TRAVELOGUE:

Tell of your interesting travel stories. If you
had a heartfelt experience, met interesting
people, saw fabulous places, let us know! Why not
share the magical experiences we have from
traveling the world?
Bon Voyage!

Post a link (full http:// addresss) into the
PeoplesBook2000 to share some neat pictures with
us, with a reference to them on this page.

See PeoplesBook2000, November 17th, Egypt.

Watch for soon to be posted Egypt pictures in the
Author's Gallery at HumanCafe. Shukran. Ivan

EGYPT PHOTOS 1999

http://members.aol.com/humancafe/index.html/Page47.html

(Please note, if link does not work, please type out,
or copy and paste, full address as shown. Thanks, Ivan

SAVE THE WHALES

There can be no better spokesperson for saving the
whales than a whale himself. We saw Shamu at Sea
World in San Diego, California. To see this great
water mammal perform with love and care for his
trainers, and theirs for him, is a truly awe
inspiring sight which eventually tugs at our
heart, no matter how hardened by our everyday
world. Shamu's, and the other whales and dolphins
and sea lions, performances are truly an act of
communications with us humans, heart shakra to
heart shakra, their acts of love. -- Ivan A.

http://www.shamu.com
/ Seal World- Shamu Adventure
- live cam
http://www.s
avethewhales.org/ To save the whales,
and all marine mammals

.................................

MARS

Mars, the ultimate travelogue of our lifetime.
See some really great photos at:

http://mars.j
pl.nasa.gov/mgs
http://www.jpl.nas
a.gov
http://p
hotojournal.jpl.nasa.gov/
http://www.msss.com/
http://emma.la.asu.
edu
http:/
/mars.jpl.nasa.gov/index.html
http://co
met.hq.nasa.gov/mars98/

Buckle your space suit, and watch out for land
slides, ice crevices, avalanches, dust devils or
scouring Martian storms, dry quicksand, or giant
sand worms. Scale high mountains and craters.
Climb the Face on Mars. Or just watch a glorious
Martian sunset and have a fabulous time! Send us
a postcard.


_______________

BACK ROADS TO DEATH VALLEY-- a great trip!

OLD RANCH HOUSE:
California Route 395 travels up and down the
east portion of the state through some of the most
beautiful country we have seen, rivaling New
Mexico and Colorado. Starting from below the Los
Angeles area, we drove in our Ford Windstar up
Route 15, and then turned off an inauspicious exit
onto 395, called the Back Road of California, past
The Outpost Truck Stop (get fuel!), and onto
Adelante, known for its good old days, no frills
and easy priced baseball park. The land is pretty
scrubby here, like in the old west movies with
tumble weeds rolling by, but the scenery in the
distance is grand, and the barren land soon opens
into a great valley that runs between the Sierra
Nevada Mountains on the left, west, and the Inyo
Mountains, smaller on right, east. The Lost
Angeles water aqueduct runs on and off parallel to
the road, as do large electric wire towers. But
the land is desert already, and except for the
white capped Sierra's there is little water
evident, ever since Los Angeles Water District
bought up all the water rights in the area and
rechanneled to water to feed their city. Late our
first night we pulled into a funky hotel by the
side of the road in Olancha called the Old Ranch
House Motel. There are two, but the first one was
busy and the second one, up a bit further, was
empty and windswept, with Jeffrey and Shirley and
their depressed, vicious dog, grudgingly letting
us in, to #11. We took this 1930s styled cabin
and loved it, and were happy to see the beautiful
scenery of the mountains the next morning. I met
their dog over breakfast when it tried to bite me
as I walked around the yard with a cup of hot
coffee, which I used to ward off his attack.
Jeffrey and Shirley were very apologetic, and
explained they recently moved here from San
Francisco because their dog, "Shyness", was
depressed there. We wished them luck and a good
life, then went to buy beef jerky in town.

CERRO GORDO GHOST TOWN:
The next day had a bite at Old Ranch
Restaurant, a funky red neck hangout with real
down home good food, stuffed dead animals on the
walls, and pretty waitresses. We then drove onto
Owens Lake Valley and Lone Pine. Here the valley
is flanked by the two grand mountain ranges, and
the famous Alabama foothills where old western
films like Hopalong Cassidy, Roy Rogers, and the
Lone Ranger were shot. The dry former lake on the
east side of the road, whose water is now in L.A.,
stretches empty and dusty except for a few head of
cattle in the distance. Over the other side are
the Inyo Mountains, and that's where we headed,
for the old mining ghost town of Cerro Gordo. The
gravel access road starts at Keeler, where we
stopped to enjoy the dry salt lake bed and a few
trailer homes left over from the old days. This
road is best tackled with four wheel drive, since
the road of flinty stone flakes winds up at a
steep grade for about 8 miles until you reach the
old mining town. The vistas from there of the
mountains and desert lake below are breathtaking.
And the old town hidden at the top is well worth
the slow struggle in first gear. We made it to
the ghost town, and were greeted by Jody and
Frank, and the other two plus or minus, permanent
residents. Jody had an interesting career in
Beverly Hills, and now owns the whole town. Frank
is an affable Yank who redcently moved from L.A.
and knows these mountains well. The former silver
mining town of Cerro Gordo is made up of several
very well maintained houses: a general store cum
museum, great house which belonged to the town's
founder, now serving as a hotel by reservation
only, a smallish house, Frank's, and another
bigger house, Jody's, a large stone mule pen, and
then the bunk house hotel, complete with its own
ghost at the end of the hall on the left. Frank
was kind enough to give us a grand tour of the
town, which we enjoyed very much, including his
dry wit. The whole place was once home for 4,000
miners, had a brothel with three ladies in
attendance, taking three at a time, and was served
by the outside world with a complex of bucket and
pulley and cable systems connected to the smelters
and a lake steamship below. Water until recently
had to be trucked up the road from the valley, but
then was found to be good in a limestone cistern
of an abandoned silver mine. Silver is what built
this town, and silver is still in the eyes of the
odd prospector who makes it up to the top of this
mountain. You can contact Frank or Jody at:
cerrogordo@qnet.com .

