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Biographical
This is about healing. Of people, of the planet. I am a healer. I am a shamanic healer. How do I, how do shamans, heal? I heal by changing the energy. That's what healing is. I heal individuals, groups, our nation, the world. I allow the energy to enter me, pass through me, and out into the world. That's what healing a person means: altering their sick energy. Sometimes healing means altering the energy to destroy. Usually it means altering the energy in a positive way. I do this when I dance, when I chant, when I go into a "trance." I contact the energy of the Universe. It pours down into me and through me and then out into the material world. By way of contrast with our usual western understanding of artists, and as an introduction to what is partially meant by a New Artist, I include the following accounts:
t**S.W. said I was at a Cincinnati Reds ball game in late April. I was sitting in the 13th row just behind the Red's batting circle. Junior Griffey was taking his warmup swings. Junior was in his second year after his trade from Seattle and was in a horrible slump. Had only one or two homers for the year. I watched his swing and then yelled out sing-songy-like: "Junyah, Junyah! Git in your groove Junyah!" When he got up to the plate, he watched the first two pitches and then lined the third pitch over the wall. Then he hit a second home run in that game.
What had I done? What did I do? I saw by his swing that he had forgotten "who he was." And, when I said that to him, he remembered –– and knew once again. It was a coming together of energy for an instant moment in time.
t**S.W. said that Boka Marimba of Portland featured me dancing on the cover of their C.D. Why? I cannot play a Zimbabwean marimba. It was because I heard, understood, the music better than they did. In other words, as wise old owls say, I didn't hear just the notes, I could hear what the notes "mean." So, each time they performed, I conducted them: By expressing the music in my physical dancing body and from my another-world-voice as it made reverent, emotional sounds, screamed and talked in another language that no one there but I knew. As I was upping the energy of the musicians, I was helping the "audience" to also hear what was going on. For example, I looked at the 200 to 300 other people and saw their energy. Then, I would pick out a few of them who's energy was the best and I would dance with them. I would pick out the part of their body's dance that was clearest in expressing the energy and I would mimic what they were doing but intensify it, so they understood it better. And they would, too, begin to intensify it. Thus, what started out as a dance, became a transformative ceremony. We, as a group, were no longer dancing to the music; we had become the music. A few times, it became so clear, that all 200 or 300 people spontaneously joined hands in one circle around the perimeter of the hall, leaving the center a vast empty space.
t**S.W. said that Wendy Oberst came up to him at the Quaker meeting in a little Tennessee town and said, "You live in Oregon? Are you going to vote for Ted Kulongoski?" "Who's that?" I inquired. "He's running for Governor, you idiot." It happens that this woman in rural Appalachia has a husband whose sister is married to Ted K. So, when I got back to Oregon, I thought, I have never been to an Inaugural Ball. Using my connection to Wendy, I called up Oregon's Democratic headquarters and got an invitation. I arrived a bit early for it at the hotel in Portland, so decided to walk around outside in the drizzle till things started. When I got back in the hotel, I saw a coat-check room and got in line to check my wet coat. In front of me, in line, were two young women discussing their evening gowns. One said to the other, "No, I'll lend you my shawl." Having nothing else to do, I looked at the two of them and said, "I like her dress better"–in a joking voice. The other woman, who's dress I really liked better, turned to me, and we started talking. She asked me 'why are you here?' and then I related the Wendy church-incident in Tennessee story. Well, it turned out, by my strange way of things, the person I had somehow managed to get in line behind at the Governor's Ball, that I had strangely managed to attend, was K..., the daughter of the Governor of Oregon.
After the dinner and the speeches, I went up to the Ballroom where a good rock band was causing dancing. I did some dancing and it got to be about 11:30; so I decided to leave. As I as was walking down the carpeted hallway away from the Ballroom, who should be walking in the other direction? K... "You aren't leaving," she said. No I wasn't. Instead we went back inside and danced. That is the story of how to get to dance with the Governor of Oregon's daughter at his Inaugural Ball. Be in the right place at the right time, I guess? But I don't know why I was there.
t**S.W. said there's some music, if it is really good music–that is, if it has been made by really really musicians–and if you listen to it in the right way–that can become a reality that you can then enter. When you enter this reality, you are there, in a foreign country–except it's a land of sound rather than a visual place. Nothing else exists for you now. For this to happen in your listening, you must lie down on your back, turn the music up to the "right" volume and then go into a "no-thought state:" You shift your awareness and focus on feeling your body, and when you are deeply feeling your body, just your body, you will no longer be thinking. And the place in your head where you usually think will be filled with the music, with sound. And then what you feel as your physical body will be experienced as a small entity within the totality of the sound reality. When you enter and become this, this sound reality can then be used to eradicate dis-eases that you feel in your body, change their energy. You heal them. This is especially useful in healing illnesses when they are small and first beginning, before they develop into things like cancer or advanced infections. Also, sprains and bruises, etc. But, as I said, it must be the right music–made by those who really hear the truth, so that they can make it.
t**S.W. said the Religious Feeling State is what we all know--so it is not a transmission really but a reminding. You know, and I know--and you know me and so I know you. That is the truth of it. In this way, I talk with animals. This is not bizarreness, but natural. Animals come to me. When they come, which I may initiate by singing a song, or talking in words to them, or giving them food, I stop time for them. That is, I go into a trance state where we fuse together into one mind and look at the world together beyond time.
