accept the first ten, but I won't count them against my karma as if I had the power, because the minute I did, maybe I did. It turned out there was only one suicide, that I know of, and of course there was a murder went along with it.
My best man was Duke, Duquesne Dicky, first black cock I ever sucked. He wanted me to take him on a trip with a girl he knew, a nurse. June and I came up to his house and we all held hands and I wanted everybody's clothes off, because that's the right way to do it. And we all did except the nurse. Apparently she just wanted Duke. She didn't want an acid trip. She was not interested in that kind of life at all, and she was beginning to be afraid because her world was about to fall apart. When Duke finally got nude I leaned over and sucked his cock for three significant seconds or slurps or whatever, then turned to this woman -- it blew her away, me too, but she didn't know where she was -- so I just took her hand and gave it to Duke and said "Go!" And they did.
Everything was wonderful. In the morning Duke gave me "In Search of the Miraculous." First thing I'd ever read about our wonderful beloved double-G rascal guru. In fact you might call him triple-G. George Gurdjieff Guru.
On questions of violence and power
. . . The last trip I took this good friend on, she invited me -- and I needed to -- slap her, hard, for some shitty thing she did. That was the only thing that would work, so I did it. And much to my delight, I didn't like doing it.
But she did. That almost made me turn away, I cringed from it. That proved to her, from conditioning that must have gone back more than one lifetime, that that's the way men showed love for women. She wanted mastery over her.
I've always suspected that such people are really responding to a deep fear of exercising their own buried powers, their own unknowns. They're afraid if they were put on the stage with a flag in their hand they'd let it fall, or something. "The Craft of Power" says if you aren't ready for the arena, better get out before your corpse clutters up the action for better people than yourself.
Saint Hick is renowned for his charitable and social work
. . . There's a Leo lady whose name escapes me, for whom I rigged up a Buddha swing as a bed for her to play with, and there we had strange sexual acid encounters. Eventually I found what she really wanted. What she really wanted was for the establishment to pay her some money so that she could make terrariums. She was hooked, baby earth mother.
So I sent her down to a certain government office with a script, and what they did was give her some money and some pills and put her in a cab and sent her home and sent her checks every month from then on.
I ran into her a few years later, and at that time she had resigned her pension, after going to school on her money, and was now working as a nurse.
Saint Hick puts together an overseas mission
. . . There was a wonderful woman, a red fox, who came from Minnesota or some place. She was nineteen, was picked up hitchhiking by one of our group, and was going to go to Maui with us until, on the night before we were getting ready, we took an acid trip with Marcia, as she was then, Zabria now. And Zabria had enough sense to say, let's ask the Ching, and it turned out this other woman shouldn't go. She was supposed to go back to Minnesota and finish school. And that's what she did.
We were working on the story-myth that we would go to Hawaii with a group marriage in the waterbed business before a year and a day, and at this point we already had the tickets. The dildoes and mirrors were already in boxes on the water. We had a couple of cases of dildoes and lots of mirrors. And a few waterbeds. Great big boxes.
Then thirty-six hours before we got in the air a Leo lady showed up, and she came along as third wife. Before we left we had a crowning public moment. We'd sent a waterbed to Dr. Hippocrates, who was a columnist in those days, and his friend who made movies asked if they could come over and see us. We said, sure, come on up. We'd a great place then, hot pool, sauna, lots of mirrors, very theatrical, great selling machine. We got in a big six-by-nine waterbed, Zabria and myself, both naked, and there was another beautiful naked woman walking around getting coffee.
They asked us questions for a while, and all of a sudden I got this flash of the scene from "St. Joan" where they bring her in before a fake king and she calls, "Come on out, Charlie!" They didn't fool her. And I was talking to the fake Dr. Hippocrates. So I asked if I could name the waterbed after him and he looked to the other guy for a decision. So I leaned back and laughed and said, "Come on out, Charlie!"
They were impressed. They wrote that up in "Rolling Stone," three pages, it's in the archives. They quoted me as saying I had three secretaries, one to take in the money, one to go exploring and one to suck my cock.
Then we went off to Maui with all our dildoes, waterbeds, etc., and we lived in a cellar for the first couple of days until they said, Michael, go do something better. I went out and promoted a five-bedroom house in a high-class district on the far side of the island, and got waterbeds distributed, got the circus going.
What happened in this circus is that Zabria and I had just learned the basics of sex magic, and we were going to work this magic for what we wanted. She was a very earthy Taurian and said, "Let's do this for seven hundred dollars." I said, "Let's do it for seven hundred dollars and some unexpected surprise."
