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Part One: My Paranormal Romantic Thriller
Alright, folks! This is a true-to-life story, but it has been psychoneurotically-enhanced for your reading pleasure! In other words, it all basically really happened. However, certain names were changed for protective purposes.
When Robyn and I met, it was déjà vu at first sight! We knew that we knew each other before. It was psychoactive, psychokinetic, psychosensitive, superpsychonatural, and psychotically paranormal!
It was around 1990, right at the cusp between two decades, the 80s when old age was new, and the 90s when the New Age was old (that's probably too esoteric to explain -- besides, it went right over my head too). Somewhere in Silicon Valley, there was a quaint little city called San Jose, in the mystical state California, where you'll find a lot of New Age nut-cases running around, the kind of fruitcakes that create their own religions and set themselves up as hifalutin messiahs, so they can save themselves and as an afterthought everyone else around them.
I had been attending the classes of one such demented nut-job. But I have to change his name to protect the guilt-ridden innocent (just in case he comes after me someday), so let's call him -- including all his pomp and circumstantial titles -- The Grand Patriarchical Supremely Mostly Right Reverend Malachi Morpheus the Resplendent. Alright, that's a bit much, but we simply called him the old Patriarch. And he was the head honcho of this group that he personally founded (which I'll have to change the name of also to avoid any legal flack from them), called the Imperial Order of the Cosmic Consciousness of Christ, or some bodacious slop like that. His International Grand Temple Universal was located in his little apartment in some nondescript complex along some residential street I forgot the name of. This was one of those New Age metaphysical groups that teach really cool stuff like Alchemy, Kabbalah, Hermeticism, Gnosticism, Far Easternism, Near Westernism, the Elixir of Life, and even the Philosopher's Stone, which is like the Holy Grail of Esoterica. So it's rather occultly esoteric, and it would require another several-part article to explain. Another time, perhaps.
Anyway, Grand Patriarch Malachi Morpheus the Resplendent (for short) had this little group of esoteric-crap loving seekers that heeded his slick and syrupy words as if they were sweet nectar dripping from his lips – yuck! But they believed every word that spewed forth from his conniving lips. I wasn't there for the usual BSoterica, as you might think -- I was there for the women. Okay, I admit, some of this New Age sludge was somewhat appealing. Only because the women in this class goggled and googled over its charismatic leader, and watching them do that made me wonder what the heck they were really there for. Later on I'd heard that he'd had secret rendezvous with certain ladies from his class... Alrighty then!
But after several classes, there was a newcomer, and this person wore a skirt and luscious curly golden-brown hair and hypnotic swimming pool blue eyes. But, to be honest with you, it was not her physical beauty that sucked me into her mesmeric web -- okay, yes it was! -- but rather, something more sensuously psychic, something neurotically and psychotically seductive, some kind of surreal sexual attraction that snatched me up and delivered me to Nirvana.
As she entered the door as I greeted her, my eyes drilled into hers like hot red lasers, and she returned the inviting favor. And then, by some strange paranormal unexplainable explanation, we immediately knew that we knew each other, because of something on the lines of some past lifetime crap that you hear about in these kinds of New Age circles. It's what they call "déjà vu," as some so-called experts like to label it. "Hey! I remember you from my previous life!" Actually it more or less means, "already been seen before" -- or as modern folks say "Been there, done that!" However, there's another term, Vu'je da, which I think means, "never been seen before." My brother told me that one. It's blatant deniability, where you can go around saying, "I never saw it, officer, so it probably didn't happen."
Anyway, her name was Robyn, a name that reminded me of those cute little red-breasted birdies that sing in trees and fly around – not that other types of birds didn't. She was my cute little red-breasted birdie, my little Robyn. Yeah, sounds a little too sickly syrupy, enough to get stuck in your throat and make you cough up slimy chunks.
