IX - THE HERMIT
Martha’s Vineyard appeared on the horizon like a slender finger as the ferry raced toward it. I’d taken the train up from the city that morning and Irina was haunting me from the moment I got to Penn Station. August’s power and will became a biting self criticism once September arrived. I kept thinking over what had happened to us how I’d thrown it all away because of a yawn.
No matter how much I tried to get her out of my mind by writing, living healthily and not drinking, I couldn’t let go of her. Was she in my heart or my mind? I didn’t know the difference. As the ferry got closer to port I realized what a bad idea the trip had been. Going to Martha’s Vineyard for the weekend alone on Labor Day weekend was absurd. I had wanted to get away but traveling by myself on trains and boats full of couples and families had worn down my resistance.
As soon as I was off the ferry I bought a pack of cigarettes and with that done my mind was made up to drink again. It had been six weeks but once I’d made the decision I took everything nice and slowly as if a great load had been taken off my shoulders. I’d already found the AA meeting in Marthas Vineyard and I was feeling somewhat guilty about not going, but also relieved. I bought I bottle of wine and sat out outside my room beside a small table and read Jung’s Psychology of the Transference. The alcohol didn’t help send Irina away, on the contrary, it brought her only closer. Jung was able to get me out of the funk but after a few pages I would fall back into her and it was like that for awhile. Only the last vestiges of my pride kept me from calling her and I promised myself that no matter how much I drank I wouldn’t succumb to the temptation.
I walked around watching the tourists and the couples having dinner and she was everywhere. What hook had she slipped in me? But what puzzled me more was how was I had been able to keep her out of my mind for so long. What demon had entered me or maybe what angel. I sat in a bar, drank beer and watched a Red Sox game, something I had dreamed of often the previous weeks, but the reality was a let down. I looked at the girls and saw a few pretty faces but nothing even came close to getting my attention. I bought a bottle of Bourbon and sat outside my room drinking, smoking and falling slowly into a bad state of nerves. It was almost like a panic attack and I just wanted to stay close to the room. I turned on the television, something I hadn’t done in years, and watched a bad movie which only made things worse. The hotel sheets and the sounds from outside brought back memories of being in Madrid. It was eleven-thirty and I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep for a long time.
The phone rang and I prayed it would be her but is was Misha. We had spoken the week before and he had told me there was a chance he would be on Martha’s Vineyard while I was there and he was calling to confirm he was coming and to invite me to dinner that Monday night, as I was leaving on Tuesday. Hearing from him picked me up a notch but I still had the pathetic feeling of having fallen back into my old bad habits of drinking and smoking. It was Saturday night and I decided to take the mushrooms that Ryan from work had scored for me that Sunday morning and spend the day at the beach. I fell asleep drunk with the television on feeling hopeless and miserable.
When I woke up the next day, Sunday, it took a few moments to remember that I’d fallen off the wagon and I dreaded the conversation I would have to have with Bill, knowing he would probably call that afternoon. I decided to tell him the truth quickly and get it over with so I called him, told him what happened and said that I would meet up with him when I got back to the city. I didn’t eat any breakfast and chopped up the dry mushrooms and made a peanut butter sandwich with them. They tasted bad but I got them down and waited for the waves of nausea to pass before I headed out to the beach. I had never taken psilocybin mushrooms before but all of the lectures I had listened to by Terence McKenna had convinced me that they were something I needed to try. I had tried LSD, but according to McKenna the mushrooms were more transcendental and less psychoanalytical than the LSD, and that was just what I wanted, something to get me out of myself. Anything but have to feel the loneliness and the longing. I walked as far as the first beach, lathered my white body up with a strong suntan protection and just watched the water. It was a bit chilly and I was wearing a cotton warm up suit over my swimming trunks. I took off the top but left the pants on as the wind was blowing and the sand began to feel very strange on my hands as the light danced off the waves. Something told me not to go into the water but I finally took the warm ups off and walked in up to my feet.
I felt something strange come over me and before I could understand what it was I was transported to another realm. It was as if I were on another beach, the light had changed, the smell was another and an enormous load had been lifted off my shoulders. The dry, lifeless, willful force that had taken me over and sent me on the path of sobriety and austerity was gone and once again there was some joy and wonder in the world. The light and the sound of the waves danced before me and I played in the water as I walked up the beach. I looked at people and could almost feel their thoughts. Not think them, feel them, and I was sure that the people were reacting to it by giggling at me but I didn’t care. When I got back to my towel an older woman was sitting up looking at the water a few yards behind from me. I felt a vibration from her reach out to me and pull me toward her so I calmly turned around and said hello.
