Holy Madness and Crazy Wisdom
There are a handful of souls on the planet that I would want to tell this tale to. I am not desirous of fame nor fortune, only to release and reveal the hidden that I have found. Been working on a mystery that I wouldn’t have been able to fathom without the connective tissue of friends and family to help me to survive and to share it with. I hate the fact that I can’t just come out and scream it from the depths of my soul, complete and whole and perfect.
That I was taught by a master, I was apprenticed to Jerry Garcia in a surreal world of dream, I am weaver and woven by cosmic reckoning, the Fates came together in such a way to lend sanity to all my fruitless seeking. The combination of something born inside of me and hatched with the Band, is what haunts me, years of cosmic sleuthing in dream and dance state, twirling dervish like, to go where no one else went, or where I was meant to go. One who flew over the coo coo’s nest, that would be how it would appear, but I come back down to earth for sustenance, and bring back food of the gods.
At least that’s what I have to believe in order to put my egg shell mind back together after another trip out of this material plane and into the vast wonder of the Source, only to crash land flat on my face.
I warn you now, I am some kind of shaman, or high priest, I’ve gotten stoned out of my mind and found the sorcerer’s stone.
I rest in the lows of the futile existence of mortality like anyone else, but I have tasted the water of life. It springs from the eternal, a living organism that language pales in its attempt to describe.
But here I attempt to wordplay it out, like the hero of the folk tale. to properly bury Jerry, at the very least share my tale of discovery of how remarkable he was.
There are those moments when I’m filled and I embody the Spirit of the Source, I’ve been working on a building, a Holy Ghost building, the Holy Spirit that reigns in all. I had to find the answer. All those years, all those lovefests, those secret telepathic knowings, those synchronistic awe inspiring realizations, there’s more to this than meets the eye.
I had to find the answer to this strange experience, I seek wisdom. I had to search in Scripture, surely the Lord would reveal what it is that it is. He has never let me down, when I seek for knowledge.
He says knock, and He will answer – been knocking on heaven’s door, been the heaven help the fool, still am the fool, Captain of the ship of fools, though I am not on a fool’s errand, but I seek not to fool, you or anyone else, truth is and truth will stand the test of all.
It’s been my Holy Grail to understand
the psychedelic parallel oracle channel
I’ve come upon.
Where do I start ? I’m not going to ease this one in, out of the starting gate.
A bumper sticker from back in the day stated “Who are the Grateful Dead and why do they keep following me ?”
A line from the song Cassidy drops in my mind, it floats in . . .
“I can tell by the mark he left, you were in his dream”
What feels like a hundred years ago I came upon this realization, more accurately I was allowed to find it, after I found out the secret of the Dead. It was in the good old Book, The Book of Revelations Chapter 3; 1-5, I came upon this way back in the day, for Dead enthusiasts between the release of Shakedown Street, and Go to Heaven, timing the Band always had impeccable timing, but I don’t want to get ahead of the story, just want to come out of the gun smoking.
And unto the angel of the church in Sardis write: These things saith he that hath the seven Spirits of God, and the seven stars; I know thy works, that thou hast a name that thou livest, and art dead.
Book of Revelations King James Version 3:1
When you go into the rabbit hole, there are so many reality checks. Another riddle, you have a name that you are alive yet you are dead? It seems the spirit world always presents questions that spur the seeker to desire to understand things seemingly out of reach. I don’t mind clowning around in this life at times, but in the burial ground I can’t be a clown, or a fool, that’s where I get dead serious, that’s where the soul makes it’s stand.
Inside there is that place of pure consciousness the access point of higher learning. The novel comprehension of each being to realize the divine, the new understanding of the unique meeting of our existence as connected to the All Parent, the gnostic reality of interpretation verses meaningless drivel.
Jerome John Garcia was a gatekeeper of the edge, the eye ever on the mysterium, the constant collaborator of the wakeful mystic, keeping it real in the surreal.
Every song had at least one verse or more that would be placed in such a way to point to the awe of synchronicity, and he would drop them in, using his secret way of sounding.