We were going to sex-fast for three days and then tease each other for three days and then come as much as we could in the three days that followed. That worked great until the afternoon of the second day of the tease cycle, when we cheated some way and declared the time was up, and went to it.
When that was over we felt a string had snapped, and the doorbell rang, and people started coming in with bounced checks and returning waterbeds and wanting their money back. Then we went down to the post office and there was the real bad news. Everything fell apart. So there we learned the power of sex magic.
Saint Hick does not shrink from admitting his errors
. . . There were acid trips that I failed on. . .by my standards. There was a tall, slim strip dancer named Criss Cross. Her husband, my buddy, had just dropped dead of a heart attack. It turned out on the autopsy he'd been living with five percent of his heart. This woman had, emotionally, let's say, killed him. That's how she saw it.
So she took an acid trip with me after that. She was full of deep guilt, had his picture up on the wall, candles burning. She was 120% into atonement, and nothing would do but to become chief nurse on the emergency heart ward where her husband died.
I thought I got her to forgive herself and go on into the bright radiant future and so on, and we had a great night of sex. I was just smug in the morning and talking as I was driving her home and suddenly she was silently sobbing. I said, "Honey, what's wrong?" "I don't know. But it sure is wrong!"
That crunched my heart in a cold fist. I saw later that I was in too much of a hurry. I was in my chief feature, called Premature, God bless it. Were I doing that today, I would take her down more into the grief, caverns full of it. I wouldn't try to hurry her away from it. I'd just go into it more and more, whatever the worst is. I'd say, let's go into the worst. That's where you recover.
That's how it worked for me. The worst was I was a deep subterranean evil monster and I did evil just for my own joy, including crushing my own creations or worshippers. You know, with a god like me who needs the devil?! Ha, ha, ha!. . . What a sales pitch for the snake-god of evil! It's certainly simple spiritual housekeeping.
Yes, start our freedom class by celebrating our own evil, all the times we've lied and choked ourselves or others. Certainly no use in scurrying away from all that energy without doing something useful with it. As Gurdjieff would say, the higher goes down on the lower and incorporates it into a new third force that will be the lower for a new higher, and so on.
Gratitude, gratitude, gratitude for God's miraculous extravagant excess.
. . . Let's begin this story of my lucky lucky life with the miracle maculate birth. Every time I get a little higher I see how much better the things are that the gods have already given me. I've told about learning at 53 that my father was an unknown dead World War I hero called Steve, which means Prince. And I was raised as a crown prince in the company of all kinds of rich, handsome, successful, genial relatives. If I fucked up, if I stole money out of the mailbox or shit my pants in public, it was taken as an expression of high spirits or an experience a prince should have, developing social acting power but using it differently as I grew.
So when we lost our money -- and we had some, gold plate, Cadillacs, all kinds of stuff like that -- and moved into a dirt-floor house, we were just temporarily going through the drys, and I was going to redeem this as I grew up. I caught a buzzard on the roof with a leg-trap, and when I went to release him he looked at me with an evil eye and puked in my face. That certainly cured me of the terror of smells.
The Excesses of Godby Robinson Jeffers
Is it not by his high superfluousness we know
Our God? For to be equal a need
Is natural, animal, mineral: but to fling
Rainbows over the rain
And beauty above the moon, and secret rainbows
On the domes of deep sea-shells,
And make the necessary embrace of breeding
Beautiful also as fire,
Not even the weeds to multiply without blossom
Nor the birds without music:
There is the great humaneness at the heart of things,
The extravagant kindness, the fountain
Humanity can understand, and would flow likewise
If power and desire were perch-mates.
I've read that poem a dozen times. Each time it shows me how much better he is at my game. Up to now I wasn't celebrating the extravagance. When I was working sex magic to find the jewel of wisdom in the palace of excess, that was certainly true, stimulates your peptides. But here it says, God doesn't count the cost. If you look at the evolution of the universe you see costs never counted.
That's why sexual excess, or all-out endeavor in anything is lucky, lucky, lucky, because it makes it possible to move in the gods' realm of extravagance. That's what got us here. The odds against us are ten million times the ten-millionth power of ten, at least. I celebrate the miracle of being here. Whoo! I'm on board. I'm here, I'm living.
On the perfectibility of the body
. . . The benefit I can promise has been promised to me and through me: I myself, in my very own first cloned body, will be moving towards an inevitable goal of voluntary erections. Long lasting. Hard-ons hard enough to strike a kitchen match on. Without drugs, without anything.
We can see the culture moving in that direction. We're already doing it mechanically with little pumps that go in your belly and you pump yourself up. I see ads for those things. Six thousand bucks and you've got a controllable hard-on.
Dolphins are showing us that. There's a story of a dolphin named Peter who lived with a woman where they'd meet in a shallow tank, and every time he came in he'd turn on his hard-on. And he never turned it off until he left. I think that's very courteous.
This is one of the marks of a highly evolved being. They demonstrate total control of their biosystem. This means that ladies if they wish can come for their thumb. . .or maybe not even use their thumb. It's all to come. Control of inconceivable orgasms.
It's a real reason to clone yourself. Next life you'll do very well.
On belief systems
. . . Every belief system is a thief. It takes the seamless, ongoing process and turns it into a grid, totally predictable. Usually they work pretty well, but they leave out the creative unknown. Master belief system regards belief systems as tools. No good workman would want to pick up a screwdriver and turn into one. Same with belief systems. Don't believe in them. Act as if you believe in them. Then you can use them as tools and step out of one and pick up another one.
Saint Hick's brilliant ancestry
. . . Once upon a time, over a hundred years ago -- in the early 1870s -- my ancestor named Tom, who owned a ranch, was playing poker in the card room of a saloon. The pot on this particular night was growing enormous. Playing with him was a young Englishman, who had money and came out to the West to do something with it. And there was a third player.
Everyone was betting and raising like crazy. Finally the Englishman pushed out thirty thousand dollars in gold, so the legend goes. Third player was in.
Tom said, "I'll put up half my ranch."
The Englishman said, "It's a deal."
Showdown time. Third party had a full house tens.
The Englishman had a full house aces.
Lucky Tom looked at the Englishman and said, "You win!" And he folded up his cards and put them in his shirt pocket behind his smoking tobacco and rolling papers.
They had a drink and went outside and chatted awhile, and the Englishman said, "What did you have?"
"Well, I deal any hand, and I won."
"What do you mean, you won? I've got all the money."
"Yeah. But I didn't come here to play poker. I came here to catch a partner, and it looks to me like I have a partner and I know he's got $30,000 in gold. I'm a lot better off than I was when I got here." And he showed the hand. It was four sixes.
That was the name of the ranch. Four Sixes. That's historical.
Saint Hick deals with the opposition that inevitably accompanies all pioneers
. . . You must always organize your opposition before you start anything new. In waterbeds we organized the opposition before we ever put out the first bed. We organized it by saying that waterbeds are live beds. We didn't have to say that all the rest of the beds are dead beds. That was implied.
Any effort to change things and create momentum to do things in a brand new way is going to breed some kind of opposition, just as push breeds shove. To win the easy way, organize your opposition, so when they appear they fall into pre-labeled slots, just the spots where you want them to be, where the very fact that they're against you turns lots of people on to you. They'll publicize you.
Saint Hick not only welcomes criticism, but incorporates it into his teachings
. . . We play a game called "Giftie gi'us," with a group in a circle. We give each other criticism as a love-gift. This comes from Robert Burns's poem:
"TO A LOUSE" by Robert Burns
On Seeing One on a Lady's Bonnet at ChurchHa! whaur ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie?
Your impudence protects you sairly;
I canna say but ye strunt rarely,
Owre gauze and lace;
Tho', faith! I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner,
Detested, shunn'd by saint an' sinner,
How daur ye set your fit upon her --
Sae fine a lady?
Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner
On some poor body.Swith! in some beggar's haffet squattle;
Therre ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle,
Wi'ither kindred, jumping cattle,
In shoals and nations;
Whaur horn nor bane ne'er daur unsettle
Your thick plantations.Now haud you there, ye're out o' sight,
Below the fatt'rels, snug and tight;
Na, faith ye yet! ye'll no be right,
Till ye've got on it --
The verra tapmost, tow'rin height
O' Miss's bonnet.My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out,
As plump an' grey as ony groset:
O for some rank, mercurial rozet,
Or fell, red smeddum,
I'd gie you sic a hearty dose o't,
Wad dress your droddum.I wad na been surpris'd to spy
You on an auld wife's flainen toy;
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy,
On's wyliecoat;
But Miss's fine Lunardi! fye!
How daur ye do't?O Jeany, dinna toss your head,
An' set your beauties a' abread!
Ye little ken what cursed speed
The blastie's makin:
Thae winks an' finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice takin.O wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!
