Peace, love and magic: some reflections on transitioning to fourth and fifth dimensional awareness

The dawning of the Age of Aquarius

A couple weeks ago, in response to a friend’s distress over the heart-wrenching news, I responded, “Maybe we’re moving from the three dimensional world into the fourth and fifth dimensions.”  

I said it lightly—and, sadly, I doubt that my friend was any less upset after I said it—but I do take refuge in the thought. It gives me comfort to imagine that, as the world as we know it becomes less and less sustainable, there’s more out there than meets the eye. 

After sending the idea into cyberspace, I spent the week reflecting on how such a shift might unfold. I stopped listening to the news, I focused on internal work, and I reflected on how the 3-D world might intersect with the 4 and 5 dimensional worlds.

It’s an area that’s interested me for as long as I can remember. Even as a child I had extraordinary dreams. I’m prone to synchronicity. I was more at ease in the world of make-believe than in the real world for many years. I love fiction, especially fiction with magical elements. Speculative and science fiction appeals, too, as do the edges of science and philosophy. It’s where I usually go, along with increasing my time in meditation and contemplation, when the world is too much.

So, for a week or so in mid-July, I paid more attention to my posture and my breath, I meditated more, and I tuned into the cosmic hum more often. Instead of the news, I listened to archetypal astrology—Richard Tarnas, Heather Ensworth, and Rick Levine—and I took lots of time for reverie.

In 1969, when the Fifth Dimension told the world about the dawning of the Age of Aquarius, astrologers believed it had already been happening in fits and starts for a long time. And the sun did shine in the late 60’s and early 70’s—for a little while anyway.

A whole generation of kids and young adults valued peace and love over money. I was in my late teens then, and I was completely swept away by hippie values. I still am. It’s heartbreaking that the promise often attributed to Jimi Hendrix, “When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace,” hasn’t yet happened.

What astrologers are saying these days is that the transition to the age of Aquarius, which is indeed upon us, involves a major shift in consciousness, a change in essential values, and ultimately, a move from focusing on gathering goods to generating good.

Whether any of us alive on earth today will live long enough to enjoy such a world seems doubtful to me, but I see great value in releasing the expectation that life will return to the state it was in when we grew up. Opening one’s heart and mind to some of the infinite possibilities the future could bring seems like a much better option than hanging onto a vision of reality that’s crumbling into the past.

I love the idea that our perception of the measurable world will soon be enhanced by a greater understanding its more subtle aspects, as well as its place in the greater, less dense whole. 

The pull of the three-dimensional world 

Imagine my surprise then, when, in the midst of my dedication to exploring higher dimensions, the 3-D world intervened with an invitation to appreciate, if not acquire, a genuine treasure. 

Tom had recently come into a small inheritance. At the time, that money wasn’t three dimensional at all—it was some numbers on a screen. It occurred to me that rather than putting it in the bank, we might make it more productive by buying a building here in Cordes-sur-Ciel. Tom could move his little chocolate shop there, and an apartment or two would provide us with some income. I took time out from my reverie to look at what was on the market.

Who knew a magnificent piece of untouched old Cordes just 200 steps from our front door would immediately turn up? Such an opportunity! Unoccupied for 50 years but clean and sound, the owner had maintained it more or less as a memorial to her parents. Embossed wallpaper, plump feather beds, wool mattresses, lace curtains. And an old bakery.

Tom’s shop would go in this room. That’s a kitchen behind it. Perfect.

It is very, very charming, a magical place.

Filled with stuff like this.

And that that ancient bakery!

Of course there are more a few black holes that would need to be dealt with, like the low wooden shelf or seat in the downstairs bathroom that I thought might be a well. When we lifted the top off, layers and layers of newspaper, paint, and rust showered down. No point in looking in.

But it would be possible for someone to live in that house almost as is. Some plumbing would probably have to be done, but the first floor has 25-year old decent wiring and lighting. The bedrooms are delightful as they are, and so is the upstairs bathroom. A temporary kitchen of some sort could be set up, though the old wood and gas cookers, gems themselves, are there.

With tax and fees, the house and bakery would cost roughly 100 000€. Tax is 950€/year. So appealing! I almost couldn’t resist.

The morning after we saw it, however, the weight of the project hit me. We live so lightly now: small house, very small electric car, and everything we need in walking distance. 

