letter excerpt
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31 May 02
Hour of the Spastic Mandala
Greetings...
A few individuals have requested that I report on my experience with subjective temporal manipulation that occurred (objectively) during the period of 2 - 7 of this month. The experiment was not easily processed and I am still feeling a number of synchronous effects; thankfully these have lessened a great deal and I am now able to make at least the basic points comprehensible. Before I begin though, I should make it clear that this was NOT A PLEASANT EXPERIENCE.
I had planned the experiment to take place during and after an overnight road trip to V**c**v*r. Some people take an MR (Magical Retirement) now and again; I take MRTs (Magical Road Trips) to do my work. Overnight is best. In this case, conditions were as close to perfect as possible. Once in the Rockies and westward bound on the evening of 2 May, the weather and driving conditions became alarmingly bad. Rain, sleet, fog and snow. A headlight was out on my car. Let me explain why this was ?perfect?.
Twelve hours of such conditions pushed me to my limit. I stopped only to piss and graffito various buildings with musings on Time and of course, the working?s chosen sigil. I could not see the road or hear anything other than the white noise of the engine. My body became numb and re-iterating mantras of temporal manipulation lubricated my mind. The roads were bad; twisting in upon themselves, slick, endless. There were no landmarks. Between the periods of pitch darkness, the brights of oncoming semis - massive cthonian beasts spewing incandescent, halogenetic fire - blinded me. I shrieked and howled and yes, I gibbered. You know all those odd little things a person does and says while alone in a car? I said and did them all and then some. I blasphemed greatly. All in preparation for the final moment.
Which came the next morning as I pulled into V**c**v*r. I had prepared a symbolic gesture of sorts; after a period of meditation (possibly but not necessarily in concourse with others world-wide), the sigil, drawn on several balloons, was ritually released into the perfect blue of a rain-washed west coast morning sky. And at the moment when they disappeared from sight, that sky cracked wide and I stepped through. From that moment on things would be very different.
In some ways the timing of this was masochistic in the extreme. I was about to spend a weekend (my birthday weekend! Yes, the ritual was timed to conclude at the very minute of my birth) with my family in unfamiliar surroundings. One of my sisters is getting married and this weekend was a ?meeting of the families? of sorts. In S**tt*e. Strange beds. Customs and belief systems I had long forgotten. The happy buzz of the newly engaged, which I began to remember all too well. In fact, that is where the effects of the working became apparent first. In memory.
Memory orders our lives and allows for process. But it?s fragile. It was as if the container that held my memories had broken and all and everything came spilling out, flooding my consciousness. Memories from infancy through last week combined and broke apart. Memories of the womb, of Africa where my parents had lived and worked as missionaries, where I was conceived. Cosmic memories. Genetic memories. Memories of things I have not done yet. Memories of my death. The fusion of Time became unbearable; a cold, swirling inferno of temporal energies. All this without drugs and all this while interacting with family and strangers; social niceties providing barely adequate cover.
One amusing moment: my sisters new father-in-law puts a movie on the VCR. ?Tomb Raider? with its central theme of malleable Time. My younger brother, who is staunchly Christian, makes apprehensive noises about the ?occult danger? of such films. I laugh for a full five minutes. He has no idea.
I left S**tt** and headed north on roads once again dark and wet. I was on my way to C*lg**y. More temporal distortion welled up and (I think) I lost my way. I still do not know how long I travelled or how far, but there was a moment or an hour or a day when I met and comforted and was comforted by my ex-wife in her home. She felt like deja-vu. She felt like memory. For all I know I was asleep and dreaming on the side of some deserted logging road in the middle of nowhere. Felt real though. It may not have been true, but, in the words of Wittgenstein, it was ?true enough?.
Awoke (or returned to normal consciousness) sometime during the early morning of 7 May. Found myself driving through mountains with clear blue sky all round. Got my bearings and returned home to C*lg**y. Upon arrival there found that during my absence the area had experienced severe winter weather. Storm and snow (a few feet of it) and freezing temperatures. Friends have speculated on the possibility that the ritual had effectively punctured a small area of the temporal super-sphere, allowing the weather conditions we should have experienced earlier in the winter (which we did NOT experience) to be pulled through to this point on the super-sphere, in spring. I must admit to being forced to take some responsibility for this. I have to allow for the possibility. After all, did anyone else in this town, province, continent perform such a ritual? It?s possible but not likely. So I shrug my shoulders and grin sheepishly. It?s all a person can do, really.
So, to sum up: the experiment was a success. The past few weeks have been, to put it mildly, disorienting. For a few days I walked above the surface of Time. I saw it spread out before and behind and to the sides of me. I saw myself as a 4-D process entity that had briefly torn free from the very process that spawned it. ?Freedom! Horrible freedom!? I won?t say that the temporal landscape is not meant for the eyes of man; but it is not a landscape that can be seen all at once in detail. To do so is to invite madness - or divinity. But I have glimpsed the so-called ?future?; I have grasped my relative place in it. And that?s enough for now, I think.
I should very much like to be surprised, though
the Landotter
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In reply to:
Friends have speculated on the possibility that the ritual had effectively punctured a small area of the temporal super-sphere, allowing the weather conditions we should have experienced earlier in the winter (which we did NOT experience) to be pulled through to this point on the super-sphere, in spring. I must admit to being forced to take some responsibility for this. I have to allow for the possibility. After all, did anyone else in this town, province, continent perform such a ritual? It's possible but not likely.
Weather is very unpredictable, especially in these days of pollutant filled skies and ozone depletion. It's nice to fantasize sometimes, but to actually believe you caused this weather phenomenon is craziness in my opinion. But if you insist this was a result of your ritual, perhaps you should apply for a position with the X-men. Storm must be getting pretty old and feeble by now 
And do the asterisks in place of certain letters of Vancouver, Calgary, and Seattle have any significance? Just wondering.
The experience sounds very interesting, none the less. Peace,
-RebelSteve
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Namaste.
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