Her reaction was natural and spontaneous. She might have been around sixty but very attractive and gay with something of an artistic flare and she spoke with a slight accent that she told me was Hungarian. I pulled my towel back towards her so would could face each other as we spoke. There was an immediate connection and I had no perception that she suspected I had taken something. I didn’t feel intoxicated or altered, just the opposite; I felt like I had been detoxified and left vitally sober. We got on the topic of sailing and I was telling her how it relaxed me and she became very animated. “My husband, he loved sailing. We had a nice sailboat, a thirty-two footer, and spent some wonderful times on it just the two of us or with friends. I miss him very much, life was good with him.”
“Do you ever see him in your dreams?”
“How did you know?”
“I didn’t, at least I don’t think I did,”
“Yes, sometimes he comes to me in my dreams, but very, very real, and we have wonderful conversations. Not very often, but at least a few times a year. I don’t think he can come more than that, it might not be possible. I’m sure he comes as often as he can.”
“What does he tell you of the other side? I want to go there but I haven’t been able to, not yet. I’ve heard of some people who have methods to leave their bodies and enter into the other side, like Robert Monroe, I read his book. One day I want to go there. Feel it, see it.”
She looked deep into me. “You will, some people can do it. I’m sure. Just keep trying. I’m happy enough to talk to him a few times a year. Once, when my niece came to stay with me for a week, he came to her, it was very interesting. He was a chemical engineer but his passion was painting. He loved to paint and we always had many artists as friends. She came to stay with me for a few days and he came to her in a dream and told her to study graphic design. When she woke up she ran into my room and jumped on the bed and said, ‘Aunt Emese, Uncle Erno came to me in a dream! But it felt real, he talked to me like he was here, told me to study graphic design. You know how I wasn’t sure.’ Yes, there’s a way to talk to them in dreams, maybe other ways; if you keep looking it will come.” She paused. “He told me once that it was different, but much better and that there are higher places, but then he said he had to go. I don’t think he could tell me more.”
“Maybe he’s waiting for you. You know, for them, time is not like for us, it makes no difference. You’re very lucky to have met such a wonderful man. How did you meet him?”
“Well, I didn’t meet him really, I stole him.” I laughed with her. “I was working as a secretary and went on a double date with a girl from work, she as
ked me to come along. You know, in those days, it was normal in the beginning to go out like that. Well, my guy was nice enough, but there was a very strange electricity between Erno and me. All four of us were Hungarians and well, after a few hours Erno and I we were just talking and talking between us, and the other two were just watching on. It was so clear.”
“Did your friend get angry?”
“No, not at all. We Hungarians understand those kinds of things. Next day at the office, she told me, ‘Emese, you ...’, well, she used a not nice word, but in a nice way. We laughed. She came to the wedding and we’re still in touch.”
“Wow, it was destined. Did you ever have any doubts?”
“Never, that’s how it is when it’s destined, for better or for worse, you have no choice. There were problems, as in all marriages, but I could never be with anyone else. But then he left me, left this world. But like you say, he will guide me to the next.”
I’d been thinking about Irina that day and was full of the idea that somehow destiny was playing a hand. I was sure that there was a reason for our meeting. I gave Emese a very abbreviated version and asked her for advice. “You have a destiny, don’t ever forget it, I can feel it. Why this girl came into your life you must figure out. But there is a reason.” She reached over and rubbed my arm. “I have guests, I must go cook something or they will think I’m a terrible woman. I’m so glad to have met you; I haven’t had such a nice talk in a long time. Good luck dear.”
“Bye.” I felt palpable love for her and through her for everyone. I had never felt that way. I had extra energy and openness to the world that was totally unique for me. I walked back to the village and sat on a bench and just watched people walk by and they seemed like robots. I became very aware of how little consciousness they had and how much they just appeared to carry out rote operations- open the car door, put the kids in the car. Their clothes seemed like uniforms and the brands like the flags on a soldier’s shoulder. I had a very strong epiphany that they were all asleep, robots with no consciousness and I was just like them, except that I had taken the mushroom and the mushroom wanted to wake me up. They were asleep and there was a tremendously powerful feeling that everyone was doing exactly what they were supposed to be doing, nothing was random.
