California Dreaming


Material life is all about “hope” .. I hope she likes me .. hope I get hired .. hope I win the lottery … so on, so on, and so, dreams sometimes gives us a little bit of that cherished hope, then it’s taken away in a flash! That’s the material world for you! Best to replace flickering hopes with everlasting dreams of eternal loving service to the One who dreams this whole material world on one exhalation, and then breathes it back in, Jai Sri Krishna!

So Far .. and yet so Near!

“I will be the first to touch Krishna!” “No, I will touch Him first!”


These crazy bald-headed humans! Their bus breaks down in the middle of the desert, and they're dancing and screaming at the top of their lungs, like they're all happy about it!!

These crazy bald-headed humans! Their bus breaks down in the middle of the desert, and they’re dancing and laughing, singing at the top of their lungs, like they’re all happy about it!!

Last night I dreamed I was a Timagila fish!

Last night I dreamed I was a Timagila fish!

A little to the left! Up a click or two, there! That's the spot! Ahhhh! Material pleasures, you can't beat it!

A little to the left! Up a bit, scratch there! That’s the spot! Ahhhh! Material pleasures, you can’t beat them!

Cook 3 meals, chant 16, change diapers, attend Bhagavatam class, [Hush baby!], clean mess, what more?

Cook 3 meals, chant 16, change diapers, attend Bhagavatam class, [Hush baby!], clean mess, what more do you want?

"What you looking at? We're walking here! You talking to me?

“What you looking at? We’re walking here! You talking to me?

"Last life I was a famous Rock Star ... now look at me! " ... "I think you're kind of cute!"

“Last life I was a famous Rock Star … now look at me! ” … “I think you’re kind of cute!”


Don’t give me that “I got your back” baloney! You’re just here for the free ride! [Wait a minute … is this what I think it is? Ewww!]

Stop the scary movies! Can't take these nightmares!

Enough with the scary movies! Can’t take these nightmares!

Ah! The wages of fame! Dratted Paparazzi's won't give me a moment of peace!!

Ah! The wages of fame! Dratted Paparazzi’s won’t give me a moment’s peace!!

Come on people! Even with my small brain, I can see an obvious design in all, from DNA on up to galaxies, the Golden Ratio!!

Come on people! Even with my small brain, I can see an obvious design in all, from DNA on up to galaxies, the Golden Ratio!!

imnmvages  Unknocxdewn imyutages

imapiouges imngytages



Yamuna said: Swamiji, Janaki-devi wrote me this very nice letter where she had a dream that there was a gigantic platform above the surface of the earth, and all of our devotees, our Godbrothers and sisters and you, were assembled on this gigantic platform for sankirtana. And we had such a thunderous joy, magnificent kirtana, that the whole earth… When you said, “Jaya om param paramahamsa,” the whole earth bowed down to you like this. And we were all crying, so happy. And you said, “Now my Guru Maharaja is satisfied.” That was her dream.

Here's another jnani yogi falling from the sky, straight from the Brahmajyoti!  ["Thus after some time they fall again to this material world"]

Here’s another jnani yogi falling from the sky, straight from the Brahmajyoti! [“Thus after some time they fall again to this material world”]







Her Native Silkworm Cocoon



The soul is eternal Wanderer of this world. Where it goes through an endless series of incarnations and where? Although she is looking for a great love and happiness, it creates only a new karma and becomes entangled in her native silkworm cocoon.

Sometimes, helpless and seeking compassion and mercy, she cries out to God, but because of bad karma and a weak mind no longer remembers him and could not properly access it. Because for too long did not see their God as a child born in a foreign land and not forgetful of his father.

And only her dormant love reminds her that she must continue their pursuit of happiness.

Alexander Hakimov, “Karma”

Getting the Mega-Paddle [day in, day out]


“What does one do with so much time on his hands?”

Sreejinn noted Jeb’s query with assiduousness and replied, “Every time I come out of hiding and enter into a new civilization … I come in and I take note of the fabric of the times… the collective thinking of the country I’m in and so on…”

“What?” Jeb is thinking. “Is it that he lives in some cave and comes out every now and then?”

