Brother Clement

This is an unfinished memoir. It ended in 1987. For the sake of sanity we will call it fiction. Prologue: Childhood in the Missoula Valley In April of 1959, on a quaint farm cradled in the bosom of the mountains, I was born to a teenage maiden still full of dreams. My lineage traced back to the grand Merovingian Kings of France through my maternal grandfather, a man whose presence has lingered with me through my life, though we shared but a fleeting eighteen months. My life was an intricate tapestry woven from diverse threads. The yarn of my unknown father, who lacked the interest or courage to embrace his role, remained elusive. The majority of my early years were spent under the watchful eyes of my granny, a frontier woman of rugged spirit and unmatched endurance, my mother's stepmother, who filled my world with color and warmth. Granny had journeyed through the ups and downs of life, outliving five husbands, each leaving their indelible imprint on her soul. Her tales of resilience and survival, her journey to the Missoula valley as a twelve-year-old girl in a covered wagon in 1892, and her arrival at my grandfather's doorstep, stepping into the role of housekeeper and nanny after the premature demise of his wife, filled my early years with a profound sense of history and continuity. Life with Granny was an idyllic medley of vivid sensations. The rattling lullaby of her old brass bed, the comforting caress of wood heat from her cast-iron stove on crisp mornings, mingled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the enticing sizzle of potato cakes and sausage in her seasoned iron skillet. The symphony of the early morn, the creak and slap of the screen door, her rhythmic footfalls as she ferried wood and water from porch to kitchen - all these were the simple melodies that composed the song of our shared existence. Misty mornings on the meadow, warm afternoons perfumed with pansies and geraniums, ponies grazing lazily in the pasture, chickens flitting around the yard, the reassuring solidity of the woodpile beside the old iron hand pump – these were the vignettes that painted my childhood canvas. And amidst this natural bounty, Granny – a figure of strength and tenderness, her smile as radiant as the sun glinting off her round glasses, illuminating the path to the fields and my heart. School commenced when I was six, and my universe began to pivot. My mother, now wed to the man who would be my father, and I gradually spent more time in our own home, just over the tracks and a stone's throw away from my school. In the early days, I would often race to Granny's straight from school, but as the wheels of time turned, I found myself increasingly ensnared in a world away from her. Yet, the echoes of my life at Granny's, the lessons learned, the love received, the values ingrained, continued to shape the course of my existence. Her laughter still resonates in my ears, her warmth still kindles my spirit, her resilience still inspires my path. My earliest memories of her remain a beacon, guiding me through the labyrinth of life. Life under Granny's loving vigil was pure and untouched, as if no other reality existed. Those days, dappled in the gentle light of innocence and joy, have deeply carved their mark on the person I have become, their echoes shaping my understanding of life as I have come to know it. This was my life, my origin, my root that grew deep into the heart of the Missoula Valley. Mission Statement for The Guardian Order and The Abbey of the Broken Angel \"We, The Guardian Order and The Abbey of the Broken Angel, stand united as a beacon of hope, resilience, and enlightenment, dedicated to the preservation of

history, the cultivation of knowledge, and the fostering of moral and civic values. As Abha Guardians, we strive to salvage and mend the broken spirits of our society, providing sanctuary, healing, and guidance to those who have been overlooked, neglected, or hurt. Our mission is to foster communities founded on empathy, resilience, and understanding, building a global consciousness that promotes ethical conduct and civic engagement. Through the combined wisdom of ancient traditions and modern technology, we endeavour to maintain a sustainable lifestyle that respects and honours our environment. We champion the use of progressive practices like vertical gardening, regenerative agriculture, and permaculture, ensuring the health of our planet for future generations. As stewards of knowledge and wisdom, we are committed to educational initiatives that inspire and equip individuals to become active participants in their communities. We aim to instil a sense of responsibility, fostering a culture that values social justice, community building, and the pursuit of truth. At the heart of our mission lies The Abbey of the Broken Angel, a place of refuge and renewal for those children, soon to be adults, who have faced adversity. Here, they are provided with the tools, resources, and support they need to heal, grow, and eventually contribute to society in meaningful ways. We firmly believe that every child, no matter their past, has the potential to become a force for positive change. In fulfilling our mission, we seek the cooperation and collaboration of people from all walks of life. We recognize the power of collective effort and the strength of unity. With the combined might of individuals who share our vision, we can pave the way for a more empathetic, compassionate, and enlightened world. We invite you to join us on this journey of transformation and growth, as we strive to create a future where moral values and civic virtues thrive, leading to a more harmonious, just, and cohesive world.\" Together, let us mend the wings of the broken angels and guide them towards the light of understanding and compassion. In their flight, may we find our purpose, and in their healing, our salvation. Let's dive into the life of our monk, the guardian of the Abbey of the Broken Angel. We will refer to him as Brother Clement from here onwards: Brother Clement's life had always been filled with inexplicable experiences, but nothing could have prepared him for what happened on that fateful day of March 24, 2010. As a recluse who had spent much of his life in the foothills of North Georgia, the bustling city of Atlanta was a stark contrast to his quiet, wood- chopping existence. The clock struck 1:27 in the afternoon as Clement's Isuzu Rodeo zoomed along the fast lane, heading towards the city. Amidst the rush of 80 miles per hour traffic, a sudden swerve of a large town car sent him catapulting catawampus across the highway, his vehicle crashing into the wall. Clement, his mind filled with prayers taught by his beloved Granny, felt time warp, reality bend. He was acutely aware of the car wreck but also somewhere else, somewhere ethereal. An omnipresent voice echoed in his ears, resonating with joviality, yet profound wisdom. \"Ah come, come hither and see. This is Mine, with whom I Am well known,\" it declared. In this transcendental space, Clement felt a congregation of spirits. It was as if he was at a summit, filled with the elders who had influenced him throughout his life. As the voice continued to reveal the mysteries of the universe, everything fell into place like pieces of a long, convoluted puzzle. Clement's mind was transported back to his childhood at his Granny's country house. Not just a fleeting flashback but a comprehensive reliving of his life,

