The Forgotten Room

Temptation of St. Anthony (2), Painted by Hieronymous Bosch


Jack Kerouac wrote, “Write in recollection and amazement for yourself.”


Books tell us things about introverts and then computers came along, the internet and social media. The shy ones broke free. People tell me that they cannot use Zoom because they don’t have a computer. I see as they communicate on Facebook or Instagram. Applications go anywhere and there too. These are just the basics too.

Having a kitchen full of projects cooking on the back burner I like to stop and reflect.

7: When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy?

It came to my focus outside and was made from a drip on water. I looked upon the water stars in the pool. Looking like shooting stars these patterns of the water are remarkable to look at. I authored a poem or two about them before. A natural pattern of repetition, often bringing forth ancient symbols that show up throughout antiquity.

Outside in my garden by Hudley

Before the internet or computers or social media or Ancient Aliens and all the characters who we know so well now. I had to go to the library and look up books in a catalog. During the search for understanding I flowered towards an esoteric path. I went back to college. I studied strange and interesting sacred texts.

Yet between ufology and my religiosity I never understood what I did experience. Was it a UFO experience, was it an initiation, or was it my psyche reaching up from my unconscious to become conscious? Can it all be explained by a mathematical equation based on artificial intelligence?

31: Canst thou bind the sweet influences of Pleiades, or loose the bands of Orion?

It happened at home where I grew up. It was in the boy’s room. A place that was once an old garage converted into a place for the guys in my family to play pool, sleep and just be. It was beholding to an old player piano that was haunted by my grandmother. What I liked best about the room was the sound of the rain on the rooftop or the wind and when it howled outside.

As time passed it became a forgotten room. When visiting my parents in my teens I would sleep there on the ground in a sleeping bag. Sometimes to escape an often-challenging world I had become part of.

It was a night like this when I awoke to something tapping on a window from the outside. This was an east window over the hillside. I listened to it for some time. Then in walked a person that invited me to the window.

“Hurry, Hurry there has been a plane crash. We need your help.”

Flying over the San Fernando Valley took only a push from the window to the night sky. We were flying together like Peter Pan and Wendy.

As we approached the airplane crash it seems more of a UFO. A ship that was landed. I was guided towards the door. It opened and there was a small alien being dressed in a white robe with jewels. A bean of light came from the being to my brain. The being, (what I now understand as downloading but didn’t know then) had many different images, symbols, words, and colors fill my being until I thought I would explode. I can say now the being had a light on my brain and was transferring data.

“Stop, please stop… I cannot take this anymore!”

It stopped and we flew back to the window. I laid down to sleep.

It was much later in life that I found Jacques Vallee and others who help me understand my mythological, scientific, or Alien experience.

Getting back to the “patterns of the water … as a natural pattern of repetition, often bringing forth ancient symbols that show up throughout antiquity,” I can affirm that whatever happened happens often. It is in the simple parts of my life that the downloaded information reveals itself to me. A poem, film Noir, a song, or maybe a friend.

It is not a problem for me anymore but just part of life as knowing things and not knowing why. Of seeing a reflection of a small link of lights from my hearth which often beam across and reflect upon a small circular mirror as seven bright stars. Reminding me of the lovely jewels known as the Pleiades.

“There was nowhere to go but everywhere, so just keep on rolling under the stars.”

― Jack Kerouac, On the Road: the Original Scroll


Notes:

Job thirty-eight

King James Version


Just found the song below after Chris Bailey’s death… another part of the mystery of life and the Saints… April 12/21



My Chris Bailey rendering from a few years ago
‘Good night sweet prince’ -Hamlet, Play by William Shakespeare

Picture.. reversed.
The Saints (Barry Francis, Ivor Hay, Janine Hall, Bruce Callaway, Chris Bailey) at The Hero of Waterloo, Sydney. 1980. Picture by Judi Dransfield Kuepper…) image taken from below article by John Willsteed

https://theconversation.com/a-gentleman-with-the-mad-soul-of-an-irish-convict-poet-remembering-chris-bailey-and-the-blazing-comet-that-was-the-saints-181059?fbclid=IwAR00zY1NQtlPOcjVWr7LzK5ExfpbGDM8KUTXqDOqCQXqZ-0Q981z4BsO4KI


Chris Bailey’s psychic being is still very strong!

Rendering of the band The Saints. Hudley Flipside, 2010


I have often written that the band The Saints are one of my only addictions in my life. After the death of Chris Bailey, I have been grieving him and a general time shift. The 70s, 80s, 90s, 2000s, 2010s and now. Over 40 years. This band led me on a path into a different realm of being. I found a bunch of misfits like myself. I found my voice and I awoke from a kind of existential youthful experience into finding myself and my soul. Music, friends, and a punk community that still holds my heart. Yet also knowing Chris Bailey was born the same time and so close to mine … we share these same generations or ten-year changes. Youth to adulthood and being senior citizens. As this post explains so much more in an indirect way too. In my grief I decided to do something that I do once in awhile to sooth my soul. I reached out to Carl Jung books. What came to mind yesterday was something from one of Carl Jung’s Black Books. Volume two page 175-6. I read from the last paragraph. I call it a random reading. The intuitive response is amazing to me. Encouraging action also. So, with this so much is shared, and I am content to move on past my grief. Into a new season of life knowing that

“the world beyond, where men are whole and complete, unlike here. The saint’s halo also characterizes his transcendent shining light, his psychic being.” ” (p.162) The Black Books, Volume Two, Carl Jung

Life endures … this gives me hope maybe like finding the Sun!

“In this moment the enormous tension was released and like rain it swept away [57/58] everything that was tensed, too highly strung. And soon sleep returned and brought with it a curiously beautiful image.” {138}

“Forms walked clad in white silk in a colored atmosphere. Each surrounded by a strangely fragrant, glowing tinted aura, some reddish, the others blueish and greenish.” {139}

{138} “This paragraph was replaced in LN by “Then I had a second vision.” ” (p.162)

Author: Hudley Flipside

Artist, cartoonist, writer, author, publisher, and Maenad. Punk rock is my prominent history to share. I grew up in the San Fernando Valley in Los Angeles County. Co-owner, editor, and publisher of Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine 1979 to 1989. Living during the 1960s, 70s, 80s, 90s and now the 2000’s… decades of history to share. My project currently on the horizon is a documentary film. Episodes, a humble creation story, about Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine.

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