Since I became so hypnotically infatuated with her, she became my Philosopher's Stone, because I felt compelled to romance the hell out of her. Hence the title. With this sumptuous beauty, whom I knew that I knew in that déjà vu way, I knew I would be getting pretty romantically esoteric with her!
But little did I know, the convoluted plot would indeed thicken.
Part Two: Hitting It Off
Alright. Robyn and I hit it off really swell-like, goggling and googling at each other like a couple of goofy teenagers, even though we were in that early thirty-somethingish age slot. But the mutual feeling was similar to that of old friends that hadn't seen each other in many many years -- like a couple hundred years in our case, or a few lifetimes ago or whatever. And not just ordinary old friends, but adrenaline-pumping, passionate old love-sick lovers. And not old like octogenarian old, but like a couple of old souls that probably had gone through and run ragged a few thousand mortal coils by now -- that's a lot of wear and tear on the old soul, let me tell you! So small wonder the countless dense mortal carcasses we must have thrashed around got really wasted! Right? If you believe all that reincarnation crap.
But we didn't just become class-members together that hung out in the old Patriarch's strange apartment-turned-temple-of-highfalutin-wisdom, but she ended up coming over to my humble abode several times, where I lived with two annoying roommates, a couple of nerdy college geeks. Of course, I was attending college myself, because I was forced to -- that's the only way I was able to rent a room at this pretty fancy house in an upperclass neighborhood. Being an oldish type guy going to college was not rare, although most of the students were much younger than me, being in that twenty-somethingish age slot, if not younger. But it's true, I did attend college because I wanted to learn a thing or two – mostly dry, academic, hifalutin intellectual crap that was starting to bore me to tears.
Anyway, usually Robyn and I would just sit and talk about anything and everything under the sun, within the sun, around the sun, and even beyond the sun, but particularly we discussed deep esoteric stuff, because we were magnetically drawn to that weirdness like moths to a streetlight – or a bug-zapper.
One evening, the arrogant redheaded roommate (whose name I have now conveniently forgotten) had the audacity to impose upon Robyn and I while we sat in the living room in front of the warm, crackling fireplace, endeavoring to be obviously romantic together – or so I had hoped. Blind to that fact, the grinning jerk tried to steal the conversation and offer her a piece of rum candy, trying to "come on" to her obviously. I wanted to belt him a good one, into the next millennium in fact, but eventually he left us alone. Evidently he realized that Robyn and I were in that long and arduous process of eventually becoming a couple, so we weren't quite single anymore, not exactly anyway; it was that ambiguously iffy "sorta-kinda" stage of relationships. But having roommates intrude upon my personal space like that?! Doesn't privacy exist anymore? This was just one of many factors that made me decide never to have roommates ever again!
Alright, things were about to really heat up!
Part Three: Searching for Past Lives for all the Wrong Reasons
May 16, 2007
Alright. Although we were most likely just falling in infatuation with each other, we assumed it was that mythical thing called "love."
Anyway, we wanted to follow up in the déjà vu feeling we both had when we first met, so we did a kind of past-life regression meditation romp, and although the results were sort of cloudy, with hints of sunlight beaming through, we both received a distinct impression that we had been together in past lifetimes, perhaps several -- or so we creatively imagined. But we figured at least there was one in particular that seemed significant, although it was more or less fuzzy. So we felt some kind of connection, and potential soul-mate-wannabes often feel this kind of blissed-out connection, whether or not they're actually connected, which many of them probably aren't. But we felt such a blissed-out connection anyway.
So this made things easy for us to get along, as if we were continuing where we left off in some vague, shadowy past lifetime -- whenever or wherever that took place, we weren't sure exactly. Although we hazily estimated some quasi-medieval type time period. Or were we just imagining things all along? Were we trying to make something out of nothing just to justify our being together? Which is stupid, because two people falling in love together don't have to justify being together for any logical reason whatsoever. They don't need to find idiotic excuses to complicate matters further. They just have to keep-it-simple-stupid and be together. Period. But, no way -- we had to complicate things with metaphysical hoopla. As starry-eyed New Agers, we had to attribute cosmic significance to our meant-to-be being togetherness, our soul-mate extravaganzaness – and all that other cosmic crackpot crap.