till that moment of the crash. Every stumble, every crisis, every joy, every sorrow—he saw it all. The voice revealed how it had held him throughout his journey, guiding him through the hand of his Granny, and his adherence to her teachings had kept him in its grace. In this mystical encounter, Clement was told of the grave dangers that had been trailing him—the evil forces that had been striving to eliminate him. But he was reassured. For his faithfulness, his loyalty to the prayer of his Granny, he had been chosen for a new life. A life to be lived in the divine ways, away from the worldly vices. Armed with the divine assurance, Clement was forewarned of the sudden halt that awaited him. And as predicted, with a loud crash, his car slammed into the far wall. He emerged from the wreckage, completely unscathed, his body untouched by the violent ordeal. His only response to the amazed onlookers was a simple, powerful statement: \"It was the hand of God!\" With this experience, Clement's destiny was forever altered. From then onwards, he was not merely a hermit monk living in the foothills. He was Brother Clement, the Abha Guardian, the protector of the Abbey of the Broken Angel, entrusted with the sacred task of guiding others towards the light of understanding and compassion. His journey from then on became a testament to the miracles of faith, resilience, and divine intervention. His life turned into a story—an extraordinary saga that continues to inspire others, reminding them of the eternal and ubiquitous presence of divine grace. No matter how treacherous the path, the hand of God, he insisted, is always extended for those who choose to reach out and hold onto it. And with this belief, he embarks on his mission of mending the wings of the broken angels and guiding them towards a life worth living. Brother Clement's life wasn't always one of solitude and introspection in the mountains of Georgia. It was a tapestry woven from various hues of experiences, dating back to his years as a seven-year-old boy when he was adopted by his stepfather. The courts, in their legal wisdom, reissued his birth certificate, showing his stepfather as his blood relation, replacing the bastard status that had marred his original certificate. His stepfather often reassured him, expressing his love not borne out of obligation but by choice. His stepfather was older than his mother by nine years, yet they both were young, almost naive, in terms of raising a child. Clement's childhood was an adventure, an erratic journey guided by individuals he often described as wild teenagers. His stepfather's family was large, with many of his uncles being decorated marines with commendable service records. One uncle had even gone to the extent of joining the navy with forged documents after being medically discharged due to injuries. He had uncles who had seen the horrors and heroism of wars, from the frontline battles in the Korean War, the iconic moment when soldiers raised the flag on the sands of Iwo Jima, to the devastating attacks on Pearl Harbour. His stepfather, a child of the Great Depression, had seen and learned the art of survival from his formidable mother, Grandma Minnie. Growing up in the rough terrains of Butte, Montana, he developed the resilience to get by with very little and yet, live life to the fullest. Grandma Minnie, a woman who could outswear any sailor and outdrink most men, was a formidable force who shaped her sons into strong, upright individuals. Unlike his brothers, Clement's stepfather wasn't able to join the military due to a medical condition, a floating kidney. He found his place in the world as a laborer, first working in the mines of his hometown, later donning various hats as a handyman, and then as a garbage truck worker. As a young boy, Clement closely observed his stepfather's life, learning the values of resilience, survival, and living life unabashedly.

Little did he know then that these early experiences, these stories of survival and resilience, would come to shape his future as the Abha Guardian, offering him the strength and wisdom to guide others in their quest for understanding and compassion. In the small town that was the early setting of Brother Clement's life, there was an individual who never failed to make an impression whenever he passed by - Harry Raymond, the owner-operator of the local garbage truck. Brother Clement recalls the distinct reaction of the townsfolk every time Harry Raymond would pass through. It was a peculiarity that he would understand in later years - Harry Raymond was the only black man in the entire town. Clement's stepfather, a blend of the charisma of James Dean, the grit of John Wayne, and the soul of Johnny Cash, had an unusual vocation that had a profound impact on Clement's early years. His stepfather would ride around town on his gigantic garbage truck, a behemoth that seemed to consume and clear the trash people discarded. To Clement, he was a hero, rescuing people from their piles of garbage. His stepfather would often bring home curious items discarded by the townsfolk. One such artifact was an old Folgers coffee can filled with oddly shaped wooden blocks. Clement had no idea what the strange object was, but kept it for years, until one day, a family friend helped him unravel the mystery. It turned out to be a puzzle where the differently shaped blocks would interlock to form a perfect square. That was his first encounter with a learning tool, an experience that played a significant role in his affinity for learning and wisdom in later years. His stepfather's life took a dramatic turn when an accident resulted in the rupture of two discs in his back. After enduring multiple surgeries and spinal fusions, his life was no longer the same. Despite being in constant pain, he continued to instill in Clement an appreciation for the outdoors, teaching him to camp, fish, and hunt. Finding himself unable to pursue his previous labor-intensive jobs, his stepfather decided to go back to school despite having only a sixth-grade education. He obtained his General Education Diploma (GED) and embarked on an unexpected journey. He earned a degree in social services and became an advocate for community action programs serving working-class and poverty-stricken individuals. Through his relentless efforts, working with churches, state, and local governments, he helped establish shelters, soup kitchens, food banks, daycares, and crisis centers. He even worked in the governor's office, where he revised the guidelines and public information requirements manual for the statewide food stamp program. He was bestowed with the honorary title of Lifetime Chairman of a local poverty organization known as LIGHT (Low Income Group of Human Treatment). When he succumbed to throat and lung cancer, Clement and his sister ensured that his tombstone not only reflected his love for the natural world but also his commitment to service. The engraved scene of a man fishing at a camp with a bear watching from across the stream was accompanied by a tiny light bulb symbol, signifying his legacy as a beacon of hope and service in his community. This experience, in turn, formed a critical foundation in the formation of the Abbey of the Broken Angel, and the Guardian Order's mission. The ethos of service, resilience, learning, and community-building echoed throughout the establishment and became a cornerstone for Brother Clement's journey as the Abha Guardian. While Brother Clement could recount endless tales of his unconventional upbringing, filled with unexpected incidents such as accidental gunfire, illegal bear hunts, and being trapped under the hood of an old Packard, he knew these