ALABAMA HILLS AND COWBOYS:
Before evening, and after we checked into the
Alabama Hills Inn, we spent time driving in the
foothills beneath the tall peak of Mount Whitney,
tallest peak in the lower 48 states. (It so
happens that in this same county, Inyo, there is
also the lowest point: Death Valley, but later on
that.) We turned onto Movie Road and stopped at
various places made famous by the old cowboy
movies: John Wayne, the Lone Ranger, Gregory Peck,
Humphrey Bogart in "High Sierra", Cary Grant, Gene
Autry, William Boyd in "Hopalong Cassidy" (my
favorite), and even "Gunga Din", all had their
times in these rugged hills made up of great large
round boulders. We could just feel that stage
coach coming full speed thru the pass and over the
hill, chased by the bad guys, or whoopin' Indians
in the great tradition of old western cliches. Or
just the good guys riding off into the sunset.

MANZANAR:
The next morning, while C. slept, I took off
early past the small town of Lone Pine, towards
Independence in search of Manzanar. This was a
place in American history that should have never
happened, an internment camp for Americans of
Japanese descent, during the hostilities of World
War II. The camp sits about ten miles north of
Lone Pine on the west side of 395 on a flat,
windswept expanse of land, greeted with a military
check point, and ending with the cemetery at the
rear. There is a large structure which now serves
the local municipality for equipment storage, but
once it was the main auditorium where adults and
children were made to meet. The streets, now
deserted of structures, are still marked, and it
is a sad feeling to walk those empty ways, looking
up at the big sky and expanse of valley flanked by
tall mountains. Beautiful, but "Why?" Perhaps
the quotation from the sign at the entrance can
explain it best: "May the injustice and
humiliation suffered here as a result of
hysterical racism, and economic exploitation,
never emerge again." Manzanar was created by
Executive Order No. 9066, Feb. 14, 1942. It is
felt with pain by Americans of Japanese descent to
this day.

DEATH VALLEY:
Sunday at noon, we set off for Death Valley. (Please note that this unhappy name was given to the Valley by unlucky miners and early pioneers who feared for their lives, The Native people who then and now inhabit the Valley, the Shoshone, call it "Tipippuh", the Homeland of the Old Ones.)
We stopped at the Park Information Service station in Lone
Pine for directions, and to fill our bottles with
the sweet cool artesian water from a spicket on
the side of the building, highly recommended and
necessary for where we were going. Harvey the
park ranger who spoke real slow like Jimmy
Stewart, and was tall like him, (I half expected
to see a giant rabbit standing behind him), gave
us good advice about using lower gears on long
hills, and turning off the air conditioner on long
climbs. Harvey loved C.'s accent and said he had
a dream of someday going to Italy. But the land
to which he belonged was already beautiful. We
drove down 136, past Keeler, connected with 190
and headed over a pass of the Inyos, then down
into the great valley beneath with the Sierras
hard at our backs. Like Harvey said, they were
long descents, which we took in second gear with
hardly touching the gas pedal. The harsh
mountains turned into a harsher terrain of sun
blackened rocks and chasms. We pulled down to
Panamint in the Death Valley National Park, and
pulled in for some good food and drink. It was
still early afternoon, but already getting hot.
After bowls of hot, spicy beef chili, washed down
with anything wet, we headed out for the sand
dunes. On the way we detoured into Mosaic Canyon
for a short hike to see the brown marble
formations there. Eerily beautiful place. Then
we hiked the sand dunes before other people got
there, and saw a great bus load pulled by the side
of the road, with a few adventurous souls marching
out into the sun baked dunes. Most were perfectly
satisfied standing by the air-conditioned bus
door, fanning themselves, squinting, and just
looking out into the forbidding mountains of sand.
Then we stopped at Salt Creek, which is a salty
creek left over from the days when this area was a
great lake. The fish, a rare species of tiny
pupfish, had survived there and had adapted to the
changing conditions and live in water as salty as
the ocean. They can easily be seen from a wooden
walkway perched over the meandering creek, well
worth visiting. Then, by late afternoon, we
pulled up to the grand old hotel at Furnace Creek.
We marched up to the Southwest styled hotel lobby,
looking like something out of a Bogart western,
us, not the lobby, and asked if they served cold
lemonade. The clerk behind the desk vaguely
directed us to the bar with a disdainful look as
if to say, we don't serve your sweaty, salty kind.
We were hot and didn't care, so asked for lemonade
at the bar, to which they embarrassedly answered
that they don't serve lemonade. Beer, wine,
whiskey, but no lemonade. So we settled for ice
tea and a glass of ice water, and settled our
sweaty, dusty selves into their elegant chairs
facing large windows overlooking the great expanse
of Death Valley below. It was safe behind those
windows from that hot dusty furnace below, and the
aircon felt good on our necks. We rushed to catch
sunset at Zabriskie Point, a spot where the valley
feels up close, golden yellow hills caked with
brown black rock, like a kind of geological
terramisou. We hiked down into the canyon, and
then back up again as the sun set. It was getting
dark by the time we headed out of the Park to
Death Valley Junction, and then Shoshone for a
cool beer, and then onto the crowded world of
civilization in Southern California. But for a
couple of days, we were free in a great expanse of
land and time and life that clings to whatever
little shade and water it can find. We had gone
from the lower 48's highest peak, Mount Whitney,
to the valley floor some three hundred feet below
sea level, in the span of 24 hours, and never left
Inyo County. The back road to Death Valley is
well worth a visit for those who have little time,
but lots of adventure in their hearts and wish to
capture a tremendous diversity of space and time
within a short driving distance. Well, actually,
by the time we got home at 1AM, we had done over
700 miles.