So more than ever now, I felt she was "The One" for me, my cosmically-drawn-to-me-soul-mate found at long last! Yikes! So I was doing more than simply romancing my newfound Philosopher's Stone, incarnate in female flesh, but I wanted to absorb the rest of my life with her! For she was my Holy Grail, my Elixir of Life, my Paradise Lost now found!
Hell, was I naïve!
Alright. One supposedly pleasant evening when Robyn visited me, she actually confessed that she felt attracted to me. If you don't feel sizzling hot warm-fuzzies all over when a beautiful female says that to you, then you're probably dead inside. I found out that day I was pretty much not dead. I think I felt something called "really alive!" I had goose-bumps all over my flesh, kundalini-fire running up my spine, my chakras were spinning full-tilt boogie, my aura was glowing brilliantly for miles around in kaleidoscopic rainbow colors, and all that other New Age esoteric crapola. Guk!
Incidentally, I had bailed out of a disastrous marriage a few years before this, so I was elated to put it mildly, just to be getting back in the game again. So, once we decided we were mesmerically attracted to each other, things really got hot and heavy. We got more esoteric than ever now. Robyn and I delved into various Eastern Yogic practices that were perhaps thousands of years old. We explored various meditative exotic positions, like the spine-to-spine kundalini tingle-zapper maneuver, and the eye-to-eye/soul-to-soul psycho-etheric posture, and even the splendoriferous chakra-caressing ritual. I was hoping for a little blissful astral-body spooning, but she wasn't ready for that yet. But we did do the stimulating Reiki-induced vital body massage, complete with fancy aromatic oils and exotic incenses. This kind of experimenting of our psychic inner selves was rather intriguing, on the nights she came over, and I felt I knew her much better now, considering our souls were becoming intertwined upon a celestial path of romantic blissed-outedness. Typical soul-mate shenanigans, right?
However, before we got a chance to perform the hyper-tantic merging rite, something went disastrously wrong.
Part Four: Lover's Apocalypse
Alright. Back in Part Three, what exactly did you think I was talking about? Sex or something? Tsk tsk tsk . . . Ha! Had you going there, didn't I? We did have a lot of emotional fun, that's true, plus some intellectual stimulation, a little ontological hypothesizing, and a lot of therapeutic psychobabble took place as well. In fact, on that very last night of our lives together, this lifetime around, anyway, we did that thing that most people refer to as an icebreaker, a hurtle-jumper, a milestone event for new relationships blooming -- or totally wilting, depending on how badly you screwed it up.
Yep, after several spectacular get-togethers, we finally kissed passionately. I'll spare you the syrupy details. But when she left that night, in my mind, I thought we had just begun, because I found myself writing reams of wildly passionate poems about Robyn and I, me and Robyn, she and me, me and her, so and so forth. Guk! But little did I know, that in her mind, it was just the beginning of the end.
Right when my heart had opened wide for her, she just as suddenly closed hers to me. But I didn't blatantly know it at first -- although I did suspect something fishy during and after the next class, because she acted very distant, very cold-shoulderish. Imagine a person with a thick layer of glistening frigid ice covering their shoulder and then sticking that in your face. Yep, I definitely sensed her putting up a wall against me, and it doesn't take a psychic to notice that. After class I asked her what the heck was going on, and she just said that there was nothing going on, at least not between us – not anymore.
So she laid on me what I thought was just a lame excuse, if not a blatant lie – that she was actually married, although heading for a divorce. But that this was supposedly why she developed cold feet – and a really cold shoulder – and had to end our blooming relationship. Or literally kill it to bloody shreds.