Why would I even consider taking on a huge stone building, no matter how beautiful it is?? Then I realized how much of my mental and physical energy had already gone into that place over the last three days! 

I went back to listening to astrology and contemplating existence outside the confines of time and space.

Beyond the confines of the 3-D World

Einstein identified the fourth dimension as time, already a stretch to envision as a dimension, but the fifth is even harder to understand. Our civilization is so thoroughly engrossed in the gross world of matter that we can barely imagine it. Subtler worlds, if our physical science-based understanding gives them any credence at all, are only very slowly being discovered. Ganesh Baba often pointed to the discovery of electricity when talking about increasing understanding of subtle energies.

On the second day I spent with Ganesh Baba, he drew a diagram on a paper napkin that he told me encapsulated his entire cosmology. In brief, in an endless cycle, consciousness creates matter, and matter evolves into consciousness. 

(To align with the yogic teaching that good posture is essential to conscious evolution, he placed “Homo Erectus,” meaning having a straight back, above “Homo Sapiens.” The spine running up the center is replicated in the human body as the chakra system.)

Ganesh Baba described eight fields functioning in eight dimensions: matter, energy, space, time, life, mind, intelligence, and consciousness, each more subtle than the last. He identifies the fifth dimension as life. Indeed, neither time nor life is understood very well at this point of human evolution, and mind is an even greater mystery.

The Cycle of Synthesis is an attempt at a 2-D representation of an 8-D cosmos, a fractal universe, microcosm in macrocosm and vise versa. It is not static—rather, it is constantly in flow, twisting and turning, expanding and contracting, in an infinite number of directions, smaller and smaller, greater and greater, replicating itself in an infinite number of manifestations, each one connected to all the others.

As in a Moebius strip, the twists in the helix at the center of the drawing indicate shifts from one dimension to the next.

Passing through them is like water going down a drain. The water turns more and more quickly until suddenly it’s somewhere else. I think the transition human consciousness is going through is like that.

It’s interesting to consider that the perspective of the lower dimension is always subsumed into the perspective of the higher one, as when a point becomes a line, a line becomes a square, and a square becomes a cube.

If the point moves, a line exists. The line moves into a square, and the square moves to become a cube. Move the cube, and time exists. But beyond that?

What comes first? Consciousness or matter?

In most non-Western perspectives on existence, consciousness precedes matter. Even in the bible, God creates the earth. Assuming that only what can be measured is real is a recent twist in human understanding. It’s a limiting conception, though certainly a useful one in the practical world. If the great god of civilization, Science, wants to survive the coming twist, it will have to let go of the shores of time and space and greet the coming age of immeasurability with curiosity and eager anticipation.

I have less hope for the other worldwide religion of our era, the Economy, and its god, Money. I can easily see Mr. Moneybags falling off the edge of the earth to become a monster. An idea that particularly struck me during my studies at Pacifica Graduate Institute is that as dominant mythologies shift, for example from the “pagan” religions to Christianity, the old gods are forced underground, or off the edge of the earth, where they’re perceived as devils. It happens every time.

In Ganesh Baba’s model, following the downward arrow on the left, consciousness condenses into matter. Then, as it evolves back toward its source, more and more of the whole becomes comprehensible. As well as being reflected in the human body as the chakras, the Cycle of Synthesis mirrors Indian theory of the Yugas, a cycle of epochs in which the understanding of subtle things recedes as the earth moves away from the center of the universe, and increases again after it reaches its nadir and moves toward the center again.

So, if, as many astrologers are now saying, we are moving out of the Kali Yuga, the period of least understanding, into an era in which subtle energies will become more apparent, we will have to learn to navigate in the bio-psychic and intello-conscious fields in Baba’s diagram, the dimensions beyond space and time.

One way to do that is to begin by paying more attention to the interface, the twist, the liminal place, where fourth and fifth dimensional events show up in the 3-D world.

That’s why the dramatic incursion, in the form of that very attractive, very large three-dimensional stone house, into my fourth- and fifth-dimensional musings struck me. It was magic. That opportunity came into my physical world via a current of synchronicity. Its appearance overrode the laws of time and space, and I was very nearly beguiled.

What’s next?

Now, I’m on the lookout for magic. I’m asking a question before going to sleep, hoping for a response in my dreams. I’m actively looking for coincidence, actively seeking synchronicity.