Around seven I walked toward the port to look at the sailboats and there was a bit of wind and slight chill in the air. The rigs on the boats were jingling in the breeze and the light was dancing off the water and the metal of the masts. It came to me suddenly that I needed a trip; it was time to leave, cross the ocean and get out of the country. Something was telling me I would take a long journey and it would transform me. I admired a particularly nice sailboat with lots of wood and a big wheel. There was a man sitting in a chair, drinking a beer.
“Did you go out today?” I asked.
“Yup.” He seemed very content. He reached down into his cooler and grabbed a beer and offered.
“Thanks.” I replied.
“Come aboard.” He said. I hopped down into the boat and sat next to him, as if he were an old friend.
“Let’s go to the Mediterranean. It would be fantastic, imagine, a year or two on this boat, going slowly from country to country, no schedule, no email, no boss.” I told him.
“A fine idea. I’ve actually thought about it. This boat could manage it, maybe in a few years when I retire.” He looked in his middle fifties, but strong and fit. “That would be nice, too many damn gadgets these days, making everybody crazy. Especially engines!”
“I’ll drink to that.” I told him. “Remember before cell phones? You could have some peace. I remember working in sales when I would call in around five, pick up my messages and I was done. Now, they have us by the balls all day and all weekend. I don’t think it was a good tradeoff. We all just need to throw them out, with the credit cards, the emails, the computers and become human again. That’s the beauty of a sailboat- you’re completely free, just the wind and your mind.”
“Exactly! You know, I’ve thought about a long trip like the one you mentioned. I could live off very little money and my wits. I have a small business, an electrical contracting firm that I want to sell soon and take off with the wife on one of those trips, see the world.”
“What about crossing the Atlantic? How difficult would it be?”
“I’ve done it, twice. I used to crew out on boats when I was younger. You just have to really plan, have a plan B and C for what can go wrong and of course experience as a sailor. But I could do it.” I suddenly felt the need to be alone. I thanked him for the beer and left the port and walked out of the village through some lonely streets and admired the small cottages and got lost looking at the trees. I found a bench and lied back on it and watched the clouds felt I could almost become one of them. The birds danced and sang as the end of the day approached and their energy rifled through me. The mushroom connected me in a way that I didn’t want to ever lose, but as the sun began to set I was filled with nostalgia for the sublime day that was leaving. Why were we always so disconnected from everything? It seemed clear that we didn’t have to live in our false shells forced upon us by some evil master, like a sheet thrown over a dog.
I really wanted to call Irina. I felt so entwined with her and somehow I knew that whatever connected us wasn’t over. I picked up the phone and looked at her number. The ringing seemed strange as if I were calling destiny itself. Maybe she was with her boyfriend, I thought, maybe it was a mistake. Maybe she would be angry.
“Hey, I was just thinking of you. Where are you?” She began.
“On Martha’s Vineyard, I was thinking of you too, wish you were here.”
“I wish you had invited me. I miss you”
“You know Irina, I have been thinking. Maybe we made some mistakes, but I tried, really, from deep in my heart. Sometimes I make mistakes but I really love you. I do. I did all I could to forget you, to get over it, but something tells me, something in my heart, that there was a reason we met and that there is more between us than you may think.”
“Arthur, I miss you so much. I’m sorry I was so cold to you. Sometimes I’m just that way. You have to know that by now. But I really care about you.”
“Remember in Miami when you told me you didn’t feel anything, that really bothered me. It kept coming back to me. What did you mean? Was it true?”
“Look, I should have told you, but I didn’t want to go into it. You know I separated from my husband a few years ago, he was an alcoholic and things just weren’t working. We moved to New York from Savannah, that’s were he was from, and we tried here but we just couldn’t make it work. But I was still in love with him, even after we separated and we even tried one more time. Well, he did start calling me again recently and we’d been talking on the phone just about every day when we were in Miami. I told you that because I felt like I was still married in a way.
You must think I’m terrible, but I’m not. The other guy I was seeing, that wasn’t really so much as a boyfriend as a friend, I saw him maybe once every two weeks or so. I just wasn’t sure, I was afraid, afraid to feel sometimes when I was with you. I felt you so strongly that I just closed the door and said things to try and push you away. I think you know what I mean. But I really do feel a lot for you but we need to take it slowly. And if I close up, just give me some room.” We had never had a conversation like that before but maybe because of my state of mind we were able to finally talk about us.
“I want to hold you so badly, I can almost smell you.” I told her.