Sreejinn suddenly paused his train of thought, and said, “I know what you might be thinking,” as he looked at Jeb with that ‘knowing’ look. “I can’t really read your mind, don’t worry, that wouldn’t be fair. But I can guess at what you are thinking. Yes, I do live in caves at times, to pass the time. Actually I sort of withdraw myself within, like a tortoise pulls his limbs within his shell. I metamorphose into a chrysalis state, and meditate for indefinite lengths of time until I come out again for more adventures in this world composed of lights and shadows reflected on the wall.


“Whenever I enter a new civilization, I always study the history, go to libraries and read everything there, or I go and talk to the people, usually to the common people in bars or parks. Or, I find the intelligentsia in the coffee shops or bookstores, and I extract from them what is in the collective consciousness. I listen in length to how people talk, and often I see it’s an imitation of their heroes in the theaters or the movies. Sometimes, sigh, I listen to talk radio, since they exist in modern times, or watch the boobie, to get a grasp of the collective consciousness.

“There is one peculiar obsession of your modern western civilization, which I found to be an odd fixation in the collective mind. They have such a predilection for this word that rhymes with truck. They seem to use the word for every kind of description of actions and objects, or a so-called hip way of communication. This is especially true in the working class, when they stand around on break, or when they go to some bar, or anytime men get together.


“Now, what is the reason why your people are so obsessed with this effin word?”

Jeb hunches his shoulders in an ‘idunno’ expression, and then offered this suggestion, “maybe it’s from reading too many Stephen King novels.”

“Could be,” said Sreejinn. He paused, as mirth twinkled in his blue eyes. “Another big reason is that people think movie stars are gods, and whatever they say or do is chic. The media and magazine constantly broadcast the glories of sex and the effin word, which indicates such a life style. The word reminds them of passion, and since they think that union with a lass is the ultimate goal of life, the word is very dear to them, yet ironically they cannot have more carnal acts than the pigeons, and the fact that such unions are short-lived, usually brief encounters, then perhaps they think that saying the effin word gives some kind of substitute for the large periods of time waiting between the acts of passion, as if thinking it makes it so, indeed, if they are allowed to have any such pleasure at all. Therefore they frequently say the blankety word to fill in the vacuum.


“The word has a dual meaning. It means to have pleasure in the act of love or lust or both. And secondly, it means to inflict damage or hurt to oneself or others, or more other shades of nefarious meanings, such as to fall into deep illusion, to be duped, to be greatly mistaken, and so on.

“So everyone wants that pleasure, fleeting as it is, the first meaning of the effin word, and they say the word often to remind them of the pleasure. But ironically, alas, it seems that at a subconscious level, they know the 2nd meaning of the word is being foisted upon them, moment after moment. Thus, constant repetition of the effin word is a subliminal reminder to the chanter, that he or she is getting the royal shaft from the great cosmic arrangement of punitive justice, or persons whom the chanter had shafted in a previous time, in a previous life, and are now meting out punishment.


“He knows he’s getting the mega-paddle day in and day out, and his chanting effin this, and effin that, simply confirms the fact, in his dilettantish psyche, the naked reality of his perpetual punishment at the hands of an unrelenting taskmaster, momento after momento.”


Recommended blogs:

Catterwaul cuts the crap –
Is it Pinkish? –
Willy Wanko –
Tolkien in Hinterland –
Mandates of the night sky –
Rory chap 5 father time –
Coronation of Lord Smithy the Third –
Telling the Gents What to Do –
Winter of my Soul-
Teleporting Across the Ocean-


Boy Wonder Sacrificed by Guardians


He Gave His Youth


As Rajan breathed in the fragrance of his garland of champaka flowers, he felt wonderful pleasure as he gazed at the nearby garden and courtyard. A small deer loitered about without care, while a pair of Coo-coo birds sweetly sang in a nearby ashoka tree. Brahmins chanted mantras, and a shenai player enhanced the atmosphere with ragas. The Himalayas jutted up into the sky, beautifying the northern skyline. They seemed very near.


The muni took his seat and played a tampura, he began to sing some devotional bhajans. He sang for some time with eyes closed and intense emotion, his head moving side to side. Drafts of sandalwood incense mingled about. He ended with the refrain of “Jai Rama, Sri Rama, Jai Jai Rama.”

The muni suddenly stopped singing and remained motionless, eyes closed, remaining still, as if in trance for a long time. The atmosphere turned quiet and grave. Everyone felt a pervading peace. A smile lit up his face as his eyes quickly opened, and he uttered “Jai Rama,” his eyes shining with intense spiritual emotions. He offered his welcome again to the guests.