Enjoy, and happy trails to you! Don't forget your
hat, sunscreen, warm clothing for the night, and
lots and lots of water. -- Ivan

You can find more info at:
Lone Pine, Ca. http://www.lonepine.com
Death Valley, Ca. http://www.nps.gov/deva
Death.Com.Valley http://www.deathvalley.com/

Global Village:

With communications, internet, jet travel,
international finance, we may be closing in the
circle of our Global Village. Some feel this is
regrettable, because indigenous cultures will be
lost for all time. The modern world with its
wealth and technology will displace more simple
cultures. But this may not necessarily be so.
See how eager are people in developing countries
to acquire the goods and knowledge of the more
developed world. But then see how eagerly
travelers from the developed world seek out the
beauty and simplicity, even spirituality, of the
lesser developed world. Both want from the other,
and so both will merge in their own way in time.
There is room in our Global Village for a
kaleidoscope of cultures, all interacting in their
own way with the future. The world can never
remain static, with its past wars and disease and
intolerance of others. We must progress into our
new Global Village, for now there are many of us,
and if we do not learn to live together as one
planet, we will surely perish.

Earth Citizen

--------------------------------------------------

Dearest friends;

It is with great pleasure that I officially
announce Louix Dor DemprieyÕs
upcoming pilgrimage to Israel, ÔReturn to the
Holy Lands,Õ taking place from
November 19 through December 2, 2000.

Watch history come full circle, as the Scriptures
come to life, and share in
the countless wonders which occur in the presence
of this Avatar.

"Being with Louix has not only been a string of
miracles
through the moments of every day, but a
realization that
God on Earth is most visible simply through
devotion,
friendship, faith, and love."

- R.
Aviles, U.S.A.

"Wonders seem to happen and flowers seem to
bloom from the
stones under your feet. You have given me and
others fantastic
directions up that mountain path to full God
consciousness."

- P. Wowk,
Australia

Truly this is a once in a lifetime opportunity.
If you would like to receive
more information pertaining to this trip, please
visit

http://www.Synergy-One.net/israel2000.htm or
contact me
via e-mail at:

zimaron@LouixDo
rDempriey.com


With love and blessings,

Zimaron (Thomas Zsido)

Director of International Relations
for Louix Dor Dempriey


COMING SOON: Louix Dor DemprieyÕs yearly
newsletter, complete with new
teachings, merchandise, upcoming retreats and
events, as well as an updated
website with interactive features.

********************************************

Louix Dor Dempriey, is an avatar who travels the
world as humanityÕs living
remembrance of itself as Love. By merely being in
his presence, many have
experienced miraculous healings. His message is
balanced with joy,
simplicity, and grace in a way that is both
engaging and entertaining. He
offers humanity a practical and tangible
understanding of Universal Law, the
foundation for obtaining full mastery and true
inner peace. For more
information about Louix Dor Dempriey, his
teachings, touring schedule, and
more, please visit:

http://www.LouixDorDempriey.com
and/or
http://www.Synergy-One.net


*******************************************

The Clover Grill (a real cool place)


On the edge of voodoo, black cat dancin'
At Dumaine and Bourbon Street,
While Mama's flippin' hubcaps on the grill,
And black Prince sings Madonna,
Bright colored pencils in his hair.

Boys and girls, and boys and boys,
Like vanilla for chocolate,
Eating and laughing over coffee
Poured by large hands of his Majesty,
The African Queen, mellow voiced,
Soft eyes dancing the blues.

It's three past midnight,
And the lights of the Cafe
Relieve darkness on the Street,
Loud music, laughing, neon lightning,
Flashing dress in drag,
Dreaming of the wet and wild,
Like hot for cool,
In the voodoo nights of New Orleans.

Come...
...(you add your lines)...
To the Clover Grill.

http://www.clov
ergrill.com
http://www.bonmai
son.com

--composed by Ivan D Alexander, (with help from his muse
Cinzia Burini) while staying at the Bon Maison
Guest House, 835 Bourbon St. New Orleans, LA,
just down the street.