I learned this truth from a dog that I had who died about 15 years ago. Walter. A psychic German Pointer. I had been going into trances for a while then, and stopping time. One night, I was sitting on my living room floor practicing. Walter was lying in front of me about an arms length away. When I would go into a trance--I have my eyes open the entire time in this condition--Walter would close his eyes. When I would come out of it, Walter would open his eyes and look at me. I must add that I did not move physically (even my eyes). Only my mind.
Walter and I were very close. So his opening and closing his eyes was a special message. It showed me that something was actually happening in the minds of the animals I had been trancing with and that it was not just my imagination or projection. It affirmed what I already knew.
For example, I was driving along Highway 9 north of Boulder Creek, CA, going south. There was a pigeon at the edge of the road at my right tire. I did not see it until the last moment and could not stop. As my front wheel passed over the spot where it had been, I felt this opening up inside me–like a remorse for anything that I have had a hand in killing. As this feeling opened up, the pigeon rose up over my right fender and flew back over the top of my car. At this instant, there was a union between us that I cannot describe. My feeling fused with the pigeon's rising. I continued on to Boulder Creek, stopping at the traffic signal in the middle of this tiny town and continued to the next town, Ben Lomond, turned off the highway and parked. A truck pulled in behind me and stopped too. The driver got out and literally ran up to me, saying, "Do you live around here?" I said "No." He said, "Well, there was this pigeon that was flying behind your car right above the back of the roof. When you got to Boulder Creek, it flew high up in the air. Then, when you got through town, it came down and started following you again, all the way to Ben Lomond. ...and there it is." He pointed. "I thought it was a pet pigeon."
Once, at the zoo, I went into a trance and looked at a gorilla. The gorilla moved behind a rock. I got him in view again and went into a trance. The gorilla threw a banana peel at me.
Crows, gorillas, flies, jack rabbits, snakes, mountain lions, neurotic house cats, a white tiger cub at the zoo, possums, squirrels, spiders, mustangs in the desert have all shared a time with me that was not of the usual world. Animals, except for sounds--barks, chirps--know silence. And silence is what opens up into Reality--which is touched, not thought. Animals are healed by that experience, and those who can stimulate it in them will attract them. It is the Reality in which the "symbols" of earth really come alive. It is the Reality in which their ancient wisdom is transmitted to others, to the group. For whatever happens in the universe happens here too, in microcosm. The earth is the process over and over and over. And the Father knows that. Our Mother Earth is the pure process itself, and that is love. But the Father is the knowing. "Hello, Father," you must say.
t**S.W. also said that I began to have intuitive experiences while watching sports on television. In some way, I was able to see the interpersonal inter-workings of the participants on an unobvious level--what was"really going on"--and, thus, to know who would win. It works for stocks too, but now you are working with the minds of the buyers and sellers.
t**S.W. said that I was once way out in the desert, on an old dirt road, up in a canyon, when I backed off the road. I got out of my car and immediately panicked. The left rear wheel hung in the air over a four foot drop-off to a creek bed. I was a long way from any civilization, and no one came up that canyon especially in the middle of the week. Finally, I calmed down and walked over to the stream. "Sparkling Brook," I asked, "What do you think?" The stream replied, "S.W., this is definitely a camel tying situation." The stream was referring to a little paradox of aphorisms that I had been contemplating at that time as a guide to human action: "Don't push the river, it flows by itself." and "Have faith in Allah, but be sure to tie your camel first." This perked me up quite a bit so I got out jacks and began digging the car out. Almost as soon as I began, I heard a truck's engine, coming up the canyon. It was a surveyor from the Dept. of Interior which was re-mapping that part of the state. He was driving a jeep with a winch and pulled my car out in about 5 minutes. I could never explain why that surveyor chose to survey that particular canyon then. In fact, I had rarely seen anyone in that canyon before, or since. I cannot decide now whether it was a "camel tying" situation or one of trusting "the river?"
t**Another time, I was backing out of a driveway in Pennsylvania and drove into a culvert, again with my rear wheel. I got out to inspect the situation and, just as I reached the back of the car, a tow truck was coming down the road. I flagged the driver down, and he pulled me out and didn't even charge me.