So it was that I noticed some writing in blue chalk on the cobblestones of Rue Saint Louis as I walked Mocha one morning this week, when I had just begun this essay. The message is a little hard to read, but the words are in English, even though I found it in our beautiful French village.

Rue Saint Louis

PEACE AND LOVE

It’s still the answer.

And now for something completely different…Emmaüs in Carmaux

Another frightening parallel: The July Pact

A crazy thing happened a couple weeks ago. I’d finished the first draft of Underground, the second volume of Two Suitcases, and was reading through it to check the chapter headings and dates. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that, by the stroke of a key, I’d skipped writing a whole year of history and my story.

Sure enough, I’d typed July 9, 1935 at the beginning of one chapter—and July 11, 1936 on the next. So, back to making a timeline of the history, back to my sources already on the bookshelves upstairs, back to the endlessly generous internet.

At first, I had a hard time moving forward on the missing piece. The parallels between events in Austria in the thirties and the news from America were particularly powerful as I was completing the draft, and I was in a race to finish it on inauguration day. And I did! Except for July 1935 to July 1936.

Now, I’m almost finished the missing year. It was an interesting challenge to weave the characters’ stories into the history so that they would flow nicely into the already-written part, July ’36 to March ’38. But I’m almost there. I was writing about the reception of the Nuremberg Race Laws as Musk and his team trashed USAID.

And now I’m writing about the July Pact, or or Juliabkommen, a handshake deal between Austria and Germany that took place in July, 1936. Today, while looking into it more closely, I found a blog by Elizabeth Sunflower, who also wrote a novel set in Austria in 1937. About a year ago, she posted a blog about the July Pact. It’s succinct and timely.

Here’s the link

https://elizabeth-sunflower.com/austrias-unfortunate-fate-the-july-pact-and-its-role-in-wwii/.

But wait! There’s more.

A new, virtually typo-free version of Red Vienna is now available. You can get it at https://bookshop.org/p/books/red-vienna-eve-neuhaus/21038712?ean=9781636830582&next=t&next=t or through your local independent bookstore.

(I noticed when I copied that link to bookstore.org that they are offering it at 20% off.)

Getting through hard times: a timely message from Ganesh Baba

Last Friday a friend and I went Emmaüs, the big thrift store in Carmaux, an old mining town near here. All thrift stores are magical, but this one has a particularly good record.

I headed straight for the bins of old framed pictures. I was hoping to find something to hang in a niche in the bathroom. I found it, and I also found this:

It’s a framed, hand-painted postcard. The delightful Indian gentleman riding right out of the frame is Ganesh Baba, the scientific psychedelic kriya yoga guru. He appeared in my life late in 1979, intending to stay three days. Instead, he stayed in my orbit for three years, staying three days at a time, until the dream was over.

Now, he roared back into my life on a motorbike to remind me of his core message.

Ganesh Baba was the real thing. Look him up. The Wikipedia entry is good though outdated. There is a newer, much more explicit book on Ganesh Baba and his teachings available now. Written by another student of Baba’s, Keith Lowenstein, it’s called Kriya Yoga for Self-Discovery.

Baba’s essential teachings can be encapsulated into four actions. He reminded me in my meditation today is that practicing the four will get you through the hardest of times. The full system is more complex, at least eight steps if not twelve. But the first four are what’s needed today.

Hold your head high, your spine straight, rib cage open.

There’s a reason the military and the old aristocracy made the straight back essential. It changes your perspective, among many other benefits. Your spinal cord is your antenna.

Reconnect with the physical world.

Your breath is your connection to the life force. The more air you can breath in and out, the better you will feel.

Reconnect with the biological world.

Practice controlling your attention. Meditation does this particularly well, but any serious practice, spiritual, mental, or physical. can achieve it. Those who can direct their attention are better able to maneuver in worlds beyond the physical.

Reconnect with the mental/psychological world.

Using a mantra, a sound or phrase repeated internally or aloud, is a time-tested method for changing one’s vibration. Now more than ever, the world needs humans to raise their vibration.

OM on the in breath, OM on the out breath is simple and potent.

Reconnect with the spiritual world.

That’s it, and it’s enough. Practice each one separately and do them in combination and all together. It’s efficient and effective.

In fact, it’s magic.