“I know all about your adventures,” said the muni, “We have feathered spies everywhere. Also, the high priests of Jaipur sent messenger birds to inform me. I am glad that you made it this far. We did not anticipate the intrusion of demons so soon, but you will have no fear of demons in this circle of land. This ashram and forest area is protected by multi-dimensional mantra armor. It is impregnable by those in the gross modes of ignorance. So, how may I serve you?”

“Thank you kindly, your holiness, for your hospitality and assurance of the security of this ashram,” said Rajan. “Would you please tell us of this world, and describe the path most beneficial for those who are always feeling fear and lamentation.”


The muni replied, “This world is made of dualities, and the path to contentment is fraught with difficulties, and yet everyone is desirous of some happiness. I know that well myself, for I have tried for many life-times to get happiness. By the blessings of my Guru, I received the mystic vision to see my past lives. I was so many things; I was once a doctor, a millionaire, a king, a lawyer, poet, composer, and a philosopher.


I’ve had little spots of happiness in those lives and now I see that the happy times were short-lived in so many earthy lives, and the good years are always short. Although this knowledge is known to all men, still they pursue the illusion of temporary happiness.

I wish to tell a tale from the age-old texts which will shed light upon this. This story is a part of a long epic told by Lord Shiva to Parvati.” He then spoke the story which goes as follows:

Once a King, named Chandravaloka, hunted in a forest and he lost his way and came upon a large lake filled with blue lotus flowers. He spied a young girl upon the far bank beneath an Asoka tree. He approached the maiden to inquire of his way and beheld her comely shape and features so that he thought her to be born from the planets of the celestials. He found out that she was born of the Apsara Menaka from the hermit sage Kanva, who lived near by.

The King went to that sage who shown bright as the moon and sat surrounded by his star like followers. The King worshipped his feet, and in return, the sage requested that the King give up his cruel sport of hunting the poor deer.

The sage said, “Do not all the living creatures fear death, and so why do you slay them without reason? Have you not heard the story of Pandu? Who mistakenly shot a shaft into a sage who was disguised as a deer?”

The King agreed to this request, and the sage Kanva being pleased with him, granted him a boon. The King’s wish was to accept the sage’s daughter, Indivaraprabha’s hand in marriage. This boon was granted and the King set off with his new bride to return to his kingdom – and they were followed by the sage’s tear filled eyes.

Shortly, the sun being wearied with the toil of the day, seemed to set down to rest upon the mountain peak. The silvery moon rose up and ushered in the darkness of night and the host of twinkling stars, and they all seemed to whisper amorous songs of love that caused the fairy-like entities of the woods to dance and fly about the boughs and creepers. Just then, the King found an Asvattha tree on the bank of a lake whose waters were as pure as the mind of a transcendentalist. Beneath the tree was a secluded spot surrounded by dense boughs and leaves and carpeted with lush grass. They took rest upon a bed of flowers beneath the undulating moonbeams which sparkled about the bowers and creepers like jewel-lamps.


The next morning, the moon seemed to sink in fear of the angry rays of the sun which appeared like a curved sword eager to slay the lord of the night. Suddenly, a pitch black demon, a Brahman-rakshasa, appeared there like a thundercloud with yellow hair like lightening. He wore a garland of entrails and drank blood from a skull as he uttered a horrible cry through his projecting tusks.

He vomited fire and hurled a fiery rage at the King, saying, “Rascal, I am a Brahman-rakshasa by name of Jvalamukha, and this dwelling by the Asvattha tree is my abode, not to be trespassed upon by any of the Gods themselves. How presumptuous has thou come to enjoy it, and so ye shall reap the fruits of your offense. I will drink upon your blood here and now.”


The King heard the ghastly decree and his wife fainted away in fear, and he said humbly, “Pardon this sin, oh great one, for I am a mere mortal traversing through your land and am a guest seeking your protection.”

The demon relented and granted him pardon only on the condition that the King bring him a human sacrifice of a boy of seven years old and of such a noble character that he would volunteer himself for the King’s sake. Also, the boy’s father and mother must place him before the demon and hold his hands and feet while the King slays the boy with a sword, all on the seventh day. If this condition was not met, then the demon would lay waste upon the King’s court.


