Joshua Putnam

April 1994

"Choice is the salt on acts of worship." -Jelalludin Rumi

Flowers of Choice

Nine years ago I made a journey, a spiritual pilgrimage, and while on that journey I sought and recieved a vision. I believe this vision was sent to me to help guide me through the paths of life, and to help me to help others as well. I do not know why I was chosen to receive this vision, nor do I think that I have yet lived it or understood it in its entirety, but I have never doubted its power or its truth. Over the intervening years, I have spent a great deal of time and energy trying to figure out what this vision means for me and my life. Over those same years, I have spent even more time ignoring my vision and it's message, failing to live up to to all of it's promise. Yet, through great sorrow and transformation and occasional bright ecstasy, I ever return to it in my meditations, for I know that only by attempting to follow do I make myself worthy of the guidance I have already recieved, that without it I am but exhaust from the factories of today.

This is the story of that vision.

On June 1, 1985 I arrived in Alaska for the first time. Initially, I went there to work in the salmon canneries at a town called Kenai. I was accompanied by a woman who I had been friends with for about a year. She had made the trip before, in 1983, and it was her suggestion that prompted me to go.

When I arrived in Alaska I was prepared for camping out and for long hours of hard work. I was not, however, prepared for the month and a half of waiting I would go through before being hired. And nothing, though I'd already camped in 41 other states, Europe and Canada, could have prepared me for the beauty of the land in Alaska--or the beauty of the people I would meet there.

In my first weeks in Alaska, which led up to the Summer Solstice on June 21 and my twentieth birthday on July 5, I spiralled downward into a seemingly bottomless depression. This depression centered on several topics: because I was lonely, because I liked being a teenager and was afraid turning 20 made me somehow more adult, because I felt hopeless, etc.

At the same time, however, my spiritual side, in the face of such inspiring natural beauty, was undergoing a dramatic rebirth. Even on my saddest days, when the ever-present June sun kept well hidden away behind a canopy of clouds and a cold wind blew off the glaciers I would find an occasional moment of peace when I stood alone on the beach and I felt at one with the world around me, connected to the Goddess-in-all-things by the Goddess-in-me. I would often laugh or cry spontaneously at those times, because feeling so whole and alive was such a contrast to the rest of my life.

On the afternoon of June 13th, at about 8 PM (6 hours before sunset in Alaska) I took some magical tools--an silver dagger, a quartz chrystal and a large copper chalice--and I headed off into some woods bordering the high bluff which ran along the beach's edge. I walked slowly and stopped several times to thank the trees and forest spirits. Finally, I paused at the end of the bluff, under a large spruce that was familiar to me. From that spot I could look out over the beach and across the waters of the Cook Inlet and see a row of majestic snow-capped volcanoes. To my left, on either side of the mouth of the Kenai River, were the buildings and docks of the area's largest canneries.

I arrayed my tools on the ground encircling the tree and began casting my Circle, singing a soft slow chant. I called on the spirits of the Four Winds - East, South, West and North - and the four elements they represent - Air, Fire, Water and Earth - beckoning them to bless and protect my sacred space. I prayed to Mother Earth, Father Sun and Grandmother Moon for wisdom and strength. Then I turned to the Goddess-in-me, welcoming Her as my Higher Self in the Circle.

I sang many songs of the cycles and Powers, invoking beings, forces and states too diverse and personal to recount. Then I lay on my back beneath the spruce and slipped over into the Other Side. I emerged in a cave of quartz crystals set in a high cliff face. In the midst of the cave I beheld a beautiful pool of clear shining water that radiated the power of rainbows.

It would be well to mention at this point that I am not subject to psychotic delusions and I do not believe I was "really" in the above described cave in the same sense that I am in a room in Massachusetts writing these words. It is my conviction that so-called out-of-body experiences, whether visions of the Other Side or visions of Jesus and the Saints, are valid not by virtue of the independent existence of the beings or spaces that comprise their imagery. I believe rather, that the form of any person's visions is determined by their cultural and ideological background, but this form is simply a language in which universal messages can be expressed. I believe it is these messages, which appear almost identically across the globe, and not the languages they are expressed in, which give validity to and are in turn validated by the mystical state. Thus Hindus envision Krishna, Christians see Jesus or Mary, and Wiccans speak to the Goddess and Pan. Yet all are transformed into more morally conscious and emotionally balanced beings. All of them learn much needed lessons from their deities. The value of the lesson one learns from any experience, in- or out-of-body, is the value of the experience.