stories weren't the crux of his journey. His childhood was a tableau of wild adventures, but it was his innate knack for storytelling that played a crucial role in his future path. Clement was always a small boy, uninterested in sports. Instead, he was drawn towards writing and storytelling, an affinity that surfaced in the third grade when he wrote three different stories parodying famous fables like 'The Boy Who Cried Wolf,' 'The Three Little Pigs,' and 'Little Red Riding Hood.' His stories resonated so well with the teachers that they adapted them into plays, which his classmates performed in his absence while he was on the west coast for his father's surgery. When Clement returned, he was greeted with pictures of the performances and shared joy of his classmates who wished he could have witnessed it. His talent for capturing emotions and observations about the world became evident when he was twelve. Clement, who often found himself in the principal’s office or sitting in the hall due to his mischievous nature, penned a thoughtful poem questioning humanity's treatment of the land. Unknown to him or his parents, his teacher submitted the poem to a national contest titled \"America the Ugly, the Beautiful.\" Months later, he was informed of his winning entry, his award a small placard, a Reader's Digest book of word games, and the promise of publication in a future issue of Reader's Digest. Despite his achievement, Clement remained disinterested, more concerned with navigating his trouble-prone existence. His frequent visits to the principal’s office, however, provided an unexpected benefit: the opportunity to read the entire Encyclopaedia Britannica. It was later in life when Clement discovered he had a learning disability called dyslexia, a challenge he continues to grapple with. This tumultuous blend of early experiences, both wild and insightful, shaped the man that Brother Clement would become. His love for storytelling, coupled with his keen observations about life and society, sowed the seeds for the Abbey of the Broken Angel's philosophy and ethos, and the unique path he would carve out as the Abha Guardian. Brother Clement's story took on new dimensions: Growing up, Clement always felt a deep connection with the land, a sentiment cultivated through his experiences with Granny and his father. It was Granny who taught him his first prayer, a simple child's plea for divine protection. Although he did not understand its full implications, he kept the prayer close to his heart, confident in the faith and love his Granny bestowed upon him. As he grew, Clement became intrigued by the varying beliefs around him. The concept of religion, of people claiming their god was superior to others, piqued his curiosity. He sought answers to his burning questions: Who am I? Who is this god everyone speaks of? Unable to find satisfactory answers from his parents, he turned to his neighbors who frequented church. While the church didn't align with Granny's teachings, Clement's interest was piqued. When he was fourteen, he found himself attending an alternative school, Project 100, designed to help students graduate through a point-based system rather than traditional grading. Here, he was introduced to the counterculture of the time, including cannabis consumption, yoga, meditation, and Eastern philosophies. Though he continued writing poems, they were kept private between him and his English teacher. A childhood marked by stomach ulcers began to transform after a few months at Project 100. The cannabis, a newfound remedy, freed him from the strict diet he had maintained for years. It improved his mood and overall resilience, leading him to regard it as a divine cure-all, albeit one unfairly maligned by society. Clement's faith in this plant was so strong that, when his father fell sick with

cancer, he presented him with a bag of cannabis and an antler bone pipe, declaring it could save him. Despite his father's skepticism and concerns about legality, Clement held on to his belief. When he found the hidden stash of cannabis in his mother's car a year later, he claimed it as his own, convinced that his father's fate could have been different. Today, Brother Clement maintains his conviction, believing that cancer is an exploitative industry, with modern medicine capable of curing it, if not for the inherent profit in prolonging the disease. This viewpoint, shaped by his personal experiences and discoveries, has become an integral part of his perspective as the Abha Guardian of the Abbey of the Broken Angel. In the continued narrative of Brother Clement, we find him at Project 100, an innovative school that replaced traditional grading with a point system based on required and elective credits. For electives, students could choose anything that aligned with their interests - taking classes at the local high school, working part-time, or monitoring university courses. This flexibility opened doors for the students, including Clement, to explore diverse areas of knowledge and skill. One summer, Clement opted for a program that took him into the wilderness to maintain trails. It was an immersive hands-on experience. The young learners were trained to use vintage tools like crosscut saws, axes, pulaskis, and shovels. They honed these tools and learned to build water bars, pole bridges, and cut through dead fallen snags. These old-world skills taught them the basics of trail building, fostering respect and appreciation for the land - a theme consistent in Clement's life. When he was fifteen, in the midst of trouble and attending the alternative school, Clement befriended a group of boys living in a state-run foster home for troubled youth. Seeing a potential avenue to better his circumstances, he felt a pull towards this place. With an aim to finish school and possibly attend university, Clement decided to move into the group home. He discussed this plan with the probation officer and youth counselor, who both agreed it could be a beneficial move. With their endorsement and the group home's accommodation, Clement's life began a new chapter. His journey through trials and education was taking him through varied paths, each leading towards an understanding that remained ineffable yet profoundly transformative, shaping the essence of who he was to become - the Abha Guardian of the Abbey of the Broken Angel. The group home was an imposing old mansion that stood as the first edifice before the neighborhood sprouted around it. It was a relic of a bygone era, with its majestic front porch and large bay windows that welcomed visitors into its storied past. This grand mansion had evolved into a haven for fifteen boys and the house parents who provided their care. Upon entering, you were greeted by a set of stairs on the right that led to the boys' quarters on the second floor, while on the left, a large room acted as a TV recreation area. The dining room lay further ahead, featuring a sizable family-style table that could seat twenty comfortably. Adjacent to this was the main house parent's apartment, consisting of a spacious living room, a private bathroom, and sleeping quarters. The kitchen was a chef's dream - a commercial- scale marvel equipped with multiple ovens, a grill top, and a large double-door refrigerator, not to mention a walk-in pantry. A back door led to a porch and a path to the carriage house where substitute house parents lived. Now living in this group home marked a significant turn in Clement's life. Situated in the historic part of the city, near the University of Montana, it became the pivot around which his life revolved. He was already familiar with the university premises, having frequented the campus recreation center and being a long-term patient at the clinical psychology center. The medical experts there had been stumped by his case - a child with stomach ulcers typically seen

in stressed businessmen. The university center tried different approaches, from hypnotherapy to deep relaxation, and various tests that examined Clement's mental abilities. He performed well on tasks involving spatial reasoning, like identifying folded shapes from their flat projections. However, it wasn't until after his high school graduation, when he began attending the university, that they diagnosed him with dyslexia. This revelation shed light on his struggles, acting as another piece in the intricate puzzle of his life. It was another step towards a deeper, yet subtly conveyed understanding of himself and the world. Once immersed in the academic environment, Clement quickly realized that the pace of information was too rapid for him. Determined to seek help, he turned to the clinical psychology center again. More testing unveiled the true extent of his dyslexia - severe yet masked by his exceptional intellectual capacity. His IQ was of a genius level, but his dyslexia impeded the classification. His counselor explained how the government monitored these student aptitude classifications, aiming to recruit individuals who qualified as geniuses. This revelation was an eye-opener for Clement, a grand realization that gave him a fresh perspective of his life. However, this did not dishearten him. Rather, he chose to embrace it and navigate his path differently. Instead of pursuing the traditional academic courses that he was struggling with, Clement opted for subjects focused on the physical arts, such as drama, dance, and film. He also kept a religious history class, a subject he found intriguing, despite knowing he would have difficulty with the grading. He was still residing at the group home, an environment that offered him stability, comfort, and a semblance of independence while also allowing him to maintain connections with his family. The home provided a clothing allowance, which Clement creatively used to sew a garment - a beach caftan, reminiscent of what men wore in the Middle East. He completed this project in a week, a skill he had acquired from his granny. The house parents, devout evangelicals, were taken aback by his new attire. However, Clement was becoming adept at understanding people and their triggers. He wore the garment around the house and neighborhood, unbothered by their reactions. Friends in the neighborhood understood him better, aware of his motivations and interests that extended beyond the confines of the group home. Close to the group home was a meditation house, frequented by Ananda Marga, followers of Paramahansa Yogananda, the author of \"Autobiography of a Yogi\". Clement had been introduced to them during a yoga class he attended in high school. He spent time with them, practicing yoga and meditation, further exploring the depths of his spirituality and understanding of the world. These experiences subtly led him towards a more profound understanding of life and himself, an understanding that was unspoken but deeply felt. Clement's visits to the Ananda Marga community were marked by warm meals, profound silences, and the exploration of spiritual wisdom. The resident teacher, Dadaji Sri Kumar, bestowed upon him a Sanskrit name, Viriam Kumar, meaning 'courageous prince.' This was an unconventional act, especially for someone as young as Clement, who wasn't even a member of the community. Yet, he felt an undeniable sense of identity and satisfaction, a clarity of self- understanding that many spend their lifetimes seeking. Living in the same neighborhood was Mark Savage, an old friend of Clement's. The Savage family's detached garage served as a sort of clubhouse where the young people of the area would congregate. Eager to show off his recently completed caftan, Clement made his way over to the gathering. The group was accustomed to his eccentricities and greeted his latest creation with acceptance and mild surprise. As they began to settle, an unusual event unfolded.