The King thus agreed to these conditions and went back home in great despondency, for he could see no possible way to find such a willing victim. Arriving at his court, he counseled with his ministers in a dejected state, but one of his wise ministers said to him-

“Do not be forlorn, for I will find such a boy, for verily within this world such wonders are to be found.”


That wise minister made a gold image of a seven year old boy and placed it on a chariot and carried it all about the kingdom in every town and village along with the following proclamation that whosoever would be a boy of seven and of noble mind to be made sacrifice and have a mother and father to hold his hands and feet will benefit his parents with this golden image along with a hundred villages.

And it so happened that such a Brahmin seven year old boy did appear, who was born from a previous life’s wish to only benefit his fellowman with any sacrifice that was asked of him. The boy approached the chariot and agreed to give himself and then ran off to tell his parents.

He submitted to his parents with folded hands the following plea, “For the good of the King and his people and to end your poverty I wish to offer up this temporal perishable body of mine by way of sacrifice to a flesh eating demon, if you agree.”

His parents could only respond with faces screwed up with horror as they said, “What kind of monsters do you take us for, as if any parent would agree to such an abomination! Is your brain fevered? Or has some evil planet stricken you?”

The boy answered with all sagacity, “I speak not out of illusion, but with intellect honed by the wisdom of the ancients versed in Vedanta. This body which is impermanent and full of disease and is destined to end at any time is only meant for the service and welfare of others. In this transient world of pain, the only permanent virtue is achieved by sacrificing one’s temporal body for the benefit of all beings, and what more devotion to my parents could I give then to end their poverty forever?”

So, gradually the boy convinced his weeping parents by many similar discourses and they finally agreed.

The King was delighted to find the boy with such noble character and he adorned the boy with costly jewels and garments and garlanded him with fragrant flowers and rubbed expensive oils and sandalwood paste on his body and placed him on a royal elephant and took him to the abode of the demon with his parents following.



Beneath the Asvattha tree, the King’s priest made oblations into a sacrificial fire and summoned the demon who appeared upon the scene with a loud laughter and ghastly appearance. His eyes blazed and his countenance cast darkness to all directions.

The King bowed before him and said, “I have kept my promise in delivering the boy upon the seventh day.” The demon licked his tusks as he gazed wickedly at the boy.

The boy then said, “The benediction rewarded to me for my deeds, I pray, is not salvation to the heavenly planets which benefits not others, I ask only to give up my body for others, birth after birth!”

At this behest, the celestials crowded the heavens in wonder at the boy and they rained flowers upon him.

The boy was placed before the Brahman-rakshasha and the mother and father held his hands and feet and the King raised his sword to strike and suddenly they were astounded so much by the loud laughter of the boy that all, including the demon, fell to their knees with folded palms and stared with wonder into the boy’s face.

“And this is the meaning of the child’s laughter,” said the muni, “please hear … when a weak person is in threat of his life, he calls upon his father and mother to save him, and if they are not present, then he appeals to the King, and at last, he propitiates his protective deity. But in the boy’s moment of danger, his parents held his feet and hands with greed of gain, and the King was ready to slay him to save himself, and the Brahman-rakshasha demon, who somehow was his protective deity, was ready to eat him!”

“The boy laughed hard and said to himself, “`See how great is the illusory potency of Maya, by her power such so-called parents and so-called Kings are so deluded for the sake of their temporal bodies that they will do anything, and they are filled with such strong desires to continue their existence in such a world where even Brahma, Indra and all demigods must perish themselves!'”

Thus the boy laughed out of joy and wonder at the insurmountable power of Maya.”

“And so,” said the muni, “it is difficult to capture that will-o-wisp called happiness. There is happiness experienced by those in the modes of goodness, but that happiness is always wedged in by other things that are full of unhappiness.

The poet or philosopher gets some intellectual bliss, but that is eclipsed by birth and death, and all the way through this mortal life is pain, enemies, and disappointments. But, they still like this short spot of brief happiness, because it is better than nothing at all.

It is only when they finally hear about the vast ocean of Amrita, the nectar of immortality, that they can finally see the brevity of earthly life for what it is. On the scale of eternal time, such happiness is but a brief moment, like flickering lightning in the night sky. Real happiness is like the blazing sun in the sky.”

“What would be that vast ocean of Amrita?” inquired Rajan.