But back to my own experience...

I stood there in my vision of the crystal cave, gazing at the clear shining water and feeling inadequate and sad about my life. I felt worn out and wished I could have done more before I got so stuck. Then I turned my full attention to the pool before me and prayed for the spirit of the place to guide me onward. My answer came in the form of a vision upon the surface of the waters.

What I saw first was the whole human world as a giant circular tunnel through total darkness. All the people of all nations were walking around the tunnel circle in a single file line. Because it was completely dark the people had all closed their eyes long ago and no longer remembered they even had them. Instead, they navigated by always keeping one hand on the inner wall of the tunnel.

Then I became aware of their talking. All the people were continuously babbling about light in all of their millions of different languages. None of them knew what it was--they had never seen before--but they all believed it was just ahead, at the end of the tunnel. But I could see it was just a big circle. From time to time babies were born and soon closed their eyes and joined the circle. From time to time people fell and were trampled by those following in the circle. I could see the tunnel's floor was made of the trampled corpses of all the dead people of history.

But then I saw that at one point the tunnel was not totally dark. In one spot the outer wall, which no one ever touched, had a doorway in it, and sunlight poured in through the door. But the people passing the door all had their eyes closed, or else they were babies who hadn't learned to walk and talk and keep their eyes closed yet. So all the people just walked on past the doorway to sunlight, babbling on about the light that was surely just ahead. I felt very sad seeing this and I wondered what was outside in the sunlight.

Then I saw myself walking towards the doorway in the line, but my eyes were closed too! I wanted to yell at myself, "Look, look!" But I was a powerless observer. Yet just as I was passing the door and about to turn, like all the others, back towards the endless tunnel, a beautiful woman with long brown hair came in through the doorway. She touched my free hand and whispered, "Wait." The me that was watching saw the me in the tunnel pause at the sound of her voice, it was so full of wisdom and power. The woman then held out a flower to my nose, saying "Breathe!" Having lived all my life in the tunnel, I had never experienced anything like flower-scent before. I felt excited and scared.

She touched my hand that was following the inner wall next, and said in a terribly certain tone, "Let go." I was numb with fear, but I could not refuse. I moved my hand for the first time since infancy and was consumed by directionless blindness. I no longer knew where I was, where to go. I was terrified. But the woman from through the doorway touched my eyelids with gentle fingers, helping them to move even as she whispered to me, "Open." I opened my eyes and saw for the first time in my life. In awe I followed the woman through the doorway and out into an open field. We lay together in the grass and there were lots of flowers like the one she'd made me smell in the tunnel. They were all around and it smelled so amazing. Exhausted from the ordeal, I fell into a deep sleep.

When I awoke the woman who saved me from the tunnel was dancing in the field with a bunch of other people, all naked and beautiful. Their bodies were all clean and their differently colored skins shined in the moonlight. I realized that I was filthy, that I had never known how dirty everyone was in the tunnel because we were all blind and didn't know any other life. Then the people saw I was awake and came over with pitchers of clear water, with which they bathed me from head to toe. They were so beautiful and kind that I started crying, but they just kept cleaning me and laughing and singing.

Then we ate a delicious meal of fish and fruit and plants--which were all new to me. Afterwards, I joined them in dancing and playing games and gathering more food from the forest.

Finally, they took me to a great waterfall amidst the woods and left me alone there. As I sat listening to the birds and the water, I beheld the Goddess walking out of the waterfall. She held out Her hand to me and there was a shining flower in it, just like the one the woman in the tunnel made me smell, only somehow more radiant. I felt overwhelmed by the love and beauty of the Goddess and I knew what She wanted me to do. I must bring more flowers to other good people still walking in that lightless circle. Though most would ignore me, I knew I must be content to help a few others to get to the Other Side, the world of sunlight and moonshine, flowers and waterfalls. As I took the flower and thanked the Goddess there was a burst of light and my vision dissolved back into the view of the clear pool in the crystal cave.

I thanked the cave for its gift and slipped back through the crack between the worlds. I floated in silence a moment, then re-entered my ordinary state of mind. I felt both elated and drained by the weight of these visions, as yet uncomprehended. I closed my circle, saying thank you and farewell to the spirits of that place. Then I walked back to my tent and took a long nap.