“I can feel you too. Please, don’t feel like I’m holding back on you. For you it’s easy to say things, all kinds of things. It’s not that easy for me.” There was a pause. “When are you coming back?”
“I’m back on Tuesday but then I’m going to the Money Show in Toronto on Tuesday night to see the Just Trade folks and do some other things.”
“
Okay, let me think things over, you too. You can think about me if you want.” She said.
“You’re so generous, thank you. And by the way, I really do love you. Kiss you bye.”
“Bye.” She was back and the world seemed to smile on me once again and at least for a while I was connected, alone, but connected.
I walked back to the hotel passed the bars full of people talking and drinking and I felt a part of them, one of them, but I needed my solitude. I picked up a bottle of wine, went back to my room and sat outside on a chair in the hallway facing the swimming pool drinking wine and watching the sunset. There was a message on my phone from Irina. It simply said, “I do too.”- just those three words. I began to wonder what the mushroom was telling me. I didn’t want that sun to leave, knowing tomorrow’s would be different. I could see Venus begin to glow and I wanted her to glisten for me always just as she was doing that moment.
The couple next door also came out with a bottle of wine and we began to chat. There were clearly synchronicities going on that day and I was sure the mushroom had organized it all. He was a professor of history at Brown and his wife was a psychologist. When they told me what they did my mind began to bubble and I could see the ideas bursting out of my eyes and I had to make an effort to control myself.
“You know, I’m very confused. I studied history in college and had many clear ideas but during the last couple of years all the old dogma is crumbling on me; it’s just not standing up.”
“For example?”
“I used to think the ‘great generation’ really was great, that they were heroic. And even the generation of the First World War. But now I look at the period between 1910 and 1955 and I see nothing but slaughter, manipulation and propaganda. I know this must sound heavy, but I just don’t buy any of the heroic part. All I see are bankers, war mongers, propagandists and a lot of suckers.”
“Wow, that is pretty heavy, you should lighten up and drink some more wine.” We all laughed but he continued. There was some strange energy that day that allowed me to reach into people’s souls without alienating them; they could feel the warmth of the mushroom. “I understand as we remove ourselves from that period there’s going to be a lot of deconstructing going on but you should remember that history isn’t really what it seems to be. I’ve been moving down a line of thought that points to the fact that we really don’t want to know ‘real history’, no one cares about it. What we want to do is put it all into mythic terms. We transform what really happened into archaic formulas and what comes out is a re-hashed myth. This isn’t just a popular phenomena, it occurs at the academic level just the same as on the popular level, only in much more abstract terms.”
I jumped at the idea. “Yes, that’s so true, like Eliade says in The Myth of the Eternal Return, he points out that modern man lives in historical time, but what you are saying is that modern man is only in pseudo-historic time, he’s really just doing what archaic men did, without realizing it. I couldn’t agree more. We are just switching up dogmas but the new dogma, in many ways, is much flimsier than the old one.”
“Exactly.” He replied. I had just been reading Eliade and the whole conversation was reinforcing the feeling that something potent was going on that day.
I continued. “I think the key is to look at the taboo’s, that’s where you really see the mythic playing out.” I could feel sparks flying through me as I spoke. “Take 9/11 for example. Questioning any part of the myth puts one completely beyond the pale, a leper. We let Hollywood and journalists tell the story and we accept their myth as gospel truth. But look at the consequences?” I had thought those things but I’d never said them to anyone but some strange vibration pulled the words out of me. “The power of modern media, say since the 1920’s and the advent of film and radio, has completely change how myths are created. They make it possible to create myths and overpower the entire planet with them in a matter of a few years.”
He was ready to speak and I stopped and waited. I had wanted to discuss this with someone in his position for a long time. “You do like the hot button topics. Look, I will say this, a lot of people in academia want to approach these issues but on the other hand they don’t want to stir up these topics because it causes big problems, especially regarding funding. But they will be tackled, I’m just afraid it will take a lot of time. Something will need to happen, something will have to give but when it does it will come pouring out. I agree with you, this is where the meat is, and right now, they don’t let us eat meat.”
His wife then asked. “Are you a Truther?”
“I would say I’m a doubter more than a Truther, because I really have no idea what the truth is. Look at Iraq. Do we call the people who claimed that there were WMD’s in Iraq conspiracy theorists? It’s still much more sociably acceptable to have supported the war in Iraq then to have questioned the official story of 9/11. Trouble is nobody is talking about the ‘whys’ in Iraq, period. That has become a taboo as well. But in regards to 9/11, I want to know the truth and in my heart I don’t believe the official rap. I don’t know really. So maybe that would put me in the Truther camp. What about you? Do you believe the official story?”