During a simple yawn and stretch, the room was engulfed in a radiant white light, a supernatural manifestation that left everyone awestruck and disturbed. Mark, shocked and apprehensive, questioned Clement about what had just happened. Bewildered, Clement could only shrug; he was just as oblivious to the cause of the spectacle as everyone else. The incident, baffling as it was, did not deter Clement and Mark's friendship. They revisited the occurrence years later, still unable to explain it, but accepting it as an inexplicable phenomenon they had shared. The other spectators of that strange day slipped away from Clement's memory, as did their identities. The bright light in the garage remained an unsolved mystery, a testament to the inexplicable facets of life and existence. This unexplainable event served to strengthen Clement's belief in the transcendental, cementing his journey towards self-discovery and spiritual enlightenment. Clement's life continued to interweave with fascinating characters as he befriended the occupants of the 'Tea Pad,' a group of University of Montana students from varied academic backgrounds. Frank, Bob, Jimmy, and Clayton became familiar faces, each with their unique interests, igniting a cultural and intellectual exchange that extended beyond their academic pursuits. It was Bob, in particular, who left an indelible impact on Clement, introducing him to the intricate works of Nikola Tesla, Wilhelm Reich's study of Orgone Energy, Albert Hoffman, Timothy Leary, Baba Ramdass, and Manly Palmer Hall among others. These discussions and the ideas they explored sparked in Clement a curiosity and awareness of unseen dimensions, a mindset that he carried with him for years to come. Years later, each friend pursued paths reflective of their interests: Frank worked in Russia as a political advocate, Jimmy became a history professor, Clayton found a niche in Hollywood's film industry, and Bob, following his geology studies, became an attorney. In one of Clement's memorable experiences with Bob, they encountered a mysterious phenomenon during a walk near the river. A strange object, akin to a flying saucer, approached them from Hell Gate Canyon. The object, adorned with peculiar lights and moving in patterns unlike any known aircraft, drew nearer, giving them an impression of observation. Suddenly, a blinding flash of light enveloped everything, transforming the dusk into full daylight. Following this spectacle, the object moved around them, creating a large 'C' in the sky before disappearing into the western horizon. Confounded by the event, Bob and Clement returned home in silence. It was only once they reached the 'Tea Pad' that they acknowledged their shared experience. Despite its startling nature, they decided against reporting it. The temporal lapse during the incident was peculiar too - it was three in the morning when they reached home, while the encounter had begun at dusk. Their encounter, left unreported and unexplained, stayed between them, adding to the repertoire of their shared extraordinary experiences. Only years later did they revisit the occurrence, perhaps finding solace in the shared bafflement and in the recollection of a friendship that traversed the usual and the mystical. Clement's life took a new turn when he began working at a physical rehabilitation center, initially as a part-time physical therapist aid, eventually taking on full-time responsibilities for biofeedback deep relaxation treatments. Although this line of work offered deep satisfaction, Clement's wanderlust and youthful curiosity pushed him to embark on a journey across the country. Assisted by his mother in securing his household possessions, Clement equipped himself with just a backpack, a sleeping bag, and a few changes of clothes, hitting the road as a self-contained hiker. Over the course of the following three years, he traversed the United States thrice, stopping by every church,

ashram, and spiritual institution along the way. His encounters with various faiths and spiritual paths didn't provide him with a singular, absolute truth. However, he found joy in the experiences and the interactions he had during his journey. Singing spiritual songs he learned along the way, he presented himself as a seeker on a spiritual quest, which helped ease people's apprehensions about his presence. One of the most profound interactions he had was with Guru Ma, the leader of an ashram in La Crescenta, California, outside Los Angeles. When asked by Guru Ma about how he kept his clothes clean, his reply that he simply stopped at laundromats whenever necessary appeared to please her. The ashram, with its serene garden property filled with hidden altars, offered a peaceful refuge where he spent a week. Despite not praying to Hindu deities, Clement enjoyed the company, the meditation sessions, and especially the vegetarian meals. Guru Ma offered him an open invitation to stay and work in their garden, which he politely declined, stating his spiritual quest and non- alignment to Hinduism. With Guru Ma's blessings, Clement continued his journey after some days of rest and nourishment at the ashram. The time spent there was a refreshing interlude in his quest for truth, leaving him rejuvenated for the road ahead. Clement's experiences took an even more eclectic turn when he joined a Rainbow Family National Gathering in the Oregon National Forest. The Rainbow Family, a loosely connected group reminiscent of global tribes with hippy tendencies, hosts a significant gathering once a year. Clement had known about the Family through his friend Bob, who had attended a smaller regional meeting. Arriving at the Gathering required leaving one's car in a designated parking area and taking a shuttle deeper into the National Forest. The first encounter was the welcoming camp, brimming with hospitality, banners declaring \"WELCOME HOME\", and individuals eager to embrace newcomers with warm hugs. Information boards detailed the layout of the vast camp, and handmade posters provided explanations, instructions, and directions. Clement's first night led him to the heart of the campfire, which buzzed with activities such as music, trade blankets, and tea. When a call went out for a volunteer to wash a pot, Clement volunteered, which led to a collective cheer. His introduction to the camp's unconventional pot washing method involving ashes, and the enthusiastic chanting that accompanied his scrubbing efforts, offered an experience unlike any other he'd had. During his stay, which began on the first of July and lasted for a week or so, Clement took part in a myriad of activities. He contributed to the Gathering by participating in a sweat lodge, gathering firewood, carrying water, and digging latrines. He also had his ears pierced, and a craftswoman made him gemstone bead earrings. His time at the meditation tepee, dancing around a fire in a loincloth, and offering and receiving shiatsu acupressure treatments were remarkable highlights of his time at the festival. Even though he no longer wore the earrings, they remained a fond memento of a life-altering experience. Throughout his three-year odyssey across North America, Clement would occasionally return to his hometown of Missoula whenever his travels brought him close enough. On one such visit, he found himself staying with Bill, a friend's brother. When Clement shared his travel adventures and his spiritual quest for truth, Bill told him about a teacher he had been studying with. This man's teachings, he said, aligned closely with Clement's own insights, and to Clement's surprise, this teacher didn't charge for his lessons. He held what he called \"firesides\" in a room in his basement, which were open to all. Intrigued by this unexpected development, Clement found the man's number and introduced himself over the phone. The teacher, Leland, invited him to a new