27 August, 2000

Mexico manana

OM


Lew was visiting Mexico. He was
walking along the beach in the late afternoon,
when he spied a fisherman coming home from a days
fishing. He noticed that the man, Juan by name,
had six nice fish in his catch, as he tied his
boat securely to a small dock.
Lew asked Juan, "Those are 6 nice
fish, my friend. By the way, if I may ask, what
do you do for a living."
Juan replied, "I go out fishing each
day, and bring home my catch. My wife cooks the
fish, and we eat them for dinner."
Lew wondered aloud, "Is that all you
do?"
Juan said, "Oh no! After we eat, my
wife and I take a stroll along the beach, listen
to the lapping of the waves and watch the moon
move slowly across the sky. After that we usually
go home and go to bed."
"And tomorrow?" Lew asked.
"Tomorrow, I will get up and go
fishing again," he replied.
A little puzzled, Lew said, "In
America, we do it quite differently."
"How is that?" wondered Juan.
"Well, first, if it were me, I would
get a boat, as you have, but when I bring in the
catch I would sell it in the market. Then, as I
begin to save some money, I would buy another boat
and then another. Soon I would have 5 boats and
many workers, who would go out and catch the
fish. After several years, I would have a dozen
or more boats, and hundreds of employees."
"What would you do then?" asked
Juan.
"Well, then I would issue an IPO and
go public. Then, in about 10 or 15 years, I could
sell the business and retire."
Juan pressed on, "What would you do
then?"
"Well, then I would move down here
and get a little house, just like yours. My wife
and I would stroll along the beach at night, and
watch the stars. Then every morning, I'd get up
and go fishing."

Warm regards,
Carl


OM

ROMA, ITALIA (VIRTUAL REALITY) ed altri posti:


http://ww2.webcomp.com/virtuale/us/roma/pantheon.htm


http://ww2.webcomp.com/virtuale/us/roma/movie.htm

Click on picture and scroll 360 degrees viewing.

How ya doin? What do you think of this business
opportunity? This is the
place that occasionally features those far out
guest speakers I've emailed
you about.

Cheers!
Ted

----------
From:
Wolf@LongevityCafe.co
m
To: Friends of Longevity
<Wolf@LongevityCafe.c
om>
Subject: Opportunity
Date: Fri, Aug 10, 2001, 1:57 PM


Dear Friends,

as many of you know, we have been asked to build a
second and much larger
Longevity Cafe in Hawaii. This is very exciting
and we hope that there will
be many more Longevity Cafes all over the country
some day.
For this reason we are looking for somebody to
take over our Santa Fe
location. This could be a buyer, partner, or
partner-manager. The most
important qualifications are a profound passion
for the healing arts and a
dynamic, entrepreneurial personality. The
Longevity Cafe is profitable since
last December after only six months of operation
and there is a lot more
potential. We would provide extensive training and
ongoing support.
If any of you is interested or knows of somebody
who is, please let us know.
Best wishes,
Felix and Carmela Wolf

Longevity Cafe & Emporium
112 W. San Francisco Street
Santa Fe, NM 87501
phone: 505.986.0403
toll free: 800.542.1041
fax: 505.995.0665

http://www.Lo
ngevityCafe.com

BURROW WHEELER'S TUNNEL, RED ROCK CANYON, on the way to MONO LAKE.

(This is a follow up trip of earlier one up the Back Road of California, Rte 395, written up in the Travelogue, May 10, 2000: "Back Roads to Death Valley.")

If you are traveling north on HWY 14 past Red Rock Canyon State Park and you see a small sign on the right hand side which says "Burrow Wheeler's Tunnel, 9 miles", beware! It is a beautiful drive into the north of the park on BLM's El Paso Wilderness ( http://www.calparksmojave.com/redrocks/map.jpg ), all on sandy dirt roads marked EP15. This was a journey on my way to Mono Lake, still 200 miles away, with an unexpected twist. But I made it alive.

It was near dark when I arrived here, so thought it a good idea to stop and camp overnight. I had my two wolf-dogs with me, so a motel gets tricky, and it is nice to get away from civilization at times and feel the wilderness beauty of the great outdoors, with only the moon and milky way and sky for a roof. I had made many desert camping trips, in New Mexico, Arizona, Death Valley and Anza Borrego, California, so was well prepared with plenty of water, food, blanket and warm clothing for the chilling early morning before sunrise. My small pickup had traveled many miles down sandy roads, through dry arroyos, and up rocky trails. So I was not too concerned when the road I was traveling got smaller and rockier, though in the twilight I was disoriented and not aware that it was climbing steeply. This was after a four hour drive after work, so I was tired. My judgment lapsed into carelessness, and when I realized that I was on the wrong road, since it had turned into no more than a dirt track, the kind left behind by ATVs, those off road monsters that tear up vegetation, it was too late. Dark had fallen, and for me to back up about an eight of a mile in the soft sand lined with small desert shrubs was out of the question. In my confused state, I thought it better to find a spot where I can turn around, so went further, found a fork that bore left off a dry wash arroyo, hung in there, then backed up to turn around and it was a big mistake. My rear wheels bogged down in the soft sand of the arroyo, rear bumper jammed on the sand bank of the other side, and my front wheels point up a hill. I tried back and forward to loosen up the truck, but that only got the rear wheels deeper into sand, so I got out. A gibbous moon was high, occasionally hidden by clouds, but as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could assess the depth of my predicament. My vehicle, with the dogs now out and running around, looked like a tragic victim of abandonment. It would take a team of horses and chains to drag it out, or some strong four wheeled drive, though this final resting place was more than nine miles from a paved road, and well hidden from the nearby dirt roads. I was stuck.