The Day Before Everything Changes: Reflections on Friendship and Exile

I’m sure there are many reasons not to post the penultimate chapter of a work in progress before publication, but sometimes it feels to me as if the piece itself is begging me to get it out there now, on its own.

The chapter, “In the Company of Friends,” takes place on the day Austria gives up its independence and becomes part of Germany in March 1938, the day before Hitler marches triumphantly into Vienna, warmly welcomed by most Austrians.

I am posting it the day before Trump’s second inauguration.

The process and timing of writing Two Suitcases has always been more or less outside of my own volition. The parallels to events in the US aren’t something I look for and work at adding to my story. It’s the other way around. The story refuses to tell itself through me until the unfolding events push it to be told.

Those of you who’ve read Red Vienna or followed my blogs will be familiar with the characters and setting—I hope the chapter is meaningful even if you haven’t. Take the trouble to read it to the end, even if meeting the eight characters all at once is confusing. Don’t let the names of the Viennese foods trip you up either. They’re all described earlier in the story.

In brief, the young people in the group who come together in the chapter are all Social Democratic activists. For the four years covered in the second volume of Two Suitcases, they’ve been working underground to keep their vision of a kinder, more thoughtful, more equitable world alive. As Austria capitulates, most of them plan to go into exile.

Chapter 52

In the company of friends

Friday, March 11, 1938

early evening

Vienna

Gisi can hear the sound of Austrian State Radio everywhere as she hurries over to Max’s workshop, a covered bowl in a basket on her arm. There’d just been a radio announcement that the Plebiscite on Austrian independence had been canceled. Chancellor Schuschnigg would be making a major address to the country any minute, and Gisi wants to be with Max to hear it.

She’s not alone. Within the hour, nudged by a phone call or a knock on the door, everyone else in the group decides that they too would like to listen to the Chancellor’s speech in the company of friends. 

At his shop, Max and Leo move a big table close to the best radio, and the others bring eight odd chairs and stools to put around it. Near the table’s center is Gisi’s bowl of Kaiserschmarrn, its sweet fragrance surrounding it, a jar of applesauce beside it. 

Toni is warming some rind souppe on the coal stove. Its beefy aroma soon fills the little workshop and drifts into the store. On the workbench is a collection of bowls, cups, and spoons that Max brought down from his apartment, along with his last three cans of pickled herring.

Gert slices the loaf of black bread she brought and is putting it on the table when Hugo enters the shop with a smile and a swagger. 

“Look!” he cries when all eyes are on him. He pulls a bottle from his bag. “Slivovitz! A full bottle of everybody’s favorite plum brandy! What is there to save it for?” Eight glasses and cups are quickly found and filled.

Leo contributes a block of Bergkäse cheese. Felix, looking apologetic, sets out a bit of butter, an almost empty jar of honey, and half a jar of Powidl.

“What do you expect?” he asks. “I’ve been imagining leaving my home every day for weeks. Why would I have any food there?”

The crowning glory of the table is an Obstkuchen, a buttery cake that Anna baked and decorated with dried apricots and cherries as the rays of a canned peach sun. 

Felix is the last of them putting soup in his bowl when Max calls out, “Listen! Schuschnigg is about to speak!” as he turns up the volume of the radio. The music, a symphony by Beethoven, stops abruptly and the dignified voice of the Chancellor comes through.

“Women and men of Austria,

This day has placed us in a tragic and decisive situation. I have to give my Austrian fellow countrymen the details of the events of today.

The German Government today handed to President Miklas an ultimatum, with a time limit, ordering him to nominate as chancellor a person designated by the German Government, and to appoint members of a cabinet on the orders of the German Government. Otherwise German troops would invade Austria.

I declare before the world that the reports launched in Germany concerning disorders by the workers, the shedding of streams of blood, and the creation of a situation beyond the control of the Austrian Government are lies from A to Z. President Miklas has asked me to tell the people of Austria that we have yielded to force since we are not prepared, even in this terrible situation, to shed blood. We have decided to order the troops to offer no resistance.

I say goodbye with the heartfelt wish that God will protect Austria. God save Austria!”

The symphony resumes. No one says anything—they’re all in shock, though surely the announcement was inevitable. 

Max rocks back and forth on his chair. 

Gisi feels her tears rising. 

Anna’s anger shows in her eyebrows and trembling lips.