The muni answered, “That vast ocean of Amrita is a gushing river of spiritual sound vibrations cascading down from the top of the universe, just like the celestial waters of the Ganges. This river of sound is innundating all the saintly sages and devotees in the form of Gita, Bhagavata and countless other transcendental sounds, Jai Rama, Sri Rama, Jai Jai Rama!”

Excerpt from “Gift of the Siddhas”


Here's another jnani yogi falling from the sky, straight from the Brahmajyoti!  ["Thus after some time they fall again to this material world"]

Another jnani yogi falling from the sky! Straight from the Brahmajyoti! [“Thus after some time they fall again to this material world”]

Come on people! Even with my small brain, I can see an obvious design in all, from DNA on up to galaxies, the Golden Ratio!!

Come on people! Even with my small brain, I can see an obvious design in all, from DNA on up to galaxies, the Golden Ratio!!


From James Robinson Cooper : What’s more rational ? To look inside a human cell, see libraries of digital information, biological machines and thousands of biological computers and conclude the cell has been designed Or to look inside a human cell see libraries of digital information, biological machines and thousands of biological computers and conclude it all happened by chance, put together by the blind forces of nature?


Ah! The sweet sound of Krishna's flute!

Ah! The sweet sound of Krishna’s flute!


Teleporting Across the Ocean


After Chandra finished his ritual duties, he knows that it is time to teleport across the ocean, back to Sherlock’s domicile … and so his two feet arrives upon the cobble stones of Baker Street, within a wink of an eye, and he drifts through a small crack in the window sill, like a wisp of fog, and he duly appears before Sherlock in a slightly visible ethereal body … and then, sitting opposite Sherlock’s confounded facial expression, Chandra said, “Namaste Lord Sherlock,


“Take a look at this drop of water,” continued Chandra, as he takes an eyedropper from his coat and squeezes a drop onto the table’s top. “You asked me about man’s eternal soul, well, there are hundreds of thousands of microscopic organisms swimming around in this drop of water, and yes, they too have souls, just as the huge body of an elephant has a similar soul of the same size. Whether the body be huge or infinitesimal, the soul within floods the entire body with consciousness.”

Sherlock reaches for something in a drawer, and Chandra says, “Put away your magnifying glass, Sherlock, it will not allow you to see these souls, nor can you see the bodies of these tiny creatures swimming around in their vast world of liquidity. I have teleported into the far future, and I have looked at specimens through their powerful microscopes, and still the soul is invisible to our eyes, because the soul is one ten-thousandth the tip of a hair, and thus invisible to our eyes.”


“Sometimes the path can be a little bumpy in the beginning,” whispered Chandra into Sherlock’s ear.

“We can converse person to person, no need for whispers,” said Sherlock.

After a long pause, Chandra continued, “the path most often requires one to discard baggage that prevents the seeker from flying upward into the heavenly realms …”

“And this means that I must discard something … what?” implored Sherlock.

“Let me narrate a story which illustrates this situation of shedding things that hinder,” offered Chandra, and he told a story thus;


“Once upon a time, on the peripheral edge of the Bermuda Triangle, there rested an exotic bird paradise on a celestial island in the sea.

“Bermuda Triangle?” wondered Sherlock…

“Yes, this triangle was known by men to be a cursed area of the sea, off the coast of Bermuda, and was always a great mystery to man, as many boats and aeroplanes have disappeared after entering it’s domain. The truth is, this area is a conduit, it is like a wormhole, or a portal that teleports whoever enters, and transports them into other dimensions, other lands, other planets, into different eras, into different centuries.

What is on the "other side?"

What is on the “other side?”

“That island on the edge of this Bermuda wormhole, was populated by exotic birds who happily lived in peace for centuries, because it was protected by the curse of that triangle, and humans feared the reputation of “they who enters nare ever return.” Thus that abode of the exotic birds flourished, until one day a wooden ship appeared like a bad dream, with it’s black flag of skull-and-cross-bones flapping in the wind. The birds turned their colorful necks to observe this ship, full of black-bearded pirates, who then proceeded to do what man does best…”


And Chandra paused a few moments, as Sherlock’s eye-brows arched, as if to say, “what, pray tell, what is it, that man does best?”

“The very thing that man, the two legged animal, does best … is to kill every living creature that lay within his wicked eyesight…”

“What you say is true, oh sage, please tell me why this is so?” pleaded Sherlock.


“Why does man delight in killing? This is because he is not in harmony with the creative golden spiral of the universe. He cannot create anything wondrous with his two clumsy hands … therefore he is envious of all that has beauty … envious of all that flows with the magical Fibonacci numbers, he is disharmonious with all that is seen in the golden ratio of the divine proportions of creation,


and all he can do, is to use his gift of free will, and wrongly choose to kill that which he fears, that which is beyond his comprehension. And thus he thinks his crude murder of life to be a sort of brutish creativity … like it is some kind of esoteric work of art … but it is only his fear and hatred of God’s immaculate creation.”

“And so,” continued Chandra, “the beautiful birds resided in caves etched within the side of a great mountain, and thus Blackbeard and his motley crew of pirates proceeded to fire their man’o-war cannon balls at the near mountain, which decimated the nests of unsuspecting birds, who raised a squalor of protest.”


The Condor’s only hope of survival from the pirate’s fiery assault was to fly up the sheer walls of the vertical face of the mountain, up to the lofty peaks without hesitation, … but alas, those condors who were attached to their nest and eggs, and tried to secure either nest or eggs held in their talons, they could not make the vertical ascent as quickly, being burdened down’, and they could not escape the cannon balls exploding all about the mountain face, and they fell down to death, while the Condors who flew without a second thought, leaving all behind, only they lived … so, the moral of the story, is that when the house is on fire, rhe survivor exits,  to reach the goal, sometimes he must leave cherished attachments behind. That is what the moral of the story seems to be telling … but then again, things are not always what they seem.”

“There is nothing more deceptive than obvious facts,” said Sherlock, quoting one of his favorite axioms.

After assimilating all of this elaborate elucidation, Sherlock suggested, “Yes, it may seem that the birds that flew off were selfish, just trying to save themselves … and those who tried to save the nest, bore true nobility of heart, possessing a true moral compass.

“But, from another viewpoint, it may be said that in order for one to save himself from imminent danger, the situation may preclude the giving up of one’s attachments, to first save yourself, then go back and save others.”


To this, Chandra said, “Sometimes you can’t save others until you first save yourself … but that is not what really happened! The most common mistake people make, is to smugly think that our particular species of homo sapiens is more intelligent than animals who live in so-called primitive ages … and so it may come as a shock to our big brains, to discover that primitive animals possess the ability to proffer a challenge to one’s so-called modern intelligence.

“And so, keeping that in mind … this is what really happened:”

Some of the Condors pretended to be dead, laying there still, in the nests … while the other Condors flew upward into the clouds, until they became tiny specks in the sky before merging into the clouds. To which the Pirates laughed loudly, and hurled insults up into the skies, crying out;


“Run you cowards, fly away and save your own skin, and let your fellow mates and wives die in your nests, trying to protect your eggs, ha ha, big big birds with big big yellow bellies!!!”

The Pirates thought they were gone, until they heard a  faint wailing noise, way up in the sky,


getting louder and louder … and before they could discern the reality of what was about to happen, a multitude of Condors suddenly materializing out of thin air, and they came swooping down with talons extended, claws eager to dig deep into the backs of the terrified Pirates, who ran here and there, some being picked up in the air with the Condor’s talons so sharp and strong, and firmly embedded into the bleeding backs of hapless pirates, and some were dropped into the ocean, as other terrified pirates ran all about, helter skelter, while the Condors ripped up their sails, tore down their masts, and overturned fires and kegs of oil, which set the ship ablaze.

As the wooden ship became a blazing inferno, more pirates came running out of the bowels of the ship, some jumping into the churning water and swimming ashore, where they lay exhausted on the beach for a long time. After gathering their wits, they looked around, and gazed up into the sky, and they thought that the Condors were gone, and they breathed deeply with great relief and gratitude … and then after a long while, a low and distant growl summoned their attention, and looking towards that alarming sound, they saw small specs on the distant shore, specs that grew larger and larger, until the true shapes began to manifest … and to their utter dismay, the pirates found themselves confronted with a pack of snarling and hungry wolves …


great grey  wolves much larger than ever seen in Europe. Both pirates and wolves stood there staring at each other, the men frozen, afraid to run, and then the whole pack moved simultaneously, just a mere inch, which set off sheer panic throughout the bodies of the terrified pirates, and they all turned and ran for dear life.”



