The Diamond Island

Here is the PDX Gingerbread Witch Spider Cookie that I ate.

Sickly sweet with a hint of spice, but definitely not nice. I got a small stomach quese-out after eating her. You’d have to be on serious business to eat a cookie like this.

Looking at one of my old tarot card paintings, I see the word “haiaa” written randomly in the folds of the volcano. Searching for the word on the Internet, the first thing that comes up is that in India it’s a word for “become”.

There’s a great horned owl outside. He’s established a territory in the woods around the secret treehouse I’ve been hiding in. Identified him and what he was doing through the sounds he makes.

Lots of woodpeckers too. Pileated, Northern Flicker, and two others I can’t identify yet. They like the food put out for them, and the plants all around on the porch that make the feeding seem safe.

I obtained a Bee Adventure Kit for the mason bees and put it together. It sits outside amongst the plants waiting for arrivals. A friend of mine also donated a bee hive to a struggling family in my name. More beekeeper experience points.

Lunar full moon in Scorpio releasing so much supportive energy towards me that I felt extra-energzied. Frankie was an absolute terror, escaped the treehouse and had to be recaptured—her favorite game. She needed lots of attention and a walkies to finally settle her down to the OMG level.

Got some horoscope clues about my life destiny. Very strong indicators that what I want match up with the things I’m here for. Getting there is the part that’s unknown to me. Clear goals, not so clear path.

Wore my Shiva message bracelet in the wooded park today, as K and I made our rounds along the crowded trail. I don’t want to be destroyed, but I’m also feeling like the trap I’m still in is greater than my abilities to escape from.

I don’t know what comes next, exactly. Now that I’ve faced my fears and vanquished my dragon, regained myself—deliverance is coming. The form it will take, still unknown. Brontosaur, my trusty UFO, flies on towards home. Soon I’ll know what comes next!

There are countless hidden workshops, dockyards and sanctuaries in this world. If you’re fortunate you may get to see one of them and bear witness to its wonders.

At the heart of many of these concealed places is often a personality of power. Someone who naturally embodies or has attained a certain degree of mastery in learning, healing, and understanding.

J.R.R. Tolkien introduces good examples of this kind of archetype on a grand fantasy scale in his Lord of the Rings books. For example, the elf Lady Galadriel or the inscrutable Tom Bombadil. Hidden from the world at large, yet influencing it through their work, or as the case may be, their play.

The Starship Snipe has something resembling a beagle active probe in its sensor array, so my computer is always receiving sensor readings on hidden units. It’s good to be able to do the total dodge on incoming brain-drains. No pain-pain in the brain-brain for me, thank you very much!

However, there are also many hidden things that are delightful. Always remember to check for secret doors, so say I. Fabulous treasures beyond compare, beautiful places that defy description, and the most amazing people are all around us without our knowing it.

My wily and resourceful friend Kimaroo always has the scoop on interesting tidbits and clues of possible quest importance. She told me to check out this pirate queen’s puzzling website because it looked like my kind of thing. Hey, I’m all about deciphering the strange and elusive. Ogopogo? The Swamp Monster? Lemmie at ‘em!

Then…pow!

It’s been a long time since I ran into a direction confusion magic like this. It’s strictly old school D&D stuff that is difficult to throw off. Took me over a year to accumulate enough information about activity zones and artistic stance to fill out a character sheet on this pirate queen.

That’s when I got an invitation to visit her ultra-secret clearance level special project: Stompopolis.

What the hek is a Stompopolis, you ask? The Mr. Spock explanation is that it’s a playroom for adults who need a sacred space in which to work with states of creativity in safety.

It’s a zone in which folks can enter an open space of free imagination without jackup, and then withdraw to a closed space in order to reach creative goals without distraction. All while receiving wizard-level tools, training, and encouragement.

This is major civilization stuff we’re talking here.

To describe such a place feels almost like sacrilege. Stompopolis is a temple of childhood power, an explosion of details that wash over the senses even as an invisible aura of warmth surrounds and protects you.

There’s a gumball machine with special prizes inside, which is always a good sign in my book. There are small hidden doors for the fairies to use, which shows courtesy and foresight. Colorful flags and banners fly, which to me displays an appreciation for romantic pageantry. The pirate queen knows her stuff.