The next day I wrote a long, though hasty, account of my experience. This has proved to be an unnecessary reference, as the entire experience was unforgettable. Almost nine years have passed since I received this vision and the time has served time only to ingrain it more deeply in my being. Both my intellect and my intuition tell me I have only begun to comprehend the meaning of its symbols.

In trying to understand the meaning of my vision in the cave, I am compelled to refer to my earlier experiences, and to the people who provoked them. The shamanic techniques which I used to induce my vision, and the ancient traditions from which they spring, were taught to me by people of great wisdom and kindness. In Nevada, I had lived with some Native Americans for a time, sleeping in a lodge woven out of red-willow branches, practicing their sacred way. In New Mexico I had lived in a solar-electric teepee with my girlfriend and a New Age hippie college professor. In Boston, I had practiced massage and psychic healing with an eclectic group of young men, many of whom I still know. And I had been exposed to many facets of gay male spirituality through the tender minstrations of my older male lovers. All of these people taught me more than just techniqes, spiritual or otherwise, they also taught me new ways of looking at life. An experience I had shortly after leaving high school furnished me with one of the keys to understanding the meaning of my vision. It is the story of how I was made aware of the mysterious energy behind all magic--which I call Choice--the source of imagination, creativity and laughter. It is also the story of one of my first glimpses of the shamanic mysteries, and of the mystery in my own unfolding self.

I became aware of the existence of Choice during the fall of 1982, when I was 16 years old, while tripping on Peyote with my first girlfriend, Jill Tuvich, and her friend Merlin Davis, at Merlin's house in Connecticut. Jill had just dropped out of College, which she had begun when she was 15, and when her parents had learned she was at my house in Cambridge they demonstrated their extremely poor strategic skills by having a police officer from western Massachusetts (where Jill's college was situated) call us on the telephone to warn us that Jill's father was driving up from New York City to return her home, by force if necessary. Jill promised the officer that she would wait at my house until her father arrived. We then packed a few of our things, made a few calls, and left for Merlin's house in Connecticut as quickly as our feet and the Greyhound bus could take us there. We arrived in Stamford in the late afternoon and Merlin met us at the bus station. He had on a denim shirt, overalls and rainbow suspenders; and the left side of his face sported half of a mustache while the right side sported half of a rather full beard. This, along with a certain kindly sparkle in his eyes that recalled fairy tales of Santa Claus, gave me a very warm feeling about him from the first. As soon as we had put our bags down on the pavement, Merlin drew us all into a large and comforting hug. "We'll have to stop at the health food store on the way back to my house," he said. "You guys look like you could use a good meal. Merlin had borrowed his Mother's car to come down and pick us up. As we drove through Stamford on our way to the health food store I got my first glimpse of urban Connecticut. It had a soulless, monochromatic feel to it, like how I'd always imagined life in the 1950's to have been. There was a large business district and even a few small skyscrapers, as in other cities I'd visited, but the seediness, the electricity, the graffiti and the hustlers - those things which make the city come to life - were missing. Virtually every person I saw walking or driving looked utterly white, middle-class and bored. I found it more than a little disturbing. Yet Merlin's warmth, his sense of humor and of hospitality, made me feel we were genuinely welcome in his space, and I was certainly glad we were not back in Boston awaiting the arrival of Jill's father. When we arrived at Merlin's home, a split level not dissimilar from my parents house, his mother was waiting to greet us. She seemed like a very kind and understanding parent, though a little stressed out by Merlin's numerous glaring idiosyncrasies. On her wall she had a large airbrushed painting, very misty and surreal, in which many types of happy spirits seemed to be cavorting together, though one could never quite make them out. Like those images, the whole painting had an elusive, almost mystical character to it which could not be defined. This was the first of Merlin's artworks that I had seen, and I was impressed.

After Merlin had made some sandwiches for us in his Mother's kitchen, he took us downstairs, to see the basement where he lived and created his art. The place was divided into two rooms, one almost as large as the house with another smaller space at the back. The large room, which we entered first, looked like a mad scientists laboratory. Strewed all around the room, on tables, workbenches, bookcases and chairs were bottles of different chemicals and a wide range of lab equipment - stoves, vessels, test tubes, etc. These, as Merlin explained, were for mixing his own pigments, for he could not get the colors he needed for his paintings commercially. The casual way in which he had these somewhat hazardous substances stored, some with their bottles uncapped, others with little piles of brightly colored powder that had spilled lying about beside them, was somewhat shocking. I remember wondering about Merlin, who otherwise seemed so concerned with health and diet, and what long term effects exposure to these chemicals might have on his physical and mental well being.