session of firesides that week. When Clement and Bill arrived at Leland's house, they were led on a tour of his garden. Leland was full of questions about Clement's life, his family, his work, his religious beliefs, and his travels, but he remained coy about what his teachings would cover. This shroud of mystery only heightened Clement's interest and anticipation. Once other attendees had arrived, they all moved to the basement where several chairs were set up, including a large, high-back leather chair reminiscent of those found in a gentleman's smoking lounge. Behind this chair hung an intriguing painting depicting a multi-headed creature with various animal attributes, and beside it was a large diagram of the Great Pyramid, complete with inner chambers and passages. The mysterious artwork seemed to hint at profound revelations to come. Doc, as Leland was affectionately known, was a humble man with a slight build, standing at around five foot five. His white, Santa-like beard, glasses, and the white short-sleeved shirt and tie he wore lent an air of wisdom to his persona. Despite his unassuming appearance, Doc's teachings were profound and far- reaching. At the initial meeting, Doc explained many things, including the commitment necessary for his course. To fully benefit from his teachings, he said, one needed to complete the entire course. Completing half would simply result in being a \"half-wit,\" something he didn't wish to be responsible for. This full program would span nine weeks, with two sessions per week. Doc's teachings and approach were perfectly aligned with everything Clement had learned on his spiritual quest thus far. And once the introductions were over, the real learning began. Doc delved deep into the history of Christianity and its correlation with other world religions, leading his students through the entire book of Revelations and discussing various translations of the Holy Bible. He identified the beast and the antichrist described in Revelations and explained how the Great Pyramid's measurements told a narrative stretching from Adam to the present day. Throughout the course, Doc provided numerous informational brochures and pamphlets, which he printed in his own shop. Clement, eager to contribute, volunteered at the print shop, where he met Don, another volunteer. Don was only able to be there once a week due to his other job, but he was a great help and mentor to Clement in the printing process. As Clement neared the end of the fireside lessons, he found himself spending more and more time at the print shop. One day, much to Clement's surprise, Doc called him into his office. Clement was expecting some form of reprimand or correction. Instead, Doc offered him an unexpected proposition. He had been observing Clement's dedication and diligence at the print shop and saw in him a potential student. Doc, now 73, wanted to take Clement under his wing as his last apprentice. He wanted to pass on his knowledge of the printing trade in its entirety, from printing to cutting to binding. Doc wasn't just running the print shop for his lesson plans; he also catered to commercial print customers. Clement agreed to Doc's offer and began his formal training the very next day. For the next six years, Doc taught him everything about the printing trade, molding him into a master printer. Doc was a living testament to the evolution of the printing industry. He started his career at fourteen as a duster in the world's largest printing facility in Chicago. From there, he worked his way up to becoming a master printer and then put himself through naturopathic school, where he met his wife Opel. Although Doc had retired from his naturopathic practice, Opel was still actively practicing. For many years, she was the only doctor Clement ever consulted. Doc had seen the printing industry transform from the era of hot lead case fonts to photosensitive material. He prophesized to Clement, \"Kid, someday all you will

have to do is punch a button and zip zip, your printing will come out.\" In the early 1990s, Clement saw Doc's prophecy come true when he was working as a prepress manager in a commercial print shop in Atlanta, Georgia. Desktop computing was just emerging, and the print shop switched from darkroom film making to output film, also known as lino. Clement discovered that he had a knack for running the new software. His prior experience dialing into mainframe servers at government agencies, universities, and hospitals prepared him for the dawn of the internet. In those days, it was only known as DARPAnet and then ARPAnet. Fresh from his apprenticeship with Doc, Clement was hired by the local government in the Department of Central Services as an operations and billing technician. He managed the internal print shop, worked with colleagues in the mail room, and kept the purchase billing for the city-county consolidation up- to-date. He worked closely with data processing for the billing spreadsheets, which had to be printed and bound into monthly record-keeping binders. Clement's proactive nature led him to update the way departments ordered printing and how print billing was entered. This innovation earned him the Outstanding Employee Award just seventeen months into his job, typically a title bestowed upon lifelong departmental employees about to retire. However, as human nature often proves, his immediate supervisor's perspective of him changed over time and, despite the department running smoothly, he felt he could do nothing right. Sensing an inevitable fallout, he decided to leave that job and turned his attention to serving his community. Across the street from where Clement lived was a group of houses owned by people who belonged to the Rainbow Gathering, a counterculture community known for organizing events to promote peace, love, and harmony. Clement began spending time with them, working in their garden, learning to card and spin wool, and mastering the art of loom weaving. If he needed money, he could always go back to Doc's print shop and earn enough to keep him afloat. As the annual Rainbow Gathering approached, many of his new friends decided to organize a smaller, regional gathering since the national event was too far and too expensive for many of them. Clement was eager to get involved. They found an ideal location up in Rock Creek, near the Idaho border: Corona Lake on Mount Baldy. This extinct volcano with a lake in its crater was a natural amphitheater. They set up different camps around the lake. As visitors drove up, they were first greeted by the parking area. A short walk up the old service road would lead them to the lake where the main camp was set up, complete with tepees. Further around the lake, they could find a spring spilling into the lake. Past the spring was Kid Town, a safe haven for the mothers and children to play and be looked after. Farther on, a small wetland created by the lake runoff and a slight forest thicket looped back around to the entrance. Clement was relishing the tranquil life at the Rainbow Gathering, which had already been ongoing for several days. There were drumming circles, music of all kinds, and a shared sense of peace and unity. Clement had even learned to play the flute, reaching a level of proficiency that made playing an enjoyable experience. Aside from music, there were council circles, craft lessons, edible plant instruction, and communal food preparation. Clement did his part by digging latrines, carrying gear, helping set up tents, and making supply runs to town. All these tasks filled him with a sense of fulfillment and service to others. However, on the morning of July 1st, he encountered something that broke the peace. As he followed his morning routine of walking around the lake, he found human waste at the spring head. This was a violation of the Gathering's protocol, a direct threat to the health and safety of the camp and its inhabitants, especially in an encampment of large numbers. Clement, carrying a