What to do? My first instinct was to put something under the wheels. I had noticed that this spot had once been used for target practice and just up from where I was there were two sheets of plywood with bullet holes in them. So I found them and dragged them down to place under the wheels. But the depth of the wheels and sand prevented that, so I began digging. Not having a shovel with me, I used a stick and my hands. When that was accomplished, the ply wood edge against the wheels, I tried get out again, could smell rubber against wood burning, with the truck only sinking deeper, along with my despair. Then I took out the rubber mat I had in the truck's bed liner, which I usually use as a sleeping mat, and put that under the wheels, figuring it had some stiffness to it. When I tried that, the rotating wheels merely chewed holes in it, and then folded it and jammed it underneath so I could not retrieve it. By now it was total dark, I took out my torch and began inspecting the situation. The dogs now sat quietly at a safe distance from the noise and dust spat into the air by the grinding wheels, and watched me with a puzzled look. They thought we had gone out camping, as we had on so many happy occasions, and they were ready to look for rabbits or coyotes to chase, but something seemed amiss. I did not look happy.

In fact, I began to know fear. My predicament could have two outcomes: Somehow I get the truck out of here and drive back; or I have to walk the nine plus miles with the dogs, water and food on my back, to go and find help. Not having a cellphone with me made this a necessity. But this meant abandonment of the truck, and though I did not expect anyone to find it soon, it did risk vandalism and the stealing of its contents. So, I figured, I have to get out. But now I was exhausted, my hands and arms cut by sharp stones and thorny bushes, some of which I had to dig out to have access to the wheels. My sleeping mat was under the truck bed, not on it, so this meant I should sleep either on the rocky ground or in the tilted truck's ribbed bed liner. Both prospects felt uncomfortable. So I put one of the thick plywood sheets, bullet hole splinters down, inside the cap covered truck bed, propped it up so that it would not be so steeply slanted, and laid out a blanked and my sleeping bag. When I climbed inside, mostly dressed, it was a trick to not slide down while lying down, but by then I did not care and sort of fell asleep. The dogs found resting places near their water bowl. They had already been fed.

I woke in the middle of the night to barking, which is what dogs do when coyotes are near. This woke me from a shallow sleep in which I was hearing voices from old timers of the area telling me what to do. Rather strange, some had Southern accents, and one was a ranch woman, the others miners, all had the same suggestion. They, or so it seemed in my half sleep, advised me that I get out the jack and prop up the rear of the truck, a little at a time, pile stones beneath the wheels, then repeat the process until I had it raised about a foot, on both sides, then slide the plywood underneath the wheels while the jack is holding up the axle, and then prop the plywood with more stones so that it will not move. This seemed like a great deal of work, but it also was my only chance. When I tried to go back to sleep, my mind would not let me, and it turned over this idea a hundred times wondering if it would in fact work. I could not wait for the dawn, but it was now cold, so I stayed inside.

Before first light, and at the strong call of nature, I woke and rose. The eastern horizon had a glimmer of shine to it. I got out the jack, fumbled in the dark to set it under the axle spring, which was all that was visible to me, and began jacking it up. The first couple of times, when it had risen a few inches, it collapsed. This again raised my fear of becoming trapped under the truck somehow and dying of dehydration. So with caution, placing a flat stone under the jack, I again began the slow process of turning the handle to raise up the wheels. With each attempt, when the wheels were up a few inches, I packed stones beneath them, careful to not get my hand trapped if the jack should collapse. Then, getting a better angle and taller stone, I again repeated this process a half dozen times on both wheels until I had them well off the arroyo bottom. Now the rear bumper was also clear of the sand bank, and I inspected there for damages, but all seemed fine. Now came the final push, so I raised each side again. My hands by now were bleeding, and I ached all over from the work and strain. Picking up each stone became painful as it cut into my already damaged hands, wish I had golves. The sun was up, so daylight made this job easier. I had been at it for about two hours, when I managed to slide the plywood sheets under both wheels, and set the truck down again. Well, this was the moment of truth, I thought. Either my half dreamed voices are right, or I am truly stuck. So I packed up everything, including dogs who now looked truly concerned and kept licking my hands, into the truck. Walked around one last time to see how it looked, pretty good I thought. Then I walked down the trail a ways to pick out where I might have difficulty backing up. What a night! It must have been the worst night I ever had camping out in the desert. And I was sore and tired. And I was humbled.