I also wondered what effect they would have on Jill and me, as Merlin's somewhat messy bed, which lay in a corner of the room behind some shelves of chemicals, made it apparent that this was where the three of us would be sleeping. But then Merlin began to play a flute, which he told me he had made himself, and I forgot any doubts. For his music, like his painting, was somehow strangely evocative. It almost seemed as if one could hear the laughter of the faeries somewhere in the background of his outlandish melodies.

The flute itself was also a thing to wonder at. It was made entirely out of a single piece of jet black ebony, among the hardest woods on earth. The mouthpiece was beautifully carved to the shape of Merlin's mouth and strange runes and flowery designs decorated the shaft. The combined visual and sonic impression of Merlin, with his bizarre hairstyle and bright clothes playing that amazing instrument in his unique way made me feel as though I were in the presence of a great wizard, perhaps the Merlin of legend. Jill and I sqeezed one another's hands and a smile passed between us.

After he had finished playing, Merlin showed us the little room behind the staircase. It was there that he had fashioned his amazing flute, for the place was a complete carpenter's workshop. In the center, on the workbench, was a large industrial drill press, which he told us he had used to carve the center hole in his flute, as well as the stem of a gorgeous ebony pipe which he now passed to me. The marijuana was excellent stuff, grown locally from California seed stock. Even after all these years I remember how getting stoned just then, after our long journey, really hit the spot. As I felt that sensual euphoria which only good pot can cause washing over my body I relaxed for the first time since I answered that phone call at my mother's house and heard office O'Brien's voice on the other end of the line.

We passed the rest of the afternoon by sharing stories about mutual friends and how we had spent the previous summer. Jill and I had fallen in Love back in June and much of what we had to tell concerned our adventures together since that time, of which I have more to say elsewhere.

Merlin, however, kept us in good spirits with a series of fantastically colorful tales. These primarily concerned Merlin's magical struggles to restore balance and harmony to the earth and recreate, as he put it, "a new age of Magic in the world." One such tale concerned a trip which Merlin had recently taken to Colorado. On his trip, Merlin said, he had felt drawn to walk up a certain mountain as the sun was just setting over it's western slopes. "As I walked," he told us, his voice full of sincerity and suspense, "I played on my flute to the gathering spirits."

He went on to say that as he walked along, ascending the mountain in the growing dark, strange creatures appeared. Wolves that spoke with human voices, large grizzly bears that suddenly would shimmer in his vision and change to human form, little gaily colored sprites that danced among the rocks to the tune of Merlin's flute. And more I can not remember. In fantastic detail Merlin painted for us a picture of a truly unbelievable gathering high on that rocky mountain peak.

Then, still with an utter seriousness that did not preclude a humorous twinkle in his eye, Merlin told us of how he reached the summit There he and the other animals and spirits gathered in a circle to witness a glowing apparition take shape amongst them. He said it was like a doorway, or a veil of golden light hanging in mid-air, and that through it streamed magical energy, the raw power of transformation, remaking our world, our reality, into something more malleable, more free.

At this point my more skeptical self was led to wonder somewhat as to whether either Merlin's sanity or his honesty could be trusted. Yet there was a power, an inner cohesiveness to his telling which could not be denied. Listening to him tell his tale I myself felt transported to that distant mountain, as if I too had the option to step through that glowing doorway into - where? I felt then that I had touched on the spirit which animates shamans and medicine-people the world over. Something in Merlin's tale rang true, I knew, even if it's reality was on a somewhat different plane from that of the six o'clock news. I realized then, though not for the first time, that there are other experiences which people can access beyond our ordinary sensibilities which nonetheless are of value in explaining and transforming our everyday lives.

Later in life, when I had the opportunity to study shamanism and magic more fully, I learned that both Merlin's experience of another reality where animals can speak and spirits appear and dance in the light and his style of talking about that experience, as if it was no different from a journey to the supermarket, are common to shamans the world over. Eventually, I too would learn to fly on the wings of the red-tailed hawk, to speak the language of the mountain lion and to languish in the faery groves of 'the other side'. As I did, my appreciation both of my own story and of the stories which Merlin told me grew deeper. I have since come to view such deep and mystical visions as being as real, if not more real, than any other experience.