shovel, managed to remove the offensive material, but it left him with a simmering anger. The women at Kid Town noticed his distress and asked him what was wrong. Clement couldn't hold back his frustration any longer and shared what he had discovered at the spring head. The women, understanding the gravity of the situation, encouraged him to confront the person responsible. He suspected it was the inhabitants of the tepees, who had partied late into the night and had left their dirty dishes and pans scattered around their fire circle. The lake, which was smaller than a football or baseball stadium, had a unique echo quality due to its bowl shape, something Clement had observed when playing his flute or listening to music. He used this to his advantage. He walked down to the water's edge and began yelling across the lake towards the tepees, expressing his anger and concerns. He continued to bellow until he was sure they had heard him. Soon there was a stir from the tepee camp, and he heard them cursing about the loud awakening. Clement's fury was unabated until a runner from the tepee camp approached him, assuring him they understood the problem and were addressing it within their group. The acknowledgment and assurance brought Clement relief, quelling the storm of anger within him. After a day of rest, Clement decided to visit the music circle on the hill above the Tepee camp. This site was a clearing where all the trees had been logged, lined with the remainder of the forest to the left. The fire circle, managed by Michal, was located right on the edge of this cut and within the forest. In the dark of the night, Clement spread his hand-woven blanket outside of Michal's drum setup, close to the fire circle. He set out his flutes and percussion instruments and played along with the drum rhythms coming from inside the forest circle. After some time, Clement decided to join the people around the fire. It was there that Michal, the fire tender, pulled out a large Snickers bar, ceremoniously declaring, \"Time for the sacred Snickers.\" He cut the candy bar into pieces, passing them around the circle. The reactions to this gesture were starkly polarized. Some participants savored a small bite, understanding the communal symbolism, while others, particularly those from the Tepee camp Clement had shouted at earlier, greedily consumed the entire piece. This stark contrast struck Clement, who found himself grappling with the stark differences in respect for communal principles within the group. I am suddenly affronted by the polarization within the people around this fire circle. And that one side was mild and just warming to the tender loving kindness of that side of the people. The other side is searing with the blistering heat of selfish indifference, even malice concern. I began to reel with this sudden insight, I say not a word. I merely rise to my feet, moving with firm steps. Head out the way I had come into the fire circle. When just as I was about to step out of the fire light into the darkness. Suddenly, a bearded face appeared in front of him and uttered, \"We're laying here just to trip people up.\" Already overwhelmed by the day's events and now frustrated by this perceived mockery, Clement spun around, suddenly feeling as if he had stepped into a new reality, like walking down a tunnel folding into itself. It was a tumultuous and intense experience, akin to passing through a sieve, being torn apart and healed instantaneously. It was as if he was swimming through forest thickets and the earth itself. A voice from deep within him proclaimed his true purpose and nature, affirming his journey to teach the ways of existence and acknowledge his eternal essence. This surreal experience continued for hours until he saw the people by the fire below. Excited to share his newfound revelation, he descended the hill towards them. However, as he approached, he sensed their fear and found himself deflected, forced to circle around them.

Michal's tent was near the fire circle, next to a thick, impassable thicket. Driven by the adrenaline of the experience, Clement crashed through the dense thicket right next to the tent, somehow without breaking a single branch. The next morning, Michal inspected the thicket, expecting to find signs of Clement's passage but found none, proving the mystical nature of Clement's experience. Now on the clear cut side, overlooking the lake and tepees, Clement's attention was drawn by the reflection of a star in the lake. He raised his gaze to the star-studded sky, absent of the moon's glow, allowing the stars to shine brighter. Suddenly, he felt an immense connection, as though embracing the entire universe, travelling across existence in a blink of an eye. Overwhelmed with a sense of liberation, Clement let out a deep cry that stretched his vocal cords, leaving his voice perpetually hoarse - a sound he called his \"little horse cry\". Turning towards a large pine tree, he hugged it like a dear friend, merging with it in a way that felt more intimate than any physical connection could explain. He experienced the tree from within, feeling its life, its growth rings creaking, its needles rustling in the breeze, and even the fear from the people at the fire in the distance. As he pulled away from the tree, his senses were heightened and transformed; his skin seemed to smell the pine while his olfactory sense mimicked touch, sensing every detail of the tree's texture. Exhausted and overwhelmed by the sequence of events, Clement collapsed to the ground, struggling to process the occurrences. At this moment, Michal approached him, his comforting hand on Clement's shoulder. Michal gently asked if he was okay, to which Clement assured him he was. Michal then invited him back to the fire, offering assistance to guide Clement back to his earlier spot. With this, Clement acquiesced, slowly coming to terms with his surreal experience. After his extraordinary experience, Clement found himself amidst a curious crowd around the fire. They asked him questions ranging from concern about his well- being to intrigue about his actions. But Clement had no words to explain what he had just been through. As the crowd's curiosity simmered down, he noticed a presence filled with hostility and hatred. Disturbed, he directed his attention to the fire. The glowing embers seemed to invite him, and before he knew it, he had plunged himself into the flames. Immersed in the fire, he felt the flames cool in comparison to the scorching animosity he had sensed. But soon, he was thrown out into the darkness by Michal, who had tried to save him. He landed heavily, bruising his knee, his tee-shirt torn, and his arms marked by Michal's grasp. Those were the only injuries he sustained through the whole ordeal. People later mentioned that the moment he hit the fire, there was a great clap of thunder and the entire sky lit up, despite it being a clear, cloudless night. The following day, he was approached by Necose, a young Native American man who was unknown to him till then. Necose seemed to have an understanding of Clement's extraordinary experience and called it \"Rolling Thunder,\" a term associated with powerful spiritual experiences. Necose was excited, almost to the point of stuttering, and insisted that his mother, located fifty miles away, must meet Clement, as she would be able to explain what it all meant. After an emotional exchange, Necose departed, promising to return with his mother. Despite his hoarse throat, Clement found a way to make light of the situation, communicating in a deep baritone that sounded almost celestial. His interaction with the crowd brought some levity, perhaps helping to alleviate the intense attention and curiosity that was directed at him following his extraordinary experience. As the days passed, Clement occupied himself with various tasks around the camp. He built an earthen oven and a solar shower, traveled to town for more blankets for the sweat lodge, and even set up an impressive sweat lodge camp between the