Gleaming with metaphor of the language of the unspoken wisdom of the ages, of course he would blast me for uttering this, the humbling nature of finding the Spirit eyes of the world on you leaves a unique energy field of non-ownership, akin to a something discovered or gifted, just a humble worker in the field, the knowledge of being a mere mortal before the eternal flame, but, alas, you can’t hide light, it fills those around you with sight, that is as it is and as it will be in the realm when spirit meets flesh.
A man is just a man, but inside the existential question and quest of existence, is there more to the jigsaw of life ? Puzzling us to seek, the signposts are all there in dazzling display, if you see it in the right light. We all come here from somewhere, we inhabit these skeletal suits and sleepwalk till we can dream.
Deciphering the difference between truth and fiction, what resonates in us, what moves us, is where you start.
The wonder of being alive, knowing that we die, sensing to piece together the clues to why and what is the answer to the answer. The answer is always love, finding it, holding it, sharing it, being in it, how we accomplish it is the dance of life.
I’m a dancer, and had the fortunate experience to have danced with the Grateful Dead, which is and was a mystery school, disguised as a rock band, and the angel of that church, sang from that place of dream.
Just a song of Gomorrah
I wonder what they did there
Must’ve been a bad thing
To get shot down for
Wonder how they blew it up
Or if they burned it down
Get out, get out, Mr. Lot
Don’t you look around
Who gave you your orders?
Someone from the sky
I heard a voice inside my head
In the desert wind so dry
I heard a voice telling me to flee
The very same voice I always believe
Said, a lot of trouble’s coming
But it don’t have to come to you
I’m telling you, so you can tell
The rest what you been through
Don’t you turn around, no
Don’t look after you
It’s not your business how it’s done
You’re lucky to get through
Written by Jerome John Garcia and Robert Hunter
Truth is stranger than fiction. Ive been a stranger in a strange land, It’s been a long strange trip, but the odd is what jolts us, makes us wonder, its essence is non-ordinary, so it is remembered, simply because it’s so outside the box. It also leaves a mark on your consciousness or it awakens pathways inside, to higher consciousness, it always comes down to what are you trying to figure out ? Who gave you your orders ? He has a voice in his head that he always believes? What’s he talking about? Are we in the last days of the apocalypse ? Is there a way out, of impending doom ?
Either way, you know, no one gets out alive,
there must be answers to the meaning of life.
There must be a way to crack the code.
Just a song for Gomorrah . . . Take an Old Testament bible story and spin a modern tense in it, my antennae intrigued tuning in, that’s crazy, no ? To not turn into a sculpture of salt. To understand the call of the Spirit ?. Jerry was delivering gems of the mystery of the eternal sunshine, that comes when one can suspend and tap into the inner spotless mind, where heart and mind are one, and it’s inside of you and is reflected around you, reverberating instantly, then you know and taste the ecstasy of cosmic connection to the heavenly realm. Oh it’s just a song, you may think, and it is, and yet conveys that still voice that yogis have been talkin’ about for years, and the advice to not look back, to follow the spirit voice, to keep on trucking further, no matter what.
Jerry was so focused on attempting to open others to the divine magic of the mysteries of God, he was ever pointing to the light, balancing between inference and trust, He found a doorway, and steadfastly attempted to guide others to it, through a knowledge of synchronicity and a clairvoyant gift he used and hid to shed light. But what really matters is the soul of the matter.
Life is for learning. It doesn’t take much to get the word around. Skillfully weaving, song and verse, lyric and timing, Jerry was a divining rod, when he was on stage he was playing music to teach, to explore, to edify, the wonder of it all, and of course to have fun and party. But he was both always present and presenting, he was there yet he was somewhere else, beckoning us to hear the magic kingdom, his tuning fork masterly tuned in to the heart of the matter.
I know the weird parallel realities I experienced in altered states of consciousness that psychotropics opened up, once opened to the mystery, there’s no going back.
Jerry humorously stated in I think was his last interview that it was like dog shit that you couldn’t get off your shoes, it get’s in the house it seems to be everywhere and always there. So here is the stuff that I found on my shoes, and I must press on, so the time has come to describe what I found and how I failed and the victories and defeats of reaching for the stars without a net.
“I’m telling you so you can tell the rest what you’ve been through”
I guess that’s the gist of this entire soap box effort. So lend me your ear and I will attempt to describe my bouts with holy madness and hopefully some crazy wisdom can be shared.