As it grew dark outside and Merlin and Jill and I sat together Indian style on Merlin's little bed. "I wondered what was on the other side of that door," Merlin said, concluding his story. "But I'd been fasting for three days and my hunger suddenly got so powerful it took control of my body and I ran all the way down the mountain to the all night Safeway in Boulder." All three of us laughed.

We sat together in silence for a few moments, listening to the humming of the boiler and the rattling of the dryer in the next room. I felt myself in an almost dreamlike trance. Then, from behind a large jar of some bright orange chemical Merlin produced a small black leather pouch. In an unassuming tone he asked us if we would like to eat Peyote, the Sacred Cactus.

"Wow!" said both Jill and I simultaneously. Neither one of us had ever eaten, or even seen Peyote before. But we had both read Casteneda as well as many of the Native American spiritual teachers and, like many spiritually minded American hippies we shared a reverence for the traditional psychedelic sacraments of this continent. Already Peyote, or as Casteneda calls 'Him' Mescalito, was in my mind a holy Eucharist and I accorded it great respect, for I believed it had great power to change me.

Jill and I discussed our decision for only a moment. I told Merlin that I was honored to be offered so sacred a gift, that I felt it would be wrong to turn it down. Jill also expressed her willingness to take it, and her gratitude for Merlin's generosity. Yet I thought she seemed a little more hesitant than me.

Merlin grinned, passing me the pouch. The leather was soft and near the drawstring I noticed a beautiful sun pattern embroidered in bright glass beads. I fingered it for a moment before opening it, testing it's weight, feeling the lumpiness of its contents through the cloth. Then I untied the leather drawstring and poured the contents out on the bed between us. There were eleven peyote buttons in all. These were the dried buttons, not fresh cactus tops but little hard pieces of tough woody material about the size of a silver dollar. In the center of each were some little tufts of white fibers that contain a potent toxin and so must be carefully removed before the buttons can be eaten.

With a pair of Swiss army knives and a buck knife Merlin, Jill and I pried the fibers off the buttons. This was considerably more difficult than it at first appeared it would be, for the fibers grew right out of the body of the buttons, and it was difficult to shave them down to their roots. When we were done Merlin offered to eat three buttons so that Jill and I could each eat four, but Jill said no, she would eat three.

The peyote buttons had an incredibly bitter taste to them. I had never tasted anything so vile before. I imagined that this was what turpentine or some one of Merlin's industrial solvents might taste like. And they were incredibly difficult to chew. It must have taken me ten minutes to chew one to the point where I could swallow it, all the time fighting against the wretch reflex. By the time I finished the first my mouth was somewhat numb, however, and chewing the second one was slightly less of an ordeal. Yet when I tried to swallow it I again had to overcome a powerful urge to vomit. My taste buds continued to grow more numb as I chewed and swallowed the last two buttons.

As I swallowed the final mouthful of peyote, grimacing wildly, I began to notice a change in my consciousness. The room seemed somehow larger, the light seemed to have grown a shade redder, and Jill and Merlin's faces seemed more sharply defined than before. In some peculiar way, it seemed that I could see the outlines of their character in the composition of their faces. Jill's gentle, nurturing qualities seemed to be summed up the roundness of her face, the fullness of her lips, the delicate quivering of her brown eyes. And Merlin's magical, humorous, artistic character was certainly expressed in his impish grin, his mad shaving style, his colorful clothes and especially by his sparkling blue eyes.

I was especially taken at that moment by the beauty of his eyes. It seemed to me that up until then I had not really appreciated how beautiful they were. Their depth and clarity filled me with joy and for a moment it seemed that the room had disappeared and that I was alone with those magnificent eyes, floating in empty space. They seemed to bore into the core of my soul.

This reminded me of an earlier experience, a little less than a year earlier. While meditating with my friend Jesse Baker on LSD I had also seen such a vision of eyes in a void burning new pathways into my soul. On that occasion the result of the experience had been a radical shift in my perception of reality whereby I united the twin streams of revolutionary and spiritual practice that ran through my life into a single river. Through a sudden mystic conversion I came to be charged with a religious fervor to bring about the anarchistic society towards which I still aspire. The immediate effect of this was that I resolved to drop out of school at the end of the semester and to devote myself to healing the those around me through touch - direct and intimate contact. For during my vision of Jesse's eyes I somehow discovered that it is through alienation from one another and the world that we are all made sick, and through touching each other with love that we can be made well. That night I first recognized the act of touching one another deeply, in body and soul, as the basic act of healing - both for individual beings and for societies - and thus as the basic act of revolution.