The place is filled like a sack of gold doubloons with goodies like this, yet through some miracle of transdimensional engineering has vast free space. There’s no foolin’ around here; this is adventure time that understands the need for “fun now”. All that “fun maybe” stuff was checked at the door and given a complimentary pizza with some cartoons to watch.

There are emergency nap hammocks, specially prepared retreat tents to hide in, and of course a friendly kitchen capable of summoning hot beverages when a break is called for. Doing nothing is the most important heavy lifting research and development you can do and this pirate ship of the mind has got it covered.

The super fun pack of creative supplies, the spontaneous free-flow of inventive activities, and the magic of self-discovery that emerges in a hallowed moment—these are things that simply have to be experienced to believe them. I can only speculate on what kinds of incredible marvels lay just beyond my gaze.

All this and a pirate crew to boot. Yarr!

Alas, I forgot my camera and tape recorder. When the time came for me to leave this playground of delight and my bumper car deposited me outside the invisible castle, I found myself with naught but the incredible experience of it. A worthy mystery nonetheless, and well satisfying to come upon too.

You’ll just have to take my word for it.

Then again, maybe YOU will happen across the mysterious Stompopolis and find the gold!

Got a message on the backdoor answering machine at the root of my brainstem the other night.

There are times when I’m not in the mood to sleep at night. I’m of a willful disposition needing to be up late enjoying the night state of consciousness.

Coyotes are out in the treehouse ravine a-howling. They’re letting me know they found another snack to tide them over this strange and meager winter.

After a long series of sleepless nights I decide to answer the damn message. While the Dark Goddess can reach me anywhere and anytime, I remember I’m back in the stomping grounds of old. That place where my state of mind first opened up to her interests and my deepest longing to see what her interests were about.

All I have to do is touch the curve of her hip and ideas spring into being. She shows me how to form them into expression. My passion thrills and seizes me with an ecstasy I can scarce describe.

I dial her up to see what’s going on. Maybe there’s something she needs me to know about. It’s like having a super-powered hero hotline; except I never feel any heroic confidence and faking it feels like ripping off the audience, or the world. Maybe that’s how super-powered heroes really feel?

We talk about how weird it is to be back in a place where I would roam the night at all hours while most people were asleep, waiting to rise from their coffins to work off their debts. Did I really walk around in a sober daze, imagining fantastical visions and destroying hostile creatures of the night like Buffy the Vampire Slayer?

I hadn’t even heard of Buffy yet, much less seen her show. That would be many years into the future. Hek, the movie wasn’t even out yet.

Is that part of the reason the system curfews youngsters? To keep them from unconsciously patrolling their homes against the invaders from the unconscious? People are scared of teenagers who might harm them because they don’t have the same understanding of the rules, but maybe if these teens got to live the darkness of the night they would build up strength and discover their amazing powers to serve our deep need for help.

The Dark Goddess laughs.

I ask her what’s up. She says this is the greatest battle for my soul I have ever known. To protect the goddess from one’s own worst malfunctions takes enormous self-knowledge and strength. I am doing this for Shiva to help him reach a goal of being able to recognize my efforts.

She reminds me that this is where I lost my backpack. I remember when she gave it back to me. I didn’t realize this is where I left it, but this place would be the sort of environment where I would have left a thing or two of value to me. When we bail, we don’t always have time to grab everything. Things get dropped in the rout.

She whispers in my ear to follow my inner wisdom. Stay true to yourself, she says.

Her teachings come back to me from those heady days of wild passion and fearless wandering: When she showed me secrets of the body she was teaching me to pay attention. When she had me worship her beauty on my knees she was helping me know humility. When we shared thoughts and feelings I let her spirit into my flesh. I am one with her.

You can still fly, she says. I know what she means and she’s telling the truth.

That’s what she wanted to tell me, she says. Then she hangs up. That’s just how she is.

I haven’t done a menagerie daily life post in a while, so guess what? Menagerie!

The Battle of the Galaxies, my catch-phrase for the crazy adventure both psychic and non-psychic in which I find myself, continues on. Killer bees, patrol fighters, special assistance cruisers, attack armor, and mega-units. All sorts of constructs are assisting me in the battle.

Plus, I have numerous friends galore helping out with the assist. The famous fifty; love to ya’ll and shout out holler of respect! Hey, every ship and every thought transmission counts here.