They laughed. “Please, don’t go there,” She replied, “We, as a couple, agree to disagree on that one.” I could see she was the one who doubted.
Then he began. “Look, you are a very bright person and I can see your ideas are not cooked up silliness. Give me one alternative to the real story that’s at least feasible.”
“The key to the whole thing for me is Ali Mohammed, not the key to 9/11, but the key to the process. I’m writing an article on him now for my blog. The quick story on him. Captain in Egyptian army, a member of the brigade that killed Sadat though he happened to be in the US training when it went down. Later he’s expelled from the Egyptian Army, works for the CIA for a bit, is fired for openly saying he’s in the CIA. Banned from the US but he gets in anyway, marries and joins the army, and what do you know? He winds up a sergeant in the Green Berets. There’re videos of him in the 80’s discussing fundamentalist Islam on television programs, gets involved in creating an Al Qaeda cell in New York, the one that would later bomb the World Trade Center. He gave that cell material from Fort Bragg. Before that he had gone off to fight in Afghanistan and his commander said he was sure he was being handled by the CIA. Later, helps Osama Bin Laden move from Somalia to Afghanistan. Then back in the US he worked for the FBI and was never arrested for the first attacks on the World Trade Center. In the late 90’s has dinner with investigators from the FBI and tells them he loves Osama. They don’t arrest him. Finally arrested and tried in July of 2001. Never sentenced, whereabouts unknown. I got all that from the History Commons, everything sourced in mainstream media. What does that story tell us? It clearly shows that a very important Al Qaeda figure was being handled by the CIA up until 2000- all the proceedings of his trial are classified. My point is we know the CIA was very close to Al Qaeda. Now does that mean they organized 9/11? No, but it does mean there’s an enormous amount of information we don’t know. If I was an historian from Mars I think that’s the trail I would be on. ” They were both listening attentively as I had a strange charisma that day. I could capture people and hold them even if there were tedious details involved.
“Very interesting, but you haven’t given me a scenario, a feasible alternative scenario.”
“Okay, let me try. A rogue group within the CIA, maybe two or three people at most. They infiltrate a cell, say the Atta cell, through someone like an Ali Mohammed. These folks on the inside are convinced we need a Pearl Harbor type event to make the changes they deem necessary in the Middle East. Oil resources, Israel, the halting of radical Islam. They create two cells, one to hijack the planes and crash them into the towers and the other too bring down the towers with explosives. Neither cell is aware of the other, or knows it’s being handled and whoever is left sti
ll believes they were acting on Al Qaeda orders, not the CIA's, and they will never know the truth. The conspiracy is carried out by a few people. There’s no need for it to have been all the way up the food chain. Look, this is one possibility; I don’t claim that it’s the real one, just a feasible alternative.”
“Certainly possible, but no smoking gun.” He answered.
“Sure, not yet.” We drank a few more glasses of wine and let the conversation wind down. It was completely dark out and my energy was beginning to wane. I said good night and laid in bed watching the ceiling until a fitful sleep finally came over me.
The next morning the feeling of the mushroom was gone but the wonder of it remained. All morning I felt as if I were in that moment just before waking after a long night of intense dreams. I meandered around catching glimpses of the day before while trying to wade through the mundane process of preparing to meet a friend. Misha had sent me the address were he was staying and I put on a pair of jeans and a sport coat as there was a bit of chill in the air. I found the street on a map and made my way through the village to buy fudge and wine before finally arrived to a quaint old cottage. Emese, from the day before, opened the door.
“Hello! How are you, what a coincidence.” She was wearing a very nice black dress and looked younger. She explained to Misha that we’d met and we sat down to a very elegant dinner: old, good china, fine crystal glasses and the reminisces of two old friends. They’d known each other for many years and I got the impression that maybe there was something more; it was the first time in many years that I’d felt that kind of warmth and comfort in a home. When we reached the coffee she took out a very good bottle cognac and Misha asked my about work. Something from the cognac seemed to bring back, every so slightly, a spark from the day before.