So we left separately that night, and I felt as if she had ripped my heart out of my chest, threw it on the ground, and stomped on it. I was devastated, demolished, and horribly hoodwinked beyond belief. My whole world was turned upside-down. All my chakras spun out of control, my kundalini-flame blazed up my spine like a serpentine raging fire. My aura turned red with emotional anger – soon leading to a whimpering, drooping bubble that just sank in on itself.
I wanted to burn all those romantic poems I wrote for her, but now as I looked through them, it was like touching sheets of fire that burned my fingers. So I just buried them in some shoebox and stuck it in the closet.
I tried to call her by phone a few times, but couldn't reach her. When someone did pick up the phone, some other lady, Robyn's roommate she claimed, said Robyn wasn't available, or was away from the house or whatever. Sounded like excuses to avoid me. Now that's strange. If she was married, who was this female roommate? Or had Robyn gotten separated from her husband whom she would soon divorce? Then moved in with some lady friend? Which meant she should have no problem seeking other men – like me. So it seemed fishy, alright. Maybe it was all a lie, a reason for breaking up. Maybe she wasn't really married at all – or maybe she was. I just didn't know.
Plus, she stopped going to the classes. Well, after a while I also stopped attending the classes, not because of her lack of presence there (which I longed for), but because I didn't like the direction the old Patriarch was taking, getting kind of strangely weird -- pretty much like my experience with Robyn had gotten. He was guiding his students to do some weird self-hypno- induced imaginative "Dragon Ordeals," where the circle of gullible seekers meditate and await the arrival of (or wildly imagine) some mystical dragon to appear to you with some pearls of weird wisdom, and different colored dragons symbolized different crap for you on your mythical journey, especially if he puts you on his scaly back and flies you through magical kingdoms like Narnia or Middle-Earth or wherever. Golden dragons were really special, but I forgot what that meant.
What the fricking hell any of this had to do with your developing spirituality or anything important, I got no clue! This pscho-imagination crap was not for me! Not tangible or real enough for me to even care about. So, yeah, I bailed out.
Anyway, all I really knew was my Philosopher's Stone was crumbling into dust in my hands . . . that was real enough for me at that time.
Part Five: Trying to Figure it Out
May 26, 2007
I had thought that one of the main goals of this class was to unfold spiritually, to enhance soul growth, like through your search for and discovery of the proverbial Philosopher Stone, that mysterious alchemical phenomenon that many mystics sought for many centuries. It has nothing to do with transmuting lead into gold, that literally-taken concept was just a ruse, in my humble opinion. The Philosopher's Stone actually involves the mystical process of transmuting the human being into a divine being. The idea is to realize your true inner Self – through trials and errors of living a righteous lifestyle, serving mankind, and applying spiritual disciplines and the practice of meditations. A lot of fricking work! But above else, surrendering over to God.
Anyway, I thought reaching spiritual adulthood was the class's goal, but evidently the old Patriarch just wanted recognition as some hifalutin pope-wannabe of his own tiny occult group, so he tossed a lot of colorful New Age garbage (and some Old Age too) into the mix to impress his groupies, and carrot-dangling was one of his sly techniques, promising you'd gain a more colorful aura or super-attuned chakras that didn't spin out of control via cool crystals sitting on your body as you lay flat on the floor, or that you'd enter cool esoteric hierarchical levels of advancement via fancy legal certificates – and such bullcrap. So, like I said, I bailed out of his really weird cult.
Alright, let's get back to the thickening plot-riddled story, a true-to-life-story, if you recall, or misadventures of romancing my philosopher's stone -- or crumbling rock.
Yeah, I had to borrow some mythical mystical term to describe my weirdly wild romantic extravaganza – just to make this whole fricking spiel sound cool. Well, actually it had begun hot, then it cooled off a lot, as you can tell.
Anyway, I wasn't really sure why she dumped me so fast and so hard, before we even got a chance to start something. She just wouldn't say. Yeah, if she was indeed getting divorced like she claimed, her on-the-rocks-marriage would end, opening her life up for a new man in her life – right? If that was the truth. So why the cold feet for a new relationship?