Recommended blogs:

Catterwaul cuts the crap –
Is it Pinkish? –
Willy Wanko –
Tolkien in Hinterland –
Mandates of the night sky –
Rory chap 5 father time –
Coronation of Lord Smithy the Third –
Telling the Gents What to Do –
Winter of my Soul-


Get a copy of Bhagavad Gita at –

Read Bhagavad Gita online –

Read my novel  “Katz of Hinterland” –


Crossing the Rubicon


“What is that yammering from the north?” Cory looks upward in desperate supplication to whoever is producing this bizarre drama, and says, “I am so tired, looking at the same trees hour after hour, while these critters mess with my mind again and again without mercy.”


Cory finally drifts off to sleep. He hears a voice in the woods, in his dream, he sees an image of a shrouded face in the woods, telling him, almost in a whisper, “in order to extract the master from the nether dimensions, you must first precipitate the oracle … then the oracle will give disclosure of the series of clues leading to the yantra, and thus reaping the extraction of the master from the ethereal quagmire…..”

Cory makes a communiqué via cell phone to Hans, for the first time, and said, “First it was a yantra, and now we gotta find something or someone called the ‘Oracle.’”


“What? I told you not to call until you found it,”

“Oracle, that’s what they are saying.”

“Who is they?”

“I wouldn’t call them “they” if I knew who they were! “They” are the voices in the woods, mostly in my dreams, I think, at least that is what I remembered when I woke up. I hear strange cries, like cat screams in my waking; I think that’s what it is.”

“Ok, find the oracle or whatever friggen thing that turns the spicket into a portal, so we can usher the master, tired of all this mumbo jumbo, just do it!”


“Ok boss, I’m yer “can do” kind of guy — I’ve been sitting in the fricken woods, with bugs crawling all over me, and wild animals screaming at night, losing my mind night and day, for days on end! That’s what you call friggen on the edge of bedlam psychosis! … sorry boss, having a really bad day.”

** *

Sreejinn broke from his meditation while sitting at the dreamland circle as a voice from the shadows whispered a desperate plea, “I’m in two places at the same time, here in dreamworld and I’m stuck in the middle of some woods behind the house of Harrison. I don’t know why I see through these disgusting tiny eyes, so low to the ground, and all these trees, trees and more trees, and these infernal cats, so grotesque, Let me remain in this transparent ghost body for a thousand years, anything but this woodland abomination, I can’t take it much longer!


Sreejinn intervenes and finds the blackman cowering behind a rock and he tells blackman, “I also have a dual existence, here and in the woods. I sit high in a tree and look through eyes of a magnificent feathered creature, I live both in my interminable earthly body, and also temporarily in another body, that of a hawk in this case, a most noble bird. It is a called a “walk-in,” the sharing of one’s subtle mind in another body … it’s like the movie “beastmaster,” Sreejinn said laughing. “you know the movie?”

“No,” groaned the blackman, “in my prior earthly existence, in the Fatherland, I was fond of American movies, watched them every night, mostly Westerns, I must have missed this ‘Beastmaster’ movie.”

“This doesn’t mean I’m the bird, rather, I see through the senses of the hawk, it’s my spirit entering the other body and co- habiting with the owner of that body, who hosts me for a while. You’ll get over it, don’t worry blackman.”

“So, how am I to incarnate into this world?” queried the blackman, “this Hans guy was that yogi, and now he has to do his duty, we made the pact years ago in another life, and somehow he is supposed to manipulate the elements and karma of my destiny, so that I will enter into the flesh of my old personality of the fuehrer and lead my men in the new world of supremacy.”

“Yes. I know, I was there at the Kumba-mala all those years ago, I know of your pact with Hans. This is a mystic yogi’s attempt at “crossing the Rubicon” of the karma law, something audaciously never done before. The attempt to change another’s karma and alter his destiny of flesh incarnation in the life, normally something way, way beyond anyone’s control. Such an attempt to alter the cosmic fabric of cause and effect, to jump start the universal laws, to alter the destiny that’s ”written in stone” and re-write the stringent laws of fate … that’s a pretty brash project to undertake.”


More of this in “Katz of Hinterland”  a novel –

Recommended blogs:

Catterwaul cuts the crap –
Is it Pinkish? –
Willy Wanko –
Tolkien in Hinterland –
Mandates of the night sky –
Rory chap 5 father time –
Coronation of Lord Smithy the Third –
Telling the Gents What to Do –

“Holden Caulfield once said….”


Remember, it’s not the words, it’s the silence of the gaps between the words … therein lies one’s profundities.