t**Once, S.W. said I wrote an important letter to 5 people. Within the space of two weeks, I met all of them on the streets of Berkeley, where I was living at the time. "Although I had never had chance encounters with any of them there before and some of them lived as much as 75 miles away."
t**S.W. said I lived part-time on some forested land in Oregon. A person purchased some adjoining land and decided to clear-cut his property. Although most of the people living there were opposed, he planned to do it anyway. He was doing this because he was poor and needed the money. I thought about this. On the one hand, I felt sorry for the guy. But I realized something larger: "We can no longer afford to have people on this planet who are so dumb that the only way they can figure to get money is by cutting down 200 year old trees." So, I made a prayer and ceremony. About two weeks after laying out these implements, it was Easter Sunday morning. I was lying in bed and I heard repeated banging against the bedroom window, over and over. It was a Robin that was repeatedly flying into the window. Then, for two month or so, other birds, Robins and Sparrows, began doing the same thing–and to the windows around the Prayer room. Then it stopped. About eight months later, there was a lightening storm–storms with lightening are very rare on the Oregon coast. A lightening bolt hit the clear-cutter's property while he was there. Some days later, he was found walking on the highway by the police. He couldn't remember his name. Also, he had been sponging water from the well of his neighbor on the other side. This person wanted to clear-cut his own property and had supported this lumbering. The lightening knocked out the well and, later still, that neighbor lost his job. Within a year, both properties were for sale.
t**S.W. said In 2001, I went to Egypt on a tour run by Mountain Travel. My fellow tour-takers weren't the brightest bulbs in the heavens and the guide was unworthy but arrogant. This was my first tour; I learned not to join a group of another's making again; I wondered why I had come.Then, on the 6th day, we went to the Khafre Pyramid of Giza, the one nestled against the Sphinx. We bought tickets and the rest of the group got in line at its gaping mouth. I decided to wait; instead, I walked three times around the Pyramid in a counter-clockwise direction. Then I went to the entranceway. It was about 4:00 in the afternoon. I gave the attendant my ticket and entered. There are three chambers, bottom, middle and top, and I began climbing the stone stairs to the top one. As I got half-way up, I heard the tomb-echoed drivel of yet another tour group and then the authoritative certainty of a guide's voice imparting five minutes of knowledge to those who'd traveled 5000 miles for it. "Not there," I said, and came back down and decided to try the middle chamber. Because of the lowness of its passage ceiling, I had to go on my hands and knees to it. When I crawled through its entry hole, in the dim light, I viewed a large, empty, dark rectangular room with what appeared to be an alter, or raised alcove, at one end. I walked to the opposite end and sat down cross-legged on the stone floor, facing the altar. Sitting there in the semi-blackness, I could hear voices from the other chambers and hallways. Then, all of a sudden, there was total silence. No one. No voices, no footsteps, nothing. And, to the best of my knowledge, and as a spiritual certainty, I was sitting all alone at approximately 4:PM on the 18th of March of 2001, in the Pyramid of Giza. And then I knew it: why I had come to Egypt and that I was supposed to be there.
There is a lot more but perhaps already I have told you too much.
I was the shadow of the Waxwing, slain
In the false azure of the windowpane.
I was the smudge of ashen fluff,
And I lived on, flew on,
In the reflected sky.
This happened too!
Two or three years after I was given my name, Victor Greentree, which was also the name of a relative, I was driving home from the southern desert and saw a shortcut, Hwy 18.--north to I-5. It went through an area of California invitingly titled the "Apple Valley." That sounded good--anything to miss LA. I drove through a number of small, picturesque towns. Then, up ahead, I saw another village coming. As I got to it, the road sign said "Victorville." As I saw its official title, I thought: "Greentree Inn." And, guess what? There it was: the Greentree Inn in Victorville, California. I had never been on that road before and knew nothing of this town. And yet, when I detoured a bit and drove past the Greentree Inn, it seemed right. I was, am, Victor Greentree. And, whoever that may be, a physical representation of my Self is meant to stand there. It is still there today. But even when it is gone, it will always be there--for me. Don't know why this happened (yes I do), but that's the way it is.
Now... all of this was about 25 years ago. I had mostly forgotten it. Then, recently, I befriended a woman in an eastern city near me who'd come from California. I asked her where? She said "Lucerne, "one of the other villages on this Hwy 18. And then I remembered! "You know Victorville?" I asked. "Yes," she said. "Do you know the Greentree Inn?" "Yes," she said.
So... What is her connect to the Greentree Inn, and why did I meet her now? And why,too, has this come up for me now?
THE NEW ARTIST
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This earth, this life, is all sex all desire. This earth, this life, is all death all dying. www.circleoftheearth.org