I reflected. Maybe my chakras were spinning in the wrong direction. Or my aura was out of alignment, or even off-center. Or possibly my kundalini was clogged, or shooting blanks or something. Perhaps my astral body was on backwards, or inside-out, or upside-down. A psychic healer once told me this kind of thing is possible. But looking back now, that sounds like crap. Imagine you're walking in one direction in your physical body, but your astral body wants to go in the opposite direction; a bizarre psychic tug-of-war would hilariously ensue. I imagine observers would see you stumbling forward, then stumbling backwards, repeatedly, so on and so forth. They wouldn't know if you were coming or going.
Anyway, why the divorced-to-be Robyn left me in a lurch, I just couldn't figure out. Maybe I was really dense. Certainly it wasn't my kissing strategy, I thought I did pretty good. But I bet all men imagine they're great kissers. But then I'm a dumb nerdy guy around women -- what do I know? But it wasn't before long that this whole scenario became more para-psychic than paranormal – or is there any difference?
We'll find out soon enough as the rest of this strangely weird story continues...
Part Six: Psycho-Regression into the Hoary Past
For some strange reason, probably in some vain attempt to salvage the imagined relationship I imagined we had, I wanted to psychically pursue that past-life regression meditation Robyn and I had conducted previously, when we thought we had stumbled upon a past-life connection. So I got myself centered, and put my mind back in that place we both had focused on psychically, tapping into that astral place we had gone, which seemed kind of unclear and fuzzy at the time. Nevertheless, I remained focused on that particular ethereal spot, probing and pursuing psychically that past time and place when we had known each other before, in some ambiguous past life. What happened next was as if the bus had suddenly stopped and I was shoved out the door. In other words, it was an abrupt feeling of "Eureka! I found it!"
I sensed that I was somewhere in the Medieval Ages, and I was a monk in a monastery, sensing that this was somewhere in Europe. I don't recall any details except that Robyn (whatever her name was back then) was either a nun or some kind of student that hung around the monastery, and obviously, we grew fond of each other. Evidently we grew closer and closer, and I got one particular impression of "rolling in the hay" together in some stable somewhere in the monastery premises – probably more than once. I'll spare you the syrupy details, as usual. Actually, I don't recall any, that part was blurry. What I do recall is that we were caught in the act. Someone had walked into the stables and saw us together. Realize that monks usually had vows of celibacy, and women (especially if they were probationers or nuns) took vows of chastity. Celibacy, chastity, closing and locking the gate, it all amounted to the same thing. Thou shall not have sex! Incidentally, chastity belts were a big thing back then, kind of like ironclad underwear with a padlock. Yikes!
Well, like hormone-poisoned fornicators, we had broken our sacred vows. We had committed a grave ecclesiastical crime, although the fire of our passion didn't feel like it at the time. At the moment it seemed like great fun, but when you're caught red-handed in the act, all the fun just seems to suddenly disappear. We had to face the Father Superior of the monastery, whom I seem to recall was a very fear-inspiring personage (almost like the old Patriarch), the representative of God on Earth as far as we simpleton students were concerned. His word, whatever he would speak, became law. And he spoke the final edict that we would be exiled to be separated completely, to never see each other again. Evidently, she was sent away, far far away. But during this meditative regression session, I felt a burst of immense emotion, that of total despair, as if the Father Superior had ripped my heart out of my chest and smashed it in his fingers. It was definitely an intense feeling, far more out-weighing any visual images perceived in this regressive meditation. Emotions can speak louder than images. And that's the thing that really convinced me that this was real, and not just my imagination. Although the visual images were fuzzy and dreamlike, the circumstances were clear and obvious, and the emotional impact of the feeling of despair was very real, not just something you can casually create.
But I could be wrong. Maybe I have a really insidiously twisted creative imagination that wants to reap bloody havoc on my vulnerable emotions, playing sick mind games that manipulate me into a state of total distraught. So if it was a twisted delusion, I wanted it to be real, no matter how emotionally dysfunctional and petrified it left me, like a blob of jittering jelly with no real substance. That's how I felt anyway. So the psychic impression seemed that real.