I explained to them a little of what I was doing then I told them about the idea I had for a social media site and how I had built a business plan around it. “It would be a place for people to connect, not to old friends, schoolmates or colleagues from work but culturally. Like Amazon where after you buy enough books they can really narrow in on other books you would like. This same technique can be used in reverse to find people who like the same films, books, paintings, and music that you do. It would be a place for people to interact culturally and for publishers and studios to promote their products. Another feature would be that one third of the equity would go to the 10,000 users who brought in the most new users. Basically, give equity to the early adopters who make the site popular.” Misha seemed to really get it and asked me to send him the business plan and said that maybe he knew some people that might be interested. Then he took another tack.
“You know Emese is quite talented with the cards, if you want, she can do a reading for you.”
“Of course, I would love to, I’ve never had a Tarot reading before.” She took an old Rider-Waite deck wrapped in red silk out of a wooden box and asked for my question. I immediately asked her what the outcome of the relationship with Irina would be. After selecting a card for me, the King of Wands, she placed it face down and then on top of it dealt the first card. “This is the card that covers you, the issue.” It was The High Priestess. “I see, the issue here is your soul, she, The High Priestess, the Moon, is your connection to the higher self. That’s what you are looking for.” Then she dealt The Devil, across. “This is the card that is crossing you, The Devil. It means, you must overcome or get through the connection to the material, the physical. You must delve into your shadow side, accept it and integrate it. The way to overcome The Devil is through embracing and transcending your shadow side. Don’t fear him, accept him and eventually laugh at him, that helps. As long as he remains The Devil, you cannot gain access to the other side.” Gradually we came to the last two cards, the ninth and the tenth. “This card, the ninth card, is the overlooked factor, what you might not be considering, or advice.” She dealt the Six of Swords. “Usually this means a trip, a change, going someplace. Keep that in mind. Now, the resolution card.” She dealt the Ten of Swords. There was a slight pause and they looked at each other but I knew what the card meant. “No good will come of this relationship, in such. It will be an end, an annihilation of the old, but as always something new will arise, but not with the relationship in tact.” Misha looked at me to see if I understood.
Then he began to explain, “Okay, let me show you some things.” He put the Major Arcana in three rows of seven, beginning with The Magician and leaving The Fool apart on top, just as he had done the last time. “Last time we talked about how the cards reflect the essence of the signs of the zodiac, the seven planets, and the three elements, the reader and querent representing the fourth element, earth, and of course the fifth, or quintessence coming from above. But they also mirror the alchemic process. The Fool gives his bag to The Magician who takes out the contents and separates them. How does he separate them? Usually buy using fire. Remember, The Fool represents Air, and The Magician is Mercury. So here we see the first two alchemic processes, calcinatio and seperatio, burning and separating. He separates the four elements into The High Priestess, The Empress, The Emperor, and The Hierophant, each one representing one of the elements. Then they are joined again in the conjunction, or coniuctio in Latin, in The Lovers and they ride off in The Chariot. The second level is the psychological, first Strength, then The Hermit, introspection, concluding with Death, mortificatio in alchemy, from the Death card, all the way to Judgment we are in the under world. With The Tower begins sublimatio, or distillation, and finally, with The Sun, we begin the final stage, coagulatio.
Of course Jung used alchemy as a bridge to the Gnostics and many believe the mediaval Gnostic Cathar thinking found its way into not only the cards, but into alchemy. Remember, death, decay, the dark night of the soul, that is mortificatio, it must occur. There has to be a moment when all seems lost, when the spirit is gone; it’s the key moment in the alchemic process, that moment when the whole endeavor seems lost and dead. You may have a difficult period and this young lady may be the catalyst that brings it about. When you get there it won’t be easy but remember it must be faced. You know Arthur, most people spend there lives trying to avoid that moment and that’s why they wind up living banal material existences.
The journey from the material to the spiritual world is not an easy one; it requires a death and a rebirth. Christ on the cross was caught between these two worlds, the material, historical, temporal- the horizontal, and the vertical- the transcendental. That’s the meaning of the cross and of Christ himself. He hung on the middle of that cross between the material world and the spiritual world. He hung on that cross and he transcended it. That’s why we need the soul; the soul is the intermediary, she connects us. But sometimes in doing so, things have to be lost and terrible trials endured. For a man, the soul is feminine.”
I told them that I had taken some mushrooms the day before and Emese laughed saying she had noticed something strangely ephemeral about me. I told them how I had seen people as robots.
“Yes, Arthur, that’s what must happen. You have to come to the point where it all seems dead, backwards.” He pointed to The Hangman. “The path is not easy, but you will make it through.”
Emese smiled. “I will be very interested to hear what becomes of you; I think it will be something very powerful.”