Now the vision of Merlin's eyes reminded me of that sense of purpose and the liberating curiosity I had gained in my earlier experience. I felt my courage to "live the ordinary life in a non-ordinary way" growing even stronger. A powerful euphoria filled me just then, bringing back with it an awareness of my body and of the room around me.

I looked over at Jill and saw that she was lying on her back on the bed with her eyes half closed humming softly to herself. "Are you O.K., Jill?" I asked her, though I was not too concerned. She opened her eyes for a minute and smiled blissfully at me, then resumed her humming. Something in me worried for a moment and I touched her leg and asked again if she was all right. "Yes, silly!" she replied. "I'm just getting into myself for a bit." I nodded understanding and she once again resumed humming.

"Do you want to go outside in the backyard and check out the stars?" Merlin asked. I said that I did and the two of us left Jill where she was and navigated ourselves across the cluttered floor and out the back door.

Outside the sky was clear, except for a few wispy clouds, and even with the city lights we could discern quite a few stars. Over the house a crescent moon shone, quite gaily it seemed to me. The dewy grass sparkled colorful in the silver night and it's cool wetness caressed my bare feet. I felt a cool breeze on my face and noticed a leaf break free from it's branch and flutter gently to the ground.

This made me notice again how high I was, for the leaf falling seemed to last a million years. It fell in a nearly perfect spiral, and each time it completed one circle I felt like I had witnessed an entire lifetime. In my mind a picture of myself spiraling through many cycles, phases, incarnations formed. Even as I watched the leaf I was able, with another part of my consciousness, to examine this picture in great detail. I could see myself as a child, scared, lonely and curious, as I had been when I first discovered my Gay nature, as I was now - in love with a woman for the first time - and as a number of different adults who I might one day be, or who I might once have been before. The image held me, fascinated, until the leaf settled on the grass at my feet. For at the moment when the leaf touched the ground my inner vision dissolved, as a reflection on water shatters from a falling rock.

I looked around to see what Merlin was doing and caught just a glimpse of him doing a cartwheel, then tumbling laughing into the grass. As I walked over to him he stood and, taking my hands, he gazed into my eyes. For a second I wondered if I would again be presented with a vision of his eyes alone, but his face remained clear in my field of view. "We are very lucky to live in such a beautiful world," he said.

Suddenly I became curious as to how he conceived of magic, how he believed it worked. I asked him and he stood there with me for a moment, utterly still. It did not seem so much that he was lost in thought as that he was entranced, dreaming even as he stood before me with his blue eyes open. When at last he spoke it was almost in a whisper, and I had to get very close to his face to make out what he was saying

"I believe in the principle of Choice." Merlin replied. "Choice is a sacred magical element which is basic and essential, a property which exists throughout the universe in varying degrees. Choice is distinct from choices and that someone finds themselves faced with a limited number of choices in any situation is a reflection of their lack of Choice in that situation. Thus, through destruction of Choice free beings become constrained to fewer and fewer choices until they are left with no Choice at all."

As he said this, I suddenly saw good and evil in terms of the creation and destruction of Choice. It was clear to me then, as it is today, that we all have tremendous power - through acts of imagination, love and contact - to create Choice for ourselves and, more importantly, for one another. Yet we also have an equal power - through acts of coercion, indoctrination and violence - to destroy Choice for others, as well as for ourselves. I understood that acts which create choice require that, true to oneself, one show generosity of spirit to others. It is only these actions which my heart tells me are good. On the other hand, the destruction of Choice, at least where others are concerned, requires selfishness and cruelty. It remains one of my deepest convictions that to destroy choice, especially for others, is the only evil act.

Merlin used very few words in the explanation he gave me. Yet the words he spoke rang like poetry in my mind, and their meaning echoes on in the chamber of my heart. In the moment that he said them I felt my perceptions expand and I knew that Merlin had created a substantial amount of Choice for me. I could see, also, that his artwork - the painting which had no definite lines and yet revealed so many potential images, his music which evoked so much with such a simple melody, his stories, so full of wonder and of humor - all were part of Merlin's struggle to create choice, for himself and especially for the rest of us. I felt a new respect for the kindness and the majesty of Merlin's soul.