The thing about PDX is that it’s essentially a gingerbread house populated by a gigantic witch energy being. All the groovy and delicious wonders of the land are yours to partake of, but you got to give a pound of flesh to the witch first. That means a bloodsucking freak pipeline to your wallet as well as your state of mind.

And holy crumbcake is this entity hungry!

I’ve been busy though, and I haven’t missed much. Figured out who the backstabbers are. Got a handle on how to get help if I need it from the most unlikely of locales. And I even have a plan now that I’ve got an idea of what to focus on and what to ignore.

If nothing else the battle has been worth the trouble because of what I’ve recovered from the past and recognized in the present. This is huge. That frees up energy I hadn’t even known was blocked. It sets me free to do things I hadn’t thought possible. The hold has got some loot I didn’t expect.

I’m whole.

But even though I’m doing everything possible, leaving no option off the table in my battle plan, ultimately I’m at the mercy of luck. This is one of those crazy and courageous ventures you make because you need to, not because it makes sense or is even a sane thing to do.

That gingerbread witch is a large collective entity that needs healing on a massive scale. I’m going all out with maximum warp AND shields, but while she’s taken some hilarious point blank pranks that witch is still ready to party.

It isn’t just me. K has noticed it too and is a little surprised at this plot twist. I see others struggling against the gingerbread witch of PDX as well: regular shakedowns of their live brains and ducats. That battle-ax doesn’t jack everyone exactly the same, but the fear is still there at the base of their spines.

Things are certainly looking bleak, but I still have a few surprises up my sleeves. If I can’t do this now then I could never have done it, and yet I believe now I was correct many years ago in my initial approach to the battle. I just didn’t have enough strength back then. Maybe I don’t even now. But right now anything goes. Watch out!

In the meantime, I’m mining for gold and doing my work despite the duh-buddies, draguloids, and hidden units. My purpose is still the same: To do what I’m meant to do while I’m alive, for the sake of all beings.

I understand that I’m being vague here. It’s hard to be clearer and more accessible when things are so difficult and all-at-once. I’m in the middle of things and doing tremendous work in the realm of the mysterious.

Then again, maybe the point isn’t to defeat the gingerbread witch physically and psychically, or even affect her such that she stops jacking people who live here. By stealing back what was mine, I’ve outwitted her and she can never forget it was me who tricked her.

And just like that, I won.

I had a vision while I was wide awake. I was rising out of darkness, out of the water, and away from a relief-image of Cthulhu in the wet sand under the water. The shape of Cthulhu had been carved out of the currents, so I knew this was a naturally formed image and I was leaving it to look up at the sky. I was then bathed in white light and rising, flying to the sound of the wind and the shore.

There was a sensation in my mind telling me that I had survived the darkness and lowest levels of existence. Now was the time to rise out of the depths and behold the light, to experience the illumination of escape from my innermost prison of unredeemed functions.

I had never even thought about it before. Yet here it was, happening to me spontaneously.

Then I realized that the rise of Cthulhu is really the rise of the individual soul from the depths of primordial forces into a new experience of life. The idea of cultists summoning doomsday is a short circuit of the truth, the infantile desire to have all things destroyed so one might not have to live in a world of responsibility and suffering.

It is a judgment day in that your personal world has been transformed so radically that you can no longer live the ordinary life you once lived in the way you once did. This is the rising of the inexplicable city of your life out of the depths and the freeing of your basic core from the superimposed constraints of your unconscious psyche.

Cthulhu dreams so that we might awaken and no longer imprison him with our mindless worship of childish things beyond their usefulness. Only when one rises out of the waters onto the shores of new life does Cthulhu indeed wake. A human being who stands up out of the deep and reaches the light transforms the world.

Is that why the killer bees started swarming awake something fierce? They knew this was coming to pass and they were ready to party!

As the horror host transformation does its thing, all sorts of interesting sources of civilization are cropping up and showing us what they got. The Vortexx is certainly a formula worth studying, as they have managed to get quite a few things mixed into the creativity cauldron nicely.

There’s the Internet interface of a movie-based show under control of the hosts brought together by fate to make interesting stuff. Promos, old commercials, monster movies and horror host performances—this is where you start.

Then there’s the chat on the side. You can just lurk if you don’t want to get to know anybody. Everyone’s got the right to be a ghost if they wanna stay secret. Or you can jump in and become acquainted with all the weirdos and creatures out there gathered around a scary campfire for a good time.

