Mariev Finnegan
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Image Credit: Mariev Finnegan The French called the Erie, "Cat Nation." The name Erie is a shorter form of the Iroquoian word "Erielhonan" meaning literally "long , long tail" or “Nation du Chat” or "People of the Panther," referring to the native panther skins that my tribe wore ceremonially. The panther ((aka pumas, panthers, cougars, mountain lions) of the region is the Erie totem. A totem animal is one that is with your tribe for life, both in the physical and spiritual world, and acts as a guardian spirit.
We are the wild (free) Indians, us Erie: a matriarchy, notorious for shamanism, vision-quests, and doing to many hallucinatives. Erie possess an unusual set of psychological attributes: Intense psychic abilities. And a disposition for difficulty with authority.
Erie declare a sublime connection between all things and so does theoretical physics. The universe is not materialistic, but an interwoven pattern of energy systems where time can speed up and slow down, where the same elementary particle can appear in two places at the same time.
So can I.
I am Matriarch of the Erie. I connect all Erie.
I am an indigenous grandmother, Erie by birth and white by ancestry. On occasion, I spontaneously merge with another in total empathy, and actually become them for short periods. I hear what they hear, see what they see, feel their emotions; I think their thoughts, as well as my own. This capability to have out-of-body into-another-body experiences is commonplace to the Erie. The subjective experience of that entanglement is what we call mystical experience, or in general: Erie.
Like my Mama and her Mama before her, the Erie Matriarch connects all Erie. Erie mental structuring is not in linear form, but rather holographic: each piece contains the whole. Rather than one leader, the Erie act together through dynamic, cooperative processes of self-organization that demonstrates the possibilities of biological systems organizing on spiritual principles and cooperating on a global scale that mimics the dynamics of natural living systems. Each maintains its integrity as an independent being, yet is devoted to the whole, balancing the individual interest with the collective interest, as birds fly in a flock, through emergence.
Eriemargence, my tribe calls it.
For this article, I researched this phenomenon of being another, and found there is no name for it. I Googled: Be Another: Out of Body Experience (OBE), and Near Death Experience (NED). Astral projection. The closest description for what I experience when I "just drop in" comes from Harvard psychologist Timothy Leary, and his associate, the spiritual teacher Ram Dass, who promote LSD as mind-expanding and enlightening.
I call it ErieLeary: The Capacity to Be Another.
Once I was Julie Munson, a young murder victim. I told the cops where to find my body in the eerie swamp. I tried to tell them who murdered me, an Erie, but they convicted the wrong man. An Erie. And once, I died as an Erie woman, Dana LeAnne Cooper, caring for the children in the nursery of the Federal Building blown up by Timmy McVeigh an Erie. Because I have occupied others, thought their thoughts, felt their pain, died, I know we are one.
There is no separation of individuals. Immediate participation in the cosmos is available when we surrender individual identities: Psychic abilities and expanded awareness are a product of this understanding.
The Erie is in direct contact with God. Each individual is a sovereign nation; we each draw our power from a central Creator. We don't label, not even relationships. Us Erie, we just belong to each other. Everyone is our tribe.
The Erie motto is: Just take care of the children, who remember why we came here. And everything else balances. All children are Erie: Children exist on a higher plane: they are spirit in a mystical state of elevated awareness. Children have yet to form prisons of history, nations, judgments, and laws. Laws of science and math and values. Children realize magic. Magic, the ultimate outlaw, the terrorist of the cosmos: It's eerie. Magic is unexplainable, magic obeys no laws. And neither do the Erie.
April 19, 1995, 9:11am: I am driving along a lonely stretch of the Parkway that borders Lake Erie, listening to Ozzy's Dairy Of A Madman on the radio. Suddenly it changes to Pink Floyd: Darkside of the Moon. In the passenger seat is Mama, Matriarch of the Erie (at the time) a tiny, dark woman, like me. We both have an intense fierceness about us. We both love unconditionally. The echoing sound of thunder from a distant storm over the water reaches us, although here the sun is shining: It is an Erie Lake Effect.
Suddenly, spontaneously, at once: I am Dana LeAnne Cooper, 24, Director of The America's Kids Day-Care Center. I hear everything Dana, an Erie, hears, see everything her eyes see, think her thoughts, as well as my own. I feel her emotions, her pain, her joy. Her death.
I am confused. I do not know that I am Dana Cooper. I do not know where I am, certainty I don't know why. Nineteen babies surround "me" inside a cavernous room, the nursery on the second floor of the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma. The pinpoint of my existence, that which I, Dana, hold true is, love the children. Care for the kids.
Separately, I am wondering, How, a word significant to the Erie. How can I be in a place unknown to me? How am I inside a being that I have no connection with other than, love the children? An Alien abduction crosses my mind. It can't be real..
Perhaps I am an angel, I possess another being. Spiritually I comfort another by being them, so empathic to another, I am another. I am everyone. Erie.
I can't prove it scientifically or produce witness affidavits: I was Dana L .Cooper helping my son Christopher remove his jacket and thinking about the flight to San Diego I had to catch for the conference I must attend on Child Development..
At the same time, I am myself, future Matriarch of the Erie.
An explosion of violent light that is at once everywhere. The atmosphere is a vibration in sound, waves of energy. Consciously, I'm unaware of the explosion. Or I'm one second ahead of the bomb.
I think, both Dana and I, think: protect the children. Reclaim the children back into the egg, and the egg snug inside our womb. There are children all around, Then sound reaches a sonic boom. And I think, I can't. I can't protect them all. Instinctively, I put my own body, like a table, over a blond male child , my son, two year old Christopher, who has blond hair, brown eyes, like me. Dana LeAnne Cooper.
Although "I" do not know at this time who "I" am, nor the name of "my" son. It's eerie. It's impossible. Shock. The entire building reverberates, then in slow-motion, the structure crumples from under us. Everything is in black and white. I'm holding Christopher as if he was unborn. Falling! Chaos! Then crushing weight, severe pain on my back, my spine. Protect the children. My child is my last human thought.
I have nothing to compare it to. Neither Dana or I know what has happened to "us." Suddenly. Spontaneously. At once.
I become conscious that I exist on a higher plane: spirit in a mystical state of elevated awareness . I experience oceanic waves of joy as collectively-- the closest I can explain it is a cloud of dust-- rising above an expanse of ruble toward the light: Christopher, and the FBI and nineteen children. 168 souls.
And me. Erie.
One ascending soul, a consciousness, that sees from above, all the way to the storm over Lake Erie.
April 19, