I finished my last post with these few rushed words—

” … I do remember. I’ve been there, done that, but never repeated an experience that took place effortlessly over half a century ago (before I knew it was impossible) … “


Moving on to the experience referred to:  Some things cannot be described, they can only be experienced. Description fails completely. Often when we try to share an experience by describing it we run into problems—where there are no sensations in common we are forced to linguistics and simile. How, for example, can one describe (say) an orgasm to somebody who’s never had one? Or what it feels like to be under fire from people you do not know, have never met and probably never shall; whose sole ambition right now it to kill you (or at least hurt you as badly as possible)?

Some experiences cannot be described. Try to describe a brilliant frosty starry winter night to a man blind from birth? Can’t be done.

Over half a century ago in a different world from this (people didn’t even lock their cars) I was as curious about Reality as I am now. The only difference being that back then I was too naive (uneducated) to know that some things are impossible—so I went ahead and did them. (These days I know better.)

Before it entered the commons I meditated. It was a solo vice—anyone discovering my habit wouldn’t have understood, at best I’d have been indulgently smiled at, at worst possibly sent to a mental hospital for observation. Nuts? Remember that even today in New Zealand one must conform.

So my meditations were more exploratory than guided. Lacking any manner of guru beyond a heavy tome from the dusty section of the library I had to discover for myself. My technique was of necessity very hit and miss. Yet even my many misses weren’t failures, I always felt better for having made the effort—more focussed, more relaxed. And once—just the once—I hit.


Something happened. There seemed no transition, and without thinking it or noticing I became aware that I (I? more like “I”) was no longer bounded, not even in my room; certainly neither warm nor cold, certainly unaware of any sound or other sensation.

Were my eyes open or shut? I have no idea—yet I could see. At first multiple “layers” (? It’s a poor analogy, but all I can offer) of shades of light and dark in which I saw (felt?) infinity.

How long the moment lasted I have no idea. It could have been just seconds yet I felt the vast sweep of eternity. It was as if I were floating in a void yet there was no apprehension, I was inviolably safe and I knew it.

DID I HEAR golden trumpets, see or sense the presence of God? Sorry to disappoint but the concept of God or divinity is inappropriate in this context, a foreign (and meaningless) intrusion.

Did I feel in any way Godlike myself? No. It just felt ‘right’ — as in entirely natural. Entirely normal.

Have I repeated the experience since, have I done it again?

Sadly, no. There seemed no need. There was no sense of having done anything outside of the ordinary, no sense of accomplishment or having achieved a goal; no “been there, done that”. Life goes on and I simply moved along with it.

IN RECENT TIMES I must admit that I have half-heartedly tried again out of curiosity but with zero success. After all, as a respectable tax-paying rational sober adult I know now that there are no ‘other realms’ and anyone claiming to have been there is delusional at best or a con-artist at worst. Some things, after all, are impossible—no?

And some things cannot be adequately described.












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