Hey, it’s a party and it’s random. Enter at your own risk, just like a real life haunted house experience.

What really makes or breaks the experience though is the non-host contingent and the crowd they attract. You totally need a tight cast of characters or the shows won’t amount to much as they are unveiled.

You’ve got far-out characters like the Crimson Executioner, a deranged torturer dispensing all manner of innuendos and witty quips while pushing jars of his royal jelly. Part charlatan, part Addams Family wicked joy, and part deviant with a passion for entertainment and a mind of courteous surprises—this apparition with a perfect body is far out, man!

There’s DoktorSick, a fiendish high tech experimenter with an electronic eye for captivating clips and disturbing juxtapositions. Yet behind that fevered mask of skeletal cyborg mayhem pulses a brain capable of creative insights with sophisticated impact.

You’ll find Jason “Egg” Brown, a soft-spoken lunatic curator of the forgotten and dusty circuits of the Internet, pushing arcane dials and adjusting human spines to keep the show live as a wire.

Then there’s Sluggo, arguably the crown jewel and mascot of the Vortexx crew, an inter-dimensional pink slug with eyestalks inspiring a tidy ship and dispensing random blessings of outrageous character. Sluggo welcomes everyone and declares the spirit of friendship to all comers.

The line up is always changing. Hey this is vaudeville folks; blink and you miss the rotating walls and trap doors swallowing up people behind you. That’s kind of the theme: the Vortexx as a locale that is both a central gathering point and an unstable dimensional hodgepodge.

The weekly alternating schedule looks like this:

• Monday you’ll find yourself entertained by the inestimable Dr. Sigmund Zoid and his bag of Alternative Realities.
• Tuesday brings you the momentous Mr. Mephisto from Lenny’s Inferno or the fathomless green Freakshow from the Bordello of Horror.
• Wednesday has the insightful yet skeletal Nigel Honeybone from the Schlocky Horror Picture Show or a disturbing chuckle or three courtesy of The Host from Screaming Horror Theater.
• Thursday summons forth the indescribably bizarre Justy Ghost from Shocking Theater.
• Friday blasts off with Demented Drive In Theater and the crack horror crew of Floyd Cadaverous, Nurse Evilynn, Kenny Wickman and Grandpa Larry—or Fright Night Theater hosted by the gotta-see-him-to-believe-him Pumpkin Man.
• Saturday winds up the week with the Late Dr. Lady Show, hosted by the brilliant David Lady and his steadfast band of Laura Lady, Ilean, and Wolfie.

Random spin-the-bottle bonus appearances include the Ghoul Kids and their Undead Show, Riggor Mortiss and Nyte Angel from Riggor Mortiss Presents, Scarewolf doing some Saturday Fright Special, and freaky shorts courtesy of Shocko the Clown.

I’m pretty sure the non-host units keep a few special surprises stashed away, and they are always generating new ammunition to load your brain cells with. For example, the inventive Rizzle MaNizzle the Clown once prank called Crimson Executioner and turned it into a short on the show! Unscripted improv right before your very eyes.

So you hop on over to the website, fiddle with the chat interface to get your nick and text color set, and watch movies that epitomize the greatest attempts at self-civilization since Aristotle, all with a bunch of strangers who slowly begin to take shape as not just horrific creatures of all kinds but also family of the heart.

You better watch out or you might have some fun!

Whatever has been going on since I started down this creative procedure it has been going about its business hidden from conscious view. I haven’t been immediately aware of much more than “something” is happening, and so I’ve waited for the next step to appear and indicate whether I might join in with a conscious intent of any kind.

“Still waters run deep,” said my friend Kimaroo recently. Oh yeah, that’s right! I forget these things, whether its concerning people or matters of psychic complexity.

Then, an eruption. Or rather, an image of molten liquid in motion as if it were magma spilling out of the earth. And yet, transition into a process more amenable to human interaction: A foundry.

I live in the area of the country that is known as “the foundry” after all. Funny that something I take as a negative about the place I live should suddenly take on a very vital and important force of life!

I watch the opening sequence of the 1976 adventure yarn At The Earth’s Core and then it strikes me that this is exactly what is happening. Strange primordial powers deftly transformed by a sleight of hand into a process familiar to human endeavor. Though still fantastical given that a fantasy craft is being built out of this process, incredibly.