wetland forest thicket and the service road leading to the encampment. His creation was extraordinary. He moved large boulders to create a grand fireplace for heating stones for the sweat lodge and a smaller fire for people to gather around. In his meticulous preparation, he made sure every detail was just right, even down to a thermos water jug for cold drinking water and a pewter chalice, enhancing the sensation of coolness in the hot, steaming environment of the sweat lodge. Three days later, Necose returned, as promised. When Necose returned with his mother, a respected medicine woman, a ripple of excitement flowed through the camp. Many of the camp's inhabitants assumed that she had come to meet them, but instead, she was led directly to Clement. The woman's striking presence was arresting. Her long, braided black hair, the traditional powder blue buckskin dress she wore, and her native features conveyed a sense of wisdom and antiquity. Her movement was so light and effortless that it almost seemed as though she was floating above the ground. As she sat down with Clement, her son Necose introduced them and then respectfully excused himself. The woman, with her patient and serene demeanor, listened intently as Clement shared his experience of Rolling Thunder. She acknowledged his experience, affirming that it was indeed an instance of this ancient phenomenon. Her words were insightful and comforting, cautioning him against the influence of the \"Lessor Thans\" - individuals who were certain they knew more than they actually did, preventing them from truly learning. She also reassured him that there would be other gatherings to attend, and even described the current gathering as a \"camp of lost children,\" expressing gratitude that they were at least trying. Her words provided a fresh perspective and a sense of understanding and acceptance that had been lacking until now. She extended her heartfelt gratitude to Clement, thanking him for his presence and his contributions to the camp, and she formally welcomed him into the medicine community. Their meeting ended with a warm embrace, and as she turned and departed, Clement was left with a renewed sense of belonging and purpose. Among the intriguing personalities at the camp, Danny the Collector, or simply Collector as everyone called him, stood out. It was Danny who I'd stumbled upon during the night of the thunder walk. A unique character with an uncanny knack for locating items, he was the go-to person if you needed anything. Over the course of our stay at the camp, Danny and I grew close. After seventeen days at Corona Lake, we left together. We visited town, stayed for a couple of days, and then crossed over the State Line mountain pass into Idaho. Our destination was the Jerry Johnson Hot Springs, nestled beside the Lochsaw River in the National Forest and adjacent to the sprawling Bitterroot Selway, one of the largest wilderness areas in the lower forty-eight states. Danny accompanied me at the hot springs for around two weeks, while I remained there for forty-five days. Our time together proved to be enriching. Danny was a repository of knowledge and practical skills. Among his many teachings, he showed me how to craft a leather scabbard for my hand-made elk antler knife. His inventive mind could create solutions for nearly any problem. Danny always carried a mysterious Sphere with him, nestled in a pouch that hung from his belt. Whenever he had an audience, he would recount the fascinating tale of its origin. He described his archaeology professor who had unearthed the Spheres from a sealed chamber beneath the ruins of a Mayan temple outside Mexico

City during the construction of a dam in 1959. He spoke of three Spheres in total, each the size of a standard baseball. This tale, told with great reverence, added an additional layer of intrigue to the already enigmatic Collector. Each of the three Spheres had its own unique characteristics. The lightest one was bisected by a crack, the result of it being broken in half and subsequently glued back together. The pattern on this Sphere was a swirl, as though it was a planet suspended in its own ethereal cosmos. The second Sphere, darker in color, would glimmer green under the rays of the sun. This one bore the marks of water erosion on one side, testimony to a millennium-spanning drip that had slowly worn it away. Then, there was the one Danny carried. This Sphere was smooth, shiny black obsidian, with a hint of red rutilation running through it. All of them were some form of obsidian, but Danny's held an allure that set it apart. Intriguingly, Danny narrated an additional part of the story: that these Spheres had once been four. The missing companion, a mostly red sphere, had been taken somewhere far away before the sealing of the temple. I wondered how Danny had come to know such specific details. While I found it difficult to fully believe, there was an undeniable aura around the Sphere that hinted at a history beyond the scope of modern fabrication techniques. Danny eventually left the hot springs, and I remained. Many other individuals started trickling in, some staying for the night, others for extended durations. There was Zazzo, the man shrouded in mystery who desperately wanted to be a healing seer. And then there was the man who journeyed over three hundred miles from Butte, Montana, only to return the following weekend bearing gifts of Coca- Cola and Snickers bars. This was in response to a story I'd shared about the Snicker Jones family, where I had mentioned, in passing, that I hadn't tasted a Coke in weeks. Lorrie Little Bear was indeed a refreshing presence at the hot springs. En route to a gathering called the Harmonic Convergence in Colorado, she regaled me with stories of this event. It was tied to the Mayan Calendar and was being observed across the globe. Fascinated by her tales and the notion of such an expansive gathering, I found myself drawn to it. I took a trip into town to discuss it with Doc. As expected, he was well- informed about this worldwide event and mentioned that he had associates heading to Mount Shasta in Northern California for the same gathering. It seemed that fate had aligned itself in my favor, as our mutual friend, Bob Wittmen, was due to depart for Mount Shasta the very next day. With Doc's proposition in mind, I returned to the hot springs camp and announced my intentions to everyone there. I swiftly gathered my belongings and, on the following day, found myself embarked on an adventure with Bob Wittmen. I was his sole companion for this journey, and I suspect the trip was quite an experience for him. Throughout the journey, I was absorbed in my chants and was mostly immersed in my inner world. It was likely an intense experience for Bob, as he had to share the journey with someone who appeared half-crazed and primitive, exhibiting the gestures and posture of a mighty brave right out of a cinematic scene. Upon reaching the town of Mount Shasta, I urged Bob to drive me as far up the mountain as possible. Bidding him farewell at the highest point reachable by vehicle, I embarked on the remainder of my journey on foot. Upon parting ways with Bob, I found the subsequent encounters more resonant with my unconventional persona. A young man named Greg, whom I met along the way, was acquainted with a lesser-known entrance to the main camp on the mountain. After engaging in some trade, he kindly transported me to this more secluded approach.