It wad frae mony a blunder free us,
An' foolish notion:
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us,
An' ev'n devotion!If we could see ourselves as others do we would be a lot wiser. Picture Burns's local church a couple of hundred years ago. A fat woman, pompous, is wearing a big elaborate Easter hat, and everybody is staring at her and smiling. She thinks she is the admired of all admirers. What they're looking at is a satin ribbon an inch wide that runs across her brow, and on it is a great big louse.
The question is will the louse fall off? Does she know it? She doesn't know it. Nobody tells her.
In this game, offer the worst first, then the best, then how to improve.
Saint Hick believes in salvation through technology
. . . You know the story of Plato's cave: All you see of the light is shadows on the wall. That cave is your skull, and you're deeply buried and enslaved by every, which perpetuates itself by enslaving the vision of those that live in it, and shows them shadows instead of reality.
The computer is a new light in the cave. The computer shines light into the skull. The computer is a tool on the religious mythological theological garden-of-Eden myth level, which shows us the way to go to grow up to become God. God created us in the image of God, and we're supposed to take charge of this garden Earth and grow up and help God run things.
We haven't been able to do it so far, but the computer, the new light, new information to shine in there and explore how the mind itself works on the erotic level, in simulations to test and play and complexify and beautify and colorfy -- great art. This light will illuminate our minds in the cave, and as God created us for help, we created this new device to help us grow up. And as we do, we'll use it to create a better show.
Saint Hick revises the story of the creation of the world
. . . Here's the seed story about how our world, and the universe, and everything that ever is or was or will be, began. Science has doped it out back about sixteen billion years, but before the big bang they don't even speculate.
In the very beginning there wasn't anything whatsoever, not even time: nothingness, nothingness, nothingness. And all this nothingness is and was and shall be Mother Lu. Unmanifest, Mother Lu. Mother Lu was just there forever, and you could stuff an infinite number of forevers into Mother Lu and they wouldn't even wiggle. Nothing, she wouldn't even giggle.
She had a daughter, by her own choice, naturally, who was also absolutely nothing. She also contained nowhere, nowhen and nothing, and was the mother of all creatures, so they say. We're going to call her Mother Ah.
We can think of these as corresponding to body chakras. "Lu" is the first chakra: "Ooo...ooo...oooh," everything is really great. And "Ah" is satisfaction.
Then Mother Ah finally decided (this is when time starts, pretty soon) to have a male god-child. So of course it happened in no time at all, since there wasn't any time around for it to happen in.
This god-child was full of wonder, and his name was "Gee." Just say "Gee!" That's God, in this story. Gee just loved to play in this nothingness, still inside of Mother Ah, who was still inside of Mother Lu. So there was lots and lots of female nothingness containing everything that's going to happen sooner or later in the play.
Gee was now playing with himself, with every conceivable possibility, past present and future, but nothing was happening, because there was no time, no space, no place. So Mother Ah, who well knew how two-year-olds react to telling them no, appeared and said, "Gee, it's great to play with yourself and come all over the no-space and no-time, but whatever you do, don't ever come in the light."
Our beloved Gee just had to do what was forbidden, or else the story wouldn't go on. So he played with himself and worked himself up to a potent, potent joy-spasm, just about to open an orgasm-chasm, and then he yelled "Fiat lux!" Let there be light!
And that's what started the universe, Gee coming in joy and wonder and the light. You can find this in the I Ching. Of course I Ching's got it backwards. It starts off with yang, yang, yang -- active male. That's the first thing that actually appears. But before that, naturally, is yin, yin, yin, yin.
This shows that when yin becomes full, and then even fuller, as Mother Lu produced Mother Ah, then the nature of the whole thing flips, a reversal because of fullness. The full yin, when filled a little bit more, becomes yang, and the full yang, when filled a bit more, becomes yin.
* * *
Well, that's the seed, and of course the story, which has no beginning, truly, has no ending either -- it's an endless story. Everything you know that you've read or have been told in this society is called history. And it's an immense lie -- the big lie. Part of it's true, what you can check on. But if you look and see what it doesn't say, it doesn't talk about female -- not very much. And female is the start, the power, the power of life. The wisdom of God is female. The mother of God is female. The carriers of the flame of life in every mammal bod is female -- called microchondria, and you get them only from mother. They're the only ones that can use oxygen.
This story will move us up to a peaceful earth. It will end the beating of women by men, by using a very, very simple truth that we all know, if we take a different view. I look at everything with a different view. I've got my head twisted around, upside-down like the Hanged Man in the Tarot -- happy. Took me a long time to catch on to that.
His story needs to change to her story, because that's the way to get to our story.