Part Seven: Return to the Present
Anyway, I came out of the deep trance totally blown away, with that feeling of anguish and hopelessness, because somebody with power and authority had created a "psychic contract," as some New Age spiritual schools of thought will call it. Such a psychic contract can thrive throughout several lifetimes, unless you become aware of it, trace it back to its origin, and then vanquish it. That's the theory anyway. But it would take the two of us to do that. But obviously this psychic contract intervened and broke us up once again. It was like some kind of psychic law of prevention that succeeded at keeping us apart, forced upon us by a person of power and authority, such as the Father Superior. This sinister law of this psychic contract was like some insidious snake slithering its way through our many lifetimes together that kept us from actually being together. Like some sick joke perpetrated upon us wherever and whenever we were – until we chopped its bloody fricking head off – together.
And how many lifetimes this sly snake reared its ugly head, I have no idea. I decided I had to tell Robyn this melodramatic experiential impression I had received that directly involved her. Maybe I could convince her it was too important to ignore. Perhaps we could break this contract together, once and for all – cut the fricking snakes head clean off. I tried calling her, but her female roommate would not let me talk to her or would say she was out somewhere. Yes, Robyn had one of those annoying roommates too. I guess I became a phone pest, because it didn't take long before the roommate said Robyn didn't want to talk to me about anything. I felt despair over that hard blow. Talk about heads being cut off, I felt like that's what she did to me. Hell, she already ripped my heart out.
In retrospect, perhaps I was using this bizarre past-life regression experience as a way to get back with our, and it seemed like a pretty darn good reason too. If I could just explain it to her, she might be willing to pursue this past-life thing further, to dissolve this psychic contract together, so we could be free to be together again. But my efforts were futile, and my repeated phoning was a vain attempt. She didn't want to see me again, or talk to me -- period.
So that sinister contract won again. Better luck next lifetime!
Yeah, I should've burned all those idiotic poems I wrote for her, because she would never see them. But I stupidly kept them, but to this day I haven't looked at them in a long time, because I don't want to dredge up those despairing emotions, especially the ones based on that past-life regression I had summoned up. Later, I may have even tossed them, or lost them, I don't remember now. I can't even remember exactly what she looked like, her face is fuzzy in my mind's eye now, even as a think about it. About a year later I moved out of California, moved to Sioux Falls, SD. So soon Robyn was out of sight and out of mind. I slowly drifted out of that dismal funk and back to normalcy, more or less, back into the usual "life goes on" phase of existence.
Several months ago I told a good friend about this whole freaky episode in my life, and he was so intrigued that he urged me to write about it, and that's exactly what I did. And you just read it. For whatever it's worth.
You may be asking yourself, what's up with all this crap about past-life regressions, psychic contracts, déjà vu, and such metaphysical hoopla? Unless this kind of meta-psychobabble is right up your cosmic alley. If you ask me if I'm for real -- the answer is, yes. I'm not making this stuff up. I figure I have an average imagination, in my opinion, and I can recognize certain things that are flat-out beyond my imagination. But then, could I be fooling myself? Perhaps I'm just stark raving mad...
This is a true-life story, my story, and like many real stories, you seek closure, and often closure is not there. If I were making this story up, I'd resolve everything and tie it all up in a neat little package with a cute little bow on top. I would have Robyn and me meet somewhere so that I could explain to her my psychic regression experience, she'd be ecstatic, then together we would pursue a further psychic investigation into that particular dreaded past-life, I would show her exactly what had happened to us, and then together we would break that horrible psychic contract all to pieces and spit it back into the Father Superior's face, and finally we would return to the normal mundane earth plane, she would immediately divorce her lackluster hubby, then as soul-mates we would live happily ever after! Oooh, aaah!
But no such fricking luck. Sometimes you just have to forget the past and move on.
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