When I started I was composing a crystal matrices to bring together the elements and intentions I would need. Next I revealed the components and blueprints I would use (I’ve found others since then). I’ve been working on transpersonal narratives necessary to my journey. Molds that will serve to form the parts I will use to build the finished craft. And now, we are at the foundry.

I search for and find a diagram that shows me how it all works on a mundane but necessary external level. The elements are brought together into various furnaces and other mechanisms that turn the elements into the compounds that will make up the parts. Moving from lowest to highest, from the Blues up.

The central image of the molten liquids is where it all comes together—the crucible and cauldron of utmost hazard and intense energy directed towards the formation of psychic parts. Sparks fly, liquid fire falls to the ground in sizzling droplets. I am witness to a process inside myself of great childhood power.

The parts, cooled and cleaned then go to a place of manufacture. Industry is a word that has to do with women’s work. It may be directed towards mostly destructive, accumulative ends—yet the hands that strike the anvil and thread the wire are borrowing the true form of crafting: Introspection. Creating substance out of thought and from that substance, goods.

I dreamt of a UFO being sighted in a way that was also recognition of a form to be. Input from the dream state, cooperation from the unconscious.

I come across a video of The Bamboo Saucer, a film that in a way is about earthlings struggling to understand a UFO and direct its use towards peaceful means. This is, in a sense, a training manual and familiarity exercise to show me that I have been studying up for this since I was young.

K and I watch GalaxyQuest, and it dawns on me this is also a relevant experience of understanding. Of knowing that what you imagine is real, while also recognizing that it is absurd and that life is filled with terrible changes into new forms of consciousness from which life emerges, better than before.

I’m coming to an understanding of the tremendous forces at work within me, of me choosing to become part of this process and behold a beautiful, mysterious Karavos revealed to me.

Her name is coming to me.

The other day I went about my patrol business as usual. It’s a strange charge and a difficult burden being the park ranger for the Mysterious Island beyond the reaches of many imaginations. Boiling coffee in a hat can be a drag. Pulling improvised cosmic torpedoes out of your bag of tricks is a common state of affairs.

Then those ding dang killer bees started making noise in the main hallway of the honeycomb hideout. What is that crazy noise?

They’re all set with sweet sweet honey for the winter, plenty of mega-zhord stings stored up for a beastly Spring of ultimate bushwhack, and wing music beats from the sampladelic depot near party central to keep them warm. They may make surprise jackup-in-the-box snow strikes in time for Xmas Not, just you wait Henry Higgins!

That’s what that noise is. Those glorious, outrageous, thrilling vuvuzellas that made the world wince and tremble during World Cup time. The videos were enough to make me tremble with longing, such awesome noise—noise—noise!

A lot of Grinches were pretty put out by those things, laughably complaining that they should be banned because they were “too low”. This from a sport that invented the term “football hooligans.”

Methinks it was a little bit of the ol’ jealousy of being outdone to infinity, mixed in with a general dislike of brown people.

I used to have a red vuvuzella when I was a kid and lived in New Hampshire. Ivy league students would blow them furiously during an annual bonfire in the central park of the university I lived beside.

I thought it was outstanding, so I badgered my folks into getting me one. Wasn’t hard, as they liked the noise too. Though the scale could hardly compare to those videos on YouTube—that sound was epic, man.

Broke my vuvuzella and forgot about it, until the killer bees reminded me.  “Hey, like dig, right? Remember that thang you used to have and blow every now and then? Check it out, it came back and you shluffed the notice.”

Argh! They’re right. As much as I am listening and straining with all my might to understand, still the boundless life rushes past me in countless ways.

This time, I gather to myself a number of mp3s of the noise—noise—noise, droning incessantly like a world of bees insisting that the people awaken. Awaken to judgment and resurrection to the sound of trumpets blaring in a chorus of people answering angels with a swarming sound of “yes!”

This gets me back in the frame of mind of beekeeping. Not just the physical manifestation, but also the psychic one. Of hearing the sound and recognizing my own innate calling to myself of the call.

Xmas Not is coming, and the Grinch came sliding down in a sleigh blaring a trumpet having awakened his heart.