Prayer does not come easy to me, but this morning they flowed from my lips as if I had been born again. I put the key in the ignition, tried moving the wheels ever so slightly while in first gear, felt it move with traction, so gave it the gas and when they hit sand and began spinning again, for a heartbeat my heart sank, but then really gunned it until they broke loose and raced up the embankment ten feet before I stopped. I was free! I quickly locked the brake and jumped out to see how it looked. Now I could retrieve the freed rubber mat, which was torn but salvaged anyway. Then I moved one of the plywood sheets to another spot in the track where the sand was soft, just in case. Cleared out some larger stones from my backup path, though by now picking up any size stone was painful, if not bloody. And with more prayer, began the long descent down the narrow sandy track all the way back to the dirt road. Other than bush markings on the sides, which will clean out, the truck was intact. "Thank You God!" I thought. I was out.

I wonder what the men who had used the site for target practice will think when they return to find evidence of my handwork, if they ever return. They had also left a shiny sheet of metal about a half inch thick. It was about a foot and a half long, half a foot wide, with bullet holes. It had the feel of steel but lighter, titanium came to mind. What in the world were they doing here, I wondered? What kind of bullets can penetrate this kind of metal? I left it behind, happy to leave it a puzzle, and more eager to get back to the main road. When I got there, about a half hour later, it was now 8:30 AM, I gratefully climbed back on the pavement of civilization and truly appreciated the sound of rubber against macadam tar. What a great sound. But the voices in my head did not go away immediately, and I could feel their approval that I took their council. Call it imagination, but for me at that moment, it was real. And quite possibly, it saved my life.

Just before I hit the main road, a question came to mind: Do I turn left and go home, or do I turn right and continue on to Mono Lake? It took no time to answer this. In my new feeling of elation, Mono Lake was still my destination, about three hours away. Along the way, after I stopped for gas and coffee, I found a little creek, Convict Creek, along which was a quiet place to stop and let the dogs out. They gleefully played in the water while I took a long nap. When I woke, the world looked beautiful and full of optimism again. So we proceeded on with our journey and stopped only to refresh ourselves. The salt water at Mono Lake, I believe, helped my wounds heal, since today, a day after my return, they are almost gone. But I learned something very powerful that night of fear and trials. I realized that though I am experienced and comfortable in the desert, I can never allow myself to be careless. A mindful presence is always a must, or it could be devastating with only one false step. Even now, two days later, I feel the mindfulness that I learned in each thing I do. And while driving back from Mono Lake, the voices never quite went away, as if to sing their praises, for which I am truly grateful. Of course, the dogs never had any doubt of the outcome, as neither did my wife, amused but concerned when she called today from Italy. Mindfulness should be ever present, even when no danger lurks. And if I forget this, all I need do is recall the image of my truck sunk in the sand trap, nose up under the gibbous moon, and my despair.

Of course, I do wonder what's up at Burrow Wheeler's Tunnel? Someday...


For more information on Mono Basin: http://www.r5.fs.fed.us/inyo/vvc/mono/index.htm
and on Red Rock Canyon State Park: http://www.calparksmojave.com/redrocks/

Note: The neighborning Indians called the those who lived on Mono Lake, "the Monache", which in their language meant those who eat the alkali fly pupae, of which there is great abundance! The name Mono stuck from that.

VOICES IN THE DESERT, a response to the experience at Red Rock Canyon above:

by WJ, Member

Wow! Powerful stuff! (You got to wonder if Abraham heard voices-another story, of faith of course.)

Speaking of voices, Ivan, could you please explain that one again? I wasn't sure from reading 'when' it actually occurred?

Survival needs seem to 'rear their ugly heads' when we are faced with fears. It seems we appreciate our living/ existence after experiencing this confused animal-like state of Being (survival needs).

I wonder if after going beyond experiencing great moments of fear, that the fear of death itself goes away? In other words, if our spiritual Being somehow doesn't care whether we live or not (by somehow communicating/understanding our own will to survive or not to survive, in times of trouble), by experiencing fear do we somehow embrace our dualistic nature and come to understand that death is a separate spiritual realm of some destiny; some other mystical force?

Perhaps as we ourselves are forced to make sense of our existence (like why we exist in the first place) emotions, and actions during these experiences of fear, may it also bring to the surface another part of our Being. Our spiritual Being?

The phenomenon of fear. What's its purpose other than to survive? Is it safe to assume we can gain knowledge about our purpose in life by embracing various degrees of fear, as encountered in ordinary everyday life(?).

I once had a terrible motorcycle racing accident that caused me to re-evaluate my so-called purpose in life. Fear of death had changed me somehow. It caused me ask questions about my existence; my purpose, my passion.

Sincerely,
WJ
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Dear WJ (& friends),

I must admit that when it comes to 'voices' I am naturally a skeptic. Being raised in the West's scientific tradition, I am not quick to accept paranormal phenomenon easily. However, having said this, I must admit that a personal experience is easier to accept than one handed down. So, let me see if I can clarify what the 'voices' were to me.