Hugo begins to speak a couple of times but stops. 

Beethoven’s music fills the shop.

Finally, Hugo raises his glass. “May God, or fortune, or whatever you believe in, protect us!” They each take a sip of the brandy.

Max looks at the table. “Let’s not waste this beautiful meal. Eat!”

“Wait,” cries Gert, “I have another toast.” She raises her glass again. “To friendship!”

Anna adds “And peace!” and they drink again.

Max glances at his empty glass. “Hugo, another round?” and Hugo pours out the last of the brandy.

Leo starts the toasts again. “To solidarity!”

“And to a kinder, more thoughtful, more equitable world!” adds Toni, and the last of the brandy is gone.

With bittersweet slowness, one by one, they pick up their spoons and begin to eat the rich, warm soup. 

After savoring her second spoonful, Gisi speaks. “This is so good, Toni. But why did you make it today? Rinde soupe, especially with so much meat in it,is Sunday fare at our house.”

Toni smiles ruefully. “I made it for Leo. Before the Chancellor announced his resignation, I was planning to take it over to his place. I thought, I thought…” she stops and looks at Leo, who has already finished his soup and is wondering if there is more. Now he looks at her, his companion for so many years, and his eyes fill with sadness. She continues, “I thought it might be our last meal together—for a while, I mean—or our last meal in Vienna. Oh, I don’t know what I mean.”

Anna looks around the table. “It’s true, isn’t it? This will probably be our last meal together for most of us.”

“You aren’t the only one to feel that way,” Hugo says. “It’s why we all came.” He picks up a plate and fills it with cheese, bread, and several pieces of pickled herring. The others follow, until nothing is left at the center of the table but the sweets.

Suddenly, flickering light pours through the small window at the front of the shop and the boom of chanting voices shakes the room. Max runs to look out. 

“It’s our neighbors,” he says, returning to the table. “Marching with torches and chanting Heil Hitler.”

Oh, God,” Anna replies. “Why is it always so hard to believe the worst until it’s staring you in the face?”

“Listen,” says Gisi. “I have an idea. After we’re done eating…”

“If anyone can still eat,” Anna responds.

Gisi looks at her. “Try,” she says. “When our stomachs are full of this delicious food, I want us to do an exercise I did in one of my psych classes. Max, do you have some paper and pencils here?”

Max, his mouth full of bread spread with butter and Powidl, nods yes and points to the workshop.

“Anna, since you’re not going to eat, why don’t you help me out by finding the paper and cutting or tearing it into pieces about as big as…” she pauses to think, “as big as an Ausweis.” 

“I’m eating,” Anna says, picking up a hefty piece of herring, putting it in her mouth, and chewing it slowly. “But I’ll do it later.”

The light and sound of the marchers fades into the distance.

“I suppose Miklas is in charge now that Schuschnigg has resigned,” Hugo muses. “Though Hitler probably has a successor in mind for the Chancellor’s position. Or maybe he’ll be Chancellor himself.”

Gert puts down her fork with a clatter. “Let’s not talk about it, Hugo. Let’s not talk politics for once.”

Hugo looks surprised and a little hurt. “Okay, what should we talk about then?”

Gisi is ready. “Let’s talk about the exercise I want to do.” She smiles as brightly as she can manage. “My professor gave us the assignment to make a list, in order of importance to each of us personally, of the five things we think matter the most.”

“In what sense?” asks Gert. “Do you mean things like money and housing? Or actions like pleasing your parents or doing work that makes you happy?”

“Yes, all of that, as well as qualities like patience and perseverance and generosity.”

“Okay, I’m ready to get the pieces of paper,” Anna gets up. “How many will we need?”

Gisi wrinkles her nose. “I think four per person will do. Max, can you find us all pencils or pens? Shall we do my exercise before cutting into Anna’s beautiful cake or after we eat it?” 

“After,” says Felix, starting to clear the table. No one objects.

“Max, is there water down here? I’ll wash these plates and we can use them for the cake,” Leo offers. 

A few minutes later the group settles down to make their lists, some at the big table, others scattered throughout the store, Max at his table in the workshop. Silence settles over them like snow. 

Gert is the first to finish. “What shall we do with our lists when they’re done?”

“Put them on the table where everyone can see them,” Gisi answers. “There’s a second part of the exercise coming.”

When all the lists are finished and everyone has read theirs aloud, she says, “Now, on your second piece of paper, write down an action anyone can take to create a world in which the ideas or things you most value can be realized in their largest sense. For example, to promote the value of ‘Peace on earth,’ you could write ‘try to always be kind’ for the second round.” 

“I get it,” Toni says. “I wrote down ‘my friends’ as a personal value, and I can think of dozens of ways to would promote friendship generally, like ‘appreciate everybody’s uniqueness’ or ‘think of others before yourself.’”

“That’s it. Try to make the action as universally useful as possible.” 

An hour later, and after another round of the exercise, Felix is picking up the plates again. Every crumb of the cake is gone. Hugo is copying out the same list eight times onto eight pieces of paper. Each of the friends signs their name eight times. 

Before they hug and say long goodbyes, they each have a copy of the actions tucked away in a safe place.

Take care of the old and the young, and those who have less than you  –  Gisi

Keep your sense of humor  –  Max

Be ready to let go. Remember what really matters  –  Anna

Hold your head high  –  Leo

Believe in magic  –  Gert

Breathe  –  Felix

Choose kindness  –  Toni 

Hold onto your vision of a better world – Hugo

When Hitler took Austria, 1938

Adolf Hitler and Kurt Schuschnigg, from The Evening Post, February 17, 1938

The end of the second volume of Two Suitcases is taking much longer than I would like. It’s not only that the holidays here in Cordes-sur-Ciel are surprisingly convivial, but also that the historical setting is difficult. I’m writing about the Anschluss, when Austria merges into Germany between March 11 and 13, 1938. The significance of the event requires extra detail, and I like to get the small things as historically accurate as I can. That means returning to my resources, including as many primary ones as possible.

My consistently favorite source is George Gedye, a left-leaning foreign correspondent who reported from the midst of the tumultuous events. He was an embedded reporter—before the term came into common usage.

Today I’m working on Friday, March 11, the day Austrian Chancellor Kurt Schuschnigg capitulates to Hitler’s demands. Here’s part of a long article in the New York Times that Gedye submitted from Vienna.

It continues to amaze me how often my writing has strong parallels to the current political situation in the US. Sometimes it seems I can’t move ahead in the book until the current events catch up. That’s usually when I go deeper into the research again. Unless I’m interrupted.

Ella is helping out by sitting on Gedye’s book, Betrayal in Central Europe.

—or there are friends visiting, or apèro waiting at a neighbor’s place—or someone knocking on my door with New Year’s greetings, or a holiday dinner party to go to—or a New Year’s Eve dance party, or a concert, or a solstice ceremony or an art opening… Phew. No wonder I’ve done so little writing.

I’m looking forward to the winter.

Tiny Worlds: Discovering Secrets in Abandoned Spaces

For years I’ve watching the slow disintegration of the door of an abandoned house on rue de la Bouteillerie. Once in a while I take a picture of it, or of some part of it.

Yesterday I took a few pictures. Here’s the first one:

You can eat that plant with the round leaves. It’s called Le Nombril-de-Vénus (Umbilicus rupestris), Venus’s belly button, in French, or Pennywort in English.

It wasn’t till I got home and took a look at the pictures, though, that I realized that some magic is taking place behind that door.

There’s a tiny world with a staircase inside!

I wonder if very small people use those stairs?

Next time I pass I guess I’ll have to lie down on my stomach to get a better look.

The Rise of Austria’s First Dictatorship: Key Insights

In the process of writing the second volume of Two Suitcases I continually return to historical sources to check that I’m getting the story right. As I reviewed and revised a chapter in which the Revolutionary Socialist Party of Austria is introduced, I came across an article I hadn’t read before, “Thinking
 Cosmopolitan
 or 
How
 Joseph
 became
 Joe 
Buttinger” by Philipp Luis Strobl. What a find!

Joseph Buttinger will be making at least a cameo appearance in my new novel, but I think his story should be shared now because of its relevance to the current political situation in the US. I’ve cut and pasted the opening below. The entire article, even in its slightly flawed English translation, is worth reading. Read it here: http://www.science.usd.cas.cz/Presentations/Strobl.pdf

On
 May
 27,
 1932,
 the
 Austrian
 parliament
 approved
 a
 new
 government
 that
 would change
 the 
democratic 
course 
the 
country 
had
 pursued 
since the 
end 
of 
the 
First 
World War.
 The
 new
 chancellor
 Engelbert
 Dollfuß
 now
 was
 in
 charge
 of
 the
 country’s leadership.
 On
 October
 1,
 he
 used
 a
 so‐called
 “emergency
 degree”,
 a
 wartime
 relict,
 to rule
 the 
country 
without 
the 
approbation 
of 
the 
Austrian
 parliament. 
That
 was 
the
 hour of
 birth
 of
 Austria’s
 first
 dictatorship.
 The
 consequences
 for
 the
 people
 were
 fatal. Unliebsame
 Personen
 as
 “unpleasing”
 persons
 were
 called
 at
 that
 time
 had
 more
 and more
 problems
 living
 a
 normal
 life.
 Particularly
 intellectuals
 who
 were
 engaged
 in
 the ideas
 of
 psychoanalysis,
 neopositivism,
 or
 austromarxism
 (socialism)
 had
 to
 fear reprisals 
from
 the
 government. Life 
became
 very 
hard
 for 
the
 government’s
 opponents, but
 for
 most
 of
 these
 persons,
 the
 situation
 turned
 from
 bad
 to
 worse
 with
 the incorporation
 of
 Austria
 into
 Hitler’s
 German
 Reich
 in
 1938.
 So‐called
 “enemies
 of
 the government”
 were
 forced
 to
 emigrate
 ‐
 and
 many
 of
 them
 did
 so.
 According
 to
 a
 1941 Office
 of
 Strategic
 Service
 memorandum,
 more
 than
 40,000
 Austrians 
had immigrated
 to the
 United 
States 
during
 the
 three
 years
 since
 the
 “Anschluss”
 in
 1938. This
 paper
 is
 about 
one 
of 
those 
who
 emigrated
 as
 a 
result 
of 
ideological
 reasons.

An elephant in the room: a dream

November 2, 2024

A yogi lives on a corner near my home. I’ve known he lives there for a long time. You have to cross the baseball diamond to get to his place. The neighborhood is all white bungalows and the streets are dusty. The yogi is an old hippie, an American with long dark hair and a long dark beard. I’ve never been to his place before, but now there’s something I want to share with him.

It’s written on a small piece of very old paper, the kind made of fabric. The paper is soft and folds around my fingers.

The guy—his name is something short—John? Russ?—lives simply. He doesn’t even label the jars he keeps his food and herbs in, he tells me, laughing.

He’s old, but not much older than me, and he is wearing a lungi.

We sit on low round stools, 4 or 6 inches off the dusty floor. At first he doesn’t give me a chance to ask my question. Instead, he talks about the wonders of living there. An elephant lives in the baseball diamond. I know that. Sometimes it comes to him. Then the elephant comes. He had called it.

The elephant walks into the hut, which is now large enough to accommodate it easily. It lies down on a dusty carpet and looks at us. After a time it gets up and leaves.

I give the yogi the paper, which has a verse on it. We talk about what it says.

A white horse runs by on the street, kicking up a cloud of dust. The yogi and I laugh. “I didn’t think it was real when I first saw it around here,” I say. “But now I’ve seen it many times.”

“Yes,” he says. “It’s real.”

More people are in the room so I decide to go to the baseball diamond to use the toilet. There’s a game going on. I don’t want anyone to see me using the toilet, so I return to the yogi’s place.

I sit before him. He puts his hands on my shoulders and back and pulls me up to stand facing him. He tells me to inhale and exhale as slowly and deeply as I can. We breathe together for a while.

More people are coming, including Tom. When the yogi notices how many there are, he looks at me deeply and says, “That’s enough for now.”

I wake up.

(I remember so many details about this dream but not the message, the most important part!)

November 6, 2024, noon

Upon reflection, I think this is a dream about the American election, that archetypal battle that was just won by the elephant. The elephant stays in the baseball diamond. A vision of progress, the donkey, transformed into a white horse, rushes off into the future.

Values are changing. The words written on ancient paper, though they used to be very important, are forgotten by the dreamer, and replaced with the suggestion to focus on the wonders of the world around us. The white horse is real.

All the same, as my friend Robert Sachs said about the dream, “This is no time to piss around.”

Instead, return to the wise ones. Sit at their feet and they will lift you up.

And remember to BREATHE.