The trail from this point was a grueling, nearly vertical hike of three miles, but it was a more desirable option than the seven-mile trek from the mountain's other side. Despite the initial steep incline, I opted for a slower pace, preserving my strength. Gradually, the punishing incline softened, transitioning into a familiar high alpine woodland, reminiscent of my home. The bear grass, and all the other flora and fauna, comforted me, like a reminder of the familiar in an otherwise unfamiliar journey. Reaching the expansive high meadow known as Squaw Valley, my attention was immediately drawn towards what seemed to be the main camp, distinguished by its bustling activity. I met André, who appeared to be overseeing the camp's operations. He welcomed me warmly, offering tea and food, which I gratefully accepted. I spent some time there, basking in the hospitality and regaining my strength. Following my brief respite, I found a suitable place to sleep and stored my gear. With this accomplished, I took some time to wander around the meadow, visiting various smaller camps dotted around André’s larger setup. Each encampment extended a warm welcome, reinforcing the sense of unity and shared purpose within the gathering. I also found the location of a spring, evident by the natural basin, although no camp was established there. However, an unusual amount of soap suds hinted at recent usage, likely someone washing themselves or their belongings. The entire area was buzzing with activity, with each small camp contributing to the larger communal experience in its own unique way. Upon my return to André's camp, I encountered a towering figure named Lucsan, an intriguing character who spoke of the Ashtar Command. This was a spiritual movement prevalent in Northern California, revolving around UFOs and attaining cosmic connections through meditation and chanting. Having seen similar beliefs and practices before, it didn't unnerve or perplex me. Lucsan started to explain to me how everyone in the camp was thrilled that the medicine man had arrived, a sign, according to him, that the gathering would be especially impactful. Intrigued, I asked him, \"The medicine man? Where is he? I'd like to speak with him.\" Considering what Necose's mother had told me, I believed I had something valuable to discuss with this individual. Lucsan gave me a curious look, \"You don't know, do you?\" \"Know what?\" I asked, scanning the crowd for the mysterious figure he was referring to. \"You are the medicine man!\" He said, his words distant as I continued to look around for this character of interest. Suddenly, his words resonated with me, pulling my attention back. Turning to Lucsan, I stuttered in confusion, \"I'm what?\" He laughed heartily, \"There you go, now you're starting to catch on.\" His eyes twinkled with amusement, \"Just look at yourself, I don't see anyone else who quite fits the bill as much as you do.\" I glanced down at my attire: leather leggings, moccasins, and a loincloth, coupled with a gray t-shirt, long blonde braids, and the long leather coat I had been working on since it was gifted to me at the Corona Lake site of the Thunder Walk. Adorning my head was a leather beret, crowned with a tall ostrich plume. I was the very image of a tribal shaman. The native peace pipe I carried, which until now I hadn't considered significant, solidified this persona. It appeared, whether I had planned it or not, that I had become the medicine man of the gathering. I regarded Lucsan with a newfound understanding, a burgeoning sense of a purpose I hadn't recognized within myself before. \"Yes! You are right, I am. And I want to talk about the spring head,\" I declared. I explained my observations about the spring, emphasizing its importance as the

lifeblood of the whole camp. Declaring my intention to camp there, I invited anyone who was interested in safeguarding the source of our drinking water from contamination to join me in a vigilant watch. I hung my elaborate feather array in a tree right at the spring head. This array represented all the main birds of the forest: Owl, Hawk, Golden and Bald Eagle, and it was adorned with a Raccoon tail, a Bear Claw, and Eagle Talons. Two long leather tie straps ended in large glass beads, adding to the sacred aura of the site. This act, I hoped, would signify the sanctity of the place to the campers. Whenever I was present, I would engage with people, enlightening them about the importance of the spring head and the need to protect our water source. There were numerous fire camps, each with their unique blend of New Age seekers and UFO enthusiasts. Armed with my flute and my newfound authority, I would visit these different camps. My voice, deep and resonant, carried across the high mountain meadows like the echoes of distant thunder. Ever since the Thunder Walk at Corona Lake on Mount Baldy in Montana, I had been employing what I called the 'HO Noise'. This was a technique where I would fill my lungs to their maximum capacity and then expel the air rapidly, not just clearing my throat but also creating a resounding 'HO' noise that echoed off the surrounding rocky peaks. This technique served to emphasize and punctuate my thunderous, dramatic proclamations, lending them an air of Shakespearean gravitas. The messages I conveyed were simple, yet profound: the idea of sharing and caring, the understanding of Earth as a living entity, and our role in this divinely orchestrated creation. This, I declared, was the day of God's chosen ones - and every individual was chosen by their own free will. It was a choice between sustaining or destroying God's creation. The power lay in their hands. I engaged them in discussions about the water and the stones, about their ancient origins, and about how we, the children of Earth, the lost children of God, are constituted from these very elements. I spoke of the omnipotent hand that shaped all the universes across the expanse of time and existence, the One True God, the Creator of everything in Heaven and on Earth. During my time there, presiding over sweat lodges and facilitating healing for countless individuals, I did witness some peculiar unidentified objects in the sky. The location, not far from Los Angeles' bustling film industry, attracted many from the world of entertainment - performers, singers, writers, musicians, directors, and various professionals involved in film and stagecraft. I even had the opportunity to make music with a renowned film director who, in this setting, desired anonymity. He effortlessly merged with the crowd, singing a rousing song about being a dumpster diver. Later, I noticed some of our discussions on the mountain subtly woven into his film work, a testament to the inspiring and transformative experiences shared on Mount Shasta. During that period, I felt myself merging with numerous deep harmonics of character and archetype, like I was part of an ancient tribe transcending time. Many people from the hot springs camp in Idaho and some from Corona Lake who had witnessed the thunder walk started showing up. One day stands out vividly in my memory. I was standing on a ridge overlooking the meadow when I felt a tug at my coat's hem. I looked down to see a young woman with long, dark hair. She asked me, \"How do I get well?\" I was taken aback. She seemed so pure and innocent; it was hard to imagine her suffering. We chatted for a while, and it became clear that she wasn't grappling with a severe medical condition. I shared with her the resilience and strength that life in the high Rocky Mountains instills in you, how the harsh winters leave no room for weakness. I also spoke to her about the Sun Water dance. In the following days, our paths kept crossing serendipitously—I would find her scarf or her beaded hair ties everywhere I went. Many in the camp started to see us as a central couple, even

though we had just met. There was an undeniable familiarity between us, like we had known each other in another life. Then there was an incident with a young man that left me quite flustered. As I stepped out of the tent I was staying in, he started bowing to me, as if he were praying. I couldn't stand that kind of behaviour. When I realized what he was doing, I grabbed him and threw him to the ground. I shouted at him, explaining that we pray only to God, for I am just a man and utterly unworthy of such reverence. He got up, bowed to me again and thanked me. We spent some time talking afterward. He revealed that he was a descendant of the first white woman who ever ventured into the Rockies, which was an impressive lineage. He also shared his opinion that I had been born not only in the wrong century but also in the wrong state. He suggested that I might fit better in Idaho and should consider leaving California, implying that people like us weren't welcome there.