“Holden Caulfield once said….”

“You mean the Holden in the ‘Catcher in the Rye’ novel?”


“That’s right,” said Jeb, “he said that sometimes you read this really great book and you wish you were friends with the author, and wish you could call him up on the phone and talk with him … well, I kind of wish that now…”

“This is dreamland, Jeb, the land where all wishes come true,” said Jehrom. “Just like how we can fly in the air sometimes, in our regular dreams, and do anything we want, like do really bizarre things. Well, this is a state of cognizant dreamland, where we can consciously and willfully do things that are pretty off the wall, so give that a try … won’t hurt nothing.”

At that moment a portion of the dreamland sky turned into a giant monitor screen, right above the sea, as Jeb and Jehrom were sitting on their log seats, around the campfire, on the edge of the cliff. Then a keyboard appeared upon a desk that suddenly dreamized right in front of Jeb.


“This is your dreamland internet,” said Jehrom. “You can surf all over that dream sea, on that monitor, all you want. You can email anyone you want, even authors who are deceased, or still living.”

Jeb upturned his fingers and cracked them slightly and placed them over the keyboard with a dramatic flair … sort of like how he saw Mozart do on his piano, in the “Amadeus” movie. Then he began typing letters in the search box, on the dreamland browser in the sky. The search box spelled out, “JD Salinger” and he pressed the enter button. Presto!, there appeared in the Google sky screen, the Wikipedia website of JD Salinger, with all his books, and many articles written about him. Jeb clicked the contact button, and his dreamland email address appeared. Jeb pushed the composition button and began to type.

“Dear Mr. Salinger, big fan, loved your ‘Catcher in the Rye’ book, and many other books as well. In ‘Franny and Zooey’ you wrote that passage about the method of chanting mantras on beads, called ‘japa’ which is something I’m trying lately. Well, not to take too much of your time, If you could give me some retrospective wisdom on life, that would make my day … uh, rather make my night … my dream night. Fan always, Jeb.”

Moments later, Jeb got this reply;

“Dear Jeb, love ya fans. Don’t worry, I’m working up a big fat answer sending soon, perhaps now or later, sometimes making big answer takes long time, Ugh, kemo sabe, brain waves operate veddy slowly, veddy independently, but exceedingly fine, cannot be prodded along, circuit synappis fires whens they decides to fire — answers to great riddle of life — getting that you will … [Yoda rules!] Remember, it’s not the words, it’s the silence of the gaps between the words … therein lies one’s profundities.


“Inspired email, directly from the heavens, coming forthwith — accompanied by dazzling flashing in the sky and loud reports on the horizon — and of course, there’s the loud shouting from all directions, cause it’s never over, until the shouting begins, and the fat lady sings, of course…

“Plus news of the never ending saga of Sir Sreejinn, and his noble Knight, Sir Jehromji,


“Keeping one’s eyeball adhered to the screen, like a fly on fecal matter, one stays tuned into the great comput god, just now signing out … this hombre keeping you posted on singular post … [how’s one keep self affixed to one’s post, me asks?] 10 / 4, yours truly, JD.”

“Well, that makes perfect sense,” said Jeb as Jehrom surveyed him with a blank expression.

“Right, everything makes eventual sense here in dreamland. All puzzle pieces will fit together … in due course of time.”

“Who is Sir Sreejinn?”


Recommended blogs:

Catterwaul cuts the crap –
Is it Pinkish? –
Willy Wanko –
Tolkien in Hinterland –
Mandates of the night sky –
Rory chap 5 father time –
Coronation of Lord Smithy the Third –
Telling the Gents What to Do –
Winter of my Soul-
Fuehrer-ocious Inferno –
Books and stones –
Ramayana becomes Ravayana –
California Dreaming –
Sherlock  chap 1 –
Sherlock  chap 1 pt 2 –
Sherlock  chap 1 pt 3 –
Sherlock chap 2 –
Sherlock chap 4 –
Rory chap 1 – Einstein & golden Ratio
Rory chap 2, the law of confusion –
Mind over matter –
Beehive of devotion:
Even children can take part:
Exhortations of Humble Love –
Real Happiness –
Boy Wonder Sacrificed by Guardians-


Get a copy of Bhagavad Gita at –

Read Bhagavad Gita online –

Read my novel  “Katz of Hinterland” –

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