At this moment Jill appeared in the doorway with tears streaming down her face. I ran to her and held her tightly to me for a few moments, caressing her long black hair with my hand. As I did this, her crying began to subside, and Merlin also came over and stood beside us with one hand resting on Jill's back. After a while I took grasped I took a step back and the three of us joined hands, forming a circle out there on the grass.

"Why were you crying?" I asked, concerned that Jill might be having a bad trip.

"Because everything was so beautiful, and then I thought that one day we'll die. I couldn't bear the thought of being without you." she replied, almost causing me to cry too. "But I'm okay now." she added, though her voice still trembled slightly.

"It's true that we'll die," I said. "But love never dies." I felt certain of this. "And the ripples from a single act of kindness continue to spread forever through the universe."

When I said this Jill smiled again, and her smile was so genuinely innocent it was as if she did it for the very first time. I thought she looked even more lovely than ever before. "I hadn't thought of it that way before. From now on I'm going to cast as many rocks in the water as I can.!" she resolved. All three of us were smiling now, and it occured to me that I had just created Choice for her, that the three of us had created it for each other. In fact, I perceived a sort of halo of glowing energy forming about us as this was happening, as if I could actually see and feel Choice coming into being. I felt a wave of relief that Jill was again happy.

"Let's smoke a bowl." suggested Merlin, taking his pipe and a bag of pot from his pocket. We sat together and got righteously stoned on the maroon picnic table which lay under a tree in one corner of the yard. I could still see myriad psychedelic patterns in the smoke as it rose.

Afterwards we lay together in the grass for several hours, sharing many jokes and stories which I do no recall. When it got colder we went inside, but at dawn we were still awake and we watched it from the picnic table, again smoking Merlin's wonderful marijuana. By this time we were coming down from the peyote and getting tired. We went inside and, nestled close in Merlin's small bed, fell into a deep and restful sleep which lasted well into the afternoon.

That evening Jill called her parents and found them in somewhat conciliatory mood. They said, however, that they very much wanted to see Jill and to meet me and they promised not to try to make Jill stay there if we came into the city to visit them. I was somewhat sceptical of this, but Jill reassured me as to their integrity. We spent that night at Merlin's and the following day took the commuter train to New York.

As I think of my vision in the cave now, it seems obvious that this is the meaning of the purple flower which the brown haired woman offered me, which the Goddess charged me to offer to others. The flower is Choice, which alone can free us from the web of constraint and save us from the inertial steamroller of our conditioning. When the brown haired woman let me smell the flower for the first time she awakened my imagination. When she made me let go, she freed my hands to create. When she opened my eyes and led me outside, she gave me back my life. She did not force me to accept these gifts. I have had to choose, then and each day since, as you now may also choose.

But whether you regard these meditations as meaningful, or as the ramblings of a deranged mind, I hope you will see they are offered in the spirit of gentleness, in the hope of illustrating the importance of tolerence and resect and the dangerous futility of coersion and control. I would be happy if I have only reitterated this simple truth, that to destroy Choice is evil. Yet I hope that someone may create for you the Choice you need to see and create Choice for others. How that comes about, and where it leads, for you or anyone is far less important to me than it does come about, for all creatures, in some way.

Interpret these stories, interpret your own story, in any way that you choose. Embrace your imagination. Embrace your dreams. Embrace others. Collaborate with the world. Create freedom. I do not wish to convince you of anything, nor to persuade you of any belief. I want only to inspire your boundless imagination. What you do with it is up to you. The nature of Choice is infinity.

There are other meanings which I have glimpsed in the various symbols of my vision in the cave. Each time I reflect upon it another facet seems to catch the light. Over time, I have come to view place of sunlight where the people danced naked and lived so freely in the forest not only as a metaphor, but also as a real place, a sanctuary of sorts for all people who share Choice. I am now earnestly seeking friends who share these goals and ideals, to one day build such a sanctuary. Already, those companions I have found have filled my life with joy and laughter, creating and helping me to Create much Choice, showing me much I did not see about my visions and about myself. One day, we will all come home.

I am also continuing on my spiritual pilgrimage, my journey back to myself. I continue to try to learn from everyone and everything I come into contact with. And I am increasingly aware of my own ineptidude, my many glaring imperfections. I know that alone I am not equal to the task of interpreting all I have seen, nor of creating all I have been shown. If anyone reading this wishes to share their ideas, energy or friendship, I hope that they will contact me, that we may create Choice for one another as we each will.