I was sleeping uncomfortably on my wooden plank in the truck when I woke from a shallow sleep in which I felt I was dreaming. The dogs barked, and that was enough to rouse me. It felt as if I was hearing voices as I woke. They were not so different from what one feels inside one's head while thinking, except these seemed more audible. I know that the desert can play tricks on our eyes and ears. While hiking on the northern edge of the Painted Desert one time, amidst badland hills, I audibly heard whispering around me, but that was just the wind playing on the clay hills. This however was more internal, and it felt like people talking directly to me. My predicament was such that I was open to suggestion easily, glad to get help from any quarter. The fact that these 'voices' were telling me of a way out got my attention. Half images and half ideas, I could visualize how to prop up the rear of the truck so that the wheels could engage again. Also, they felt close, like maybe just over there, just beyond those bushes. If I had seen a UFO land and then heard voices in my head, it would have been more acceptable to me, except that I was quite certain I was alone, and very far from another person. The nearest paved road was nine miles, and the nearest town of Mojave was about forty miles away. What made me remember them so succinctly is that what they suggested in fact did work, and I was able to get out. That was a test of reality, what separated these 'voices' from mere hallucinatory fiction.

I do not recall having any feeling of them being threatening in any way, nor did I think of them divine. They were merely 'people' talking. And it was practical advice they were giving me. When I tried their suggestion, just before dawn, they felt like they were near, observing me and giving me encouragement. Mind you, I was pretty tired after a lousy night, and only had a piece of bread for dinner, too distressed to be hungry and make a real meal. But never did I feel in any way that this was somehow spiritual, and only thought of it this way after the fact upon reflection. Could they have been voices from the local spirits of the desert, some old and scraggly miners and ranchers from days gone by? It is an amusing thought, if not somehow romantic. But the pragmatist in me was just grateful to get sound advice. I was not afraid of them at all, only appreciated their good ideas.

So, what was it about this experience caught my fancy? It was that it worked. Now, whether this was all generated by my own mind, or that my mind picked up on help from another source, I cannot guess. Later, when I was driving to Mono Lake, and on my way back, I at times would hear them again, more like whispering in the background, and at times like beautiful melodious chords of a thousand voices. That was when I wondered if my tooth fillings or crowns were not picking up local radio stations. I even turned on the radio to check! But no such station played. Again, this could all be self induced illusion, harmless as such, but intriguing nevertheless. And when I left that valley area on the way back, they left me too. I have not heard anything like it since.

I think the real test of all this is that whatever it was, and from wherever it came, telepathically or spiritually or internally, it had a beneficial result. I was able to take the 'advice' and use it to my advantage. Stress related? Lack of sleep? Physical discomfort combined with an empty stomach? Don't know which of these was the cause. But I do know that I was able to get out of there without too much damage, and for that I was truly grateful. And for that I offered prayers of thanks.

In truth, I always found the desert a challenging place that was also revitalizing to me. This may be why I have been a desert junkie for so many years. I can recall ecstatic times while almost passing out from the heat in the East Libyan Desert of Sudan, or thinking I was truly blessed while eating antelope, roasted over hot coals of camel dung, which had been shot with a beautifully inlaid musket by an old solitary nomad in the Thar Desert of India. Or camping under the arches of the Moab desert in Utah. But I never heard any 'voices' there. So this was for me a new experience. Then again, if my camel had died under me and I was stranded far from water or the nearest human habitation, maybe I might have heard them too! But I will not test this hypothesis... too Biblical.

I hope this answers your question about the 'voices'. Call it a naive seminal spiritual experience, if you will, but to me this remains an event that turned into a pleasant mystery. Maybe you can tell me what it means?

In good health and fortune, Salaam, Ivan

(As posted in the Inter-disciplinary Forum at the Examined Life On-line Philosophy Journal: http://examinedlifejournal.com/cgi-bin/ikonboard/topic.cgi?forum=21&topic=3 )

From: http://examinedlifejournal.com/cgi-bin/ikonboard/topic.cgi?forum=21&topic=3&start=7
   
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Hi Ivan!

Gosh I wish I could tell you what it means!  Alternatively, it may mean your special gift will reveal itself to you, in the form of more wisdom, at a later date. Perhaps when you're driving down the road a thought may pop-up and you will have a sort of peak-experience. Of course, a form of wisdom was what it was; information in the form of knowledge gained, not otherwise contemplated.

In a similar fashion, and not to digress too terribly, I wonder what Theology would tell us about the 'spiritual nature' of the OT Wisdom Books. In otherwords, did the sages have any 'real' spiritual guidance in their respective developments of each book?  And if they did, how was it communicated...

Other than perhaps Platonic ideas coming to them after deep thought or thoughts just popping-up in their heads (which certainly happens in domains of novelty/creativity) with no real reason, I still wonder if there were transcendental voices(?). Or was it just wise old men who were able to keep consistent their very own thoughts about human nature.

Again, I think this is another reason why meditation and mysticism was and is now gaining a resurgence in popularity. Though as I gather some would argue that spiritualism without theology is mysticism, at any rate, there is plenty of information out there...

I think alot can be said about simple quiet atmospheres.  I think that quiet time goes along way in simply clearing the mind (in order to leave it open) so that new and novel thoughts can present themselves.

If you haven't read the new paper from Kathy Goldsby (sp) on mysticism, you should.  She did a great job!  She's on the home page of this site-new addition of the Journal, along with yours of course. Check it out!

You are fortunate, my friend! Thanks for the clarification!

God Bless,
WJ
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Dear WJ,

Thank you for you kind and thoughtful comments. Those ancient desert Jinns of Arabian legend may be with us still, to do good or ill, as is in our hearts. What can be learned from this? Time will tell. But we already know that spiritual love and peace are the way to do God's will. In the end, this will always prevail. It's a big infinite universe. So much to discover.