The Celtic new year has just gotten underway, and here I am a little dazed at the last year of activity. Never mind all the nuclear meltdowns spewing radiation from afar, east coast earthquakes that feel like a jackhammer wedging of earth, hurricanes of doom missing by a few hundred feet, and rainfall soaking the loch above levels I’ve not seen since I can remember. The external world has been an expression of an inner volcano clearing its throat for an eruption.

Building a UFO can seem a little like a Noah’s Ark project at times like these.

Internally, all my life energies have gone into deep, sweeping currents rushing through the earth. I’ve had to get by on emergency life support and reserve warp only. Right at a time when I’ve been fighting a lot of battles on the home front. Lucerna’s kung fu lessons have basically kept me alive long enough to adapt to the transformational energies going on. The last year has essentially been panic and fear, dialed way up for sustained periods of time. The blinking and beeping lights on the emergency panel have been loud and overwhelming.

Thank goodness for the life support music from UFO girl!

In other news, it ain’t just me. Hek-sistah X is off on a retreat to re-visit places of great meaning to her, Hexe the Incorrigible is recovering from illness, and Alexi is busy fighting for his dream in a new land. The Quest Station is full of notes and doodles galore, all around adventure is ON THE GHOD-DAM AIR.

The garden is in shut down procedure, cats are in snuggle mode, and the honeycomb hideout and killer bees are settling in for the long winter. And it’s going to be a doozy—ran into a wooly bear and it had no orange stripes, which means you better be stocked in the larder and armed with plenty of anti-ice-weasel traps. Ol’ winter wolf has reared up dramatically and her howl is driving away the last of the summer lifeforce. Batten down the hatches and brace for impact at your stations of the cross, icy depth charges ahoy.

I made sure to give out lots of candy to the monsters dressed as humans and the kids dressed as monsters, while I still have candy to sacrifice.

You see them at the portals of shopping establishments. Mechanisms containing candy or cheap prizes which dispense them for the price of inserting small change.

Children are especially susceptible to these small change bandits, with their cranking knobs and randomly released surprises.  The displays promise cool little toys or a delicious flavor experience if only you will take the plunge!

Usually what you get is predetermined—only different kinds of rubber balls or a figure from a collection—or the prize is lame.  You wanted the cheap metal skull ring and got a plastic pink smiley face instead.  The gum is good for about five seconds and then turns to sticky, tasteless wall sealant.  Sometimes, the machine doesn’t give you anything at all.

What a rip off!

Teaches a valuable lesson, however, doesn’t it? Beware of getting ripped off! All is not as it seems.

Yet we return again and again, hoping this time will be different.  Sometimes you get a halfway decent prize or experience, and then your parents are tired of waiting for you or don’t have any more change.

Oh yeah, this was like a religious observance for me. And there are many permutations of the gumball machine experience let me tell you!

One time at a Hardee’s hamburger joint, I discovered the back door so to speak.  The gumball machine only worked with tokens that you had to obtain by ordering something.

This particular gumball machine was enclosed in a kind of decoration, with the front flush to an opening where you accessed the machine.  I found that my arm was thin and wiry enough to reach up and down between the gap.

This enabled me to grab handfuls of prizes at a time!  I managed to fill my pockets before an employee noticed the crowd of kids watching me in awe and chased me out. Those prizes were some of the best I ever got too.

Then there are times when you come across a machine and everything you get is cool.  Neat stuff on a roll, and you run out of change.  When you come back the next day, however, the machine is gone!  Rip off!  But you still got some good loot, so it’s not a total rip off.

One time in Japan, in a remote mountain village I came across a gumball machine with small metal medieval weapons. Alas, I only had enough change to get three of these super cool items! Then I had to go and I couldn’t come back, due to my traveling schedule.  That’s how it goes!

In a sense, the gumball machine is a manifestation of the monstrance, that container that holds the sacred host.  It’s not unlike a dragon guarding treasure, or a form of the ordeal you face when you go on an adventure.

You pay your fare and take your chances. What is released is what you need—a tiny companion, a tool of play, a moment of sweetness—these are no small thing when one adventures in the depths of the soul! The worthless, useless thing turns out to be the most important of all.

These mechanisms may have been invented to separate children from their parent’s money in exchange for some “magic beans”, but even the charlatan may find themselves peddling rather more serious wares when destiny takes an intervening hand.

Everywhere you go, machines of meditation, teaching lessons as surely as any Kung Fu master to those who will listen. The time may come when we see how advanced these pieces of technology really are.