God Bless, Ivan

WALK TOURS OF ROME

http://www.romewalks.com

Walks of Rome is an English language cultural association devoted to helping the busy traveler make the most out of their visit to the Eternal City. With more than 4 million residents, Rome can seem quite intimidating and chaotic. With our expert knowledge and advice, we help visitors escape the chaos and confusion enabling them to experience what the Romans call "la bella città".

Norway Resources -norway

Norway related news, books and regional resources.

HAVE A CUPPA AT THE BAGDAD CAFE!

http://www.newberrysprings.com/bagdadcafe/

I happened on it while exploring old silver mining ghost towns in Mojave Desert, and it was just like being in a movie... the coffee as bad, but the people were great, especially the old gentleman who was attendant to Pope John Paul II, 39 years ago in Poland... true story.

So com'on in and sign the guest book, after you had a buffalo burger! And if you can't make it there, see the movie "Bagdad Cafe", it's great.

Ivan

JULIAN, CALIFORNIA

http://www.desertusa.com/Cities/ca/julian.html

This historic, lovely little California gold rush, mountain town was saved from the great fires of '03. Sadly, many homes near Julian were lost, along with loss of life of a firefighter. Again sadly the perished livestock in the fields. But you saved the town.

Thankyou! Valiant firefighters and personnel.

God Bless

EGYPT TRAVEL TOURS

http://www.egypt-online-travel.com/

build your own tour!

KAUA'I, PARADISE ISLAND

There is a soft and gentle feeling to being in Kauai, Hawaii, that I had never encountered anywhere. It shows in their music, dance, on the faces of the people. In a way, it is a magical paradise place where time slows down.

KAUA'I HERITAGE CENTER of Hawaiian Culture & Arts
www.kauaiheritagecenter.org
Ms. L. Kehaulani Kekua, Executive Director, is most helpful and delightful to speak with.

For a lovely place to stay, and hear authentic Hawaiian music every Thursday night with Uncle David Sproat and his band, contact the Waimea Plantation Cottages:
lfc@kikiaola.com or phone (808) 338-1900.

HANAPEPE ART WALK: Every Friday night there is an 'art walk' for the art galleries of Hanapepe, from about 7 pm to 9 pm, very worthwhile, world class artists, and a gourmet dinner served at the Hanapepe Cafe, Andrea Pisciotta, proprietor. You should call for reservations, since it becomes packed rather quickly: (808) 335-5011. The Cafe is just across the street from the swinging bridge over the river.

All of Kaua'i is beautiful, especially the Napali Coast, Waimea Canyons, but we found a special warmth and genuiness in the people of the western part of the island, around Hanapepe, Waimea, and Kekehaha. Kapa'a, on the eastern side, is funky. Kolo'a is rich in plantation history, one of my favorites.

There is very good swimming at the Salt Pond Beach, not far from where Captain Cook landed in 1779 and the Russian Fort, and also at Hanalei Bay in the north, with the most beautiful colors at sunset.

Aloha and Mahalo.

Private eyes go to Mars, per Space.com's article at:
http://www.space.com/spacewatch/mars_detectives_040311.html

Mars dust? Holy pixels!

Really interesting, looks like flying somethings.

THE DEAD ZONE - CHERNOBYL GHOST TOWN
http://www.angelfire.com/extreme4/kiddofspeed/

"This old man lives in the Chernobyl area. He is one of 3.500 people that either refused to leave or returned to their villages after the meltdown in 1986. I admire those people, because each of them is a philosopher in their own way. When you ask if they are afraid, they say that they would rather die at home from radiation, than die in an unfamiliar place of home-sickness." --Elena

http://www.angelfire.com/extreme4/kiddofspeed/chapter3.html

Perhaps as many as 400,000 people died from this nuclear disaster in northern Ukraine. This is its sad memory, a world lost, empty, where wild animals reclaim their broken realm without fear of humans. Is this the future now?

Dr. Rx

SOME OLD UFO STORIES, forgotten and now remembered.
http://www.space-talk.com/ForumE/showthread.php3?postid=24203#post24203

Ivan/Copper2

hi, i recieved a sympathy card for my friend HEIDI BECKER, but i never found out what happened to her. she was a beautiful, talented german woman living in borrego springs...does anyone know her and can they please email me? thanks and god bless.
liz

DISCOVER LANDED, passed almost overhead.

I couldn't sleep this morning, so got up just before 5 AM, turned on the news and realized spaceshuttle Discovery was in reentry. So I went outside about 7 minutes before the landing and looked up at the sky, which was still dark and had a few stars, slightly hazy over the ocean. There were absolutely no airplanes anywhere in sight, but suddenly out of the south-west came a small dot of light, it got brighter, passed almost over the house (slightly north by west), and then banked left to land at Edwards Airforce base, a perfect landing at 5:11:22 AM Pacific time. After it passed, there was a faint rustling sound in the air, like a very far away jet airliner, but quiet with no engines, as it was gliding in. (Oddly, a smal meteor flash crossed its flight just after it passed!) I'm glad I woke up early. Because of weather in Florida they decided to land here in California, for a perfect landing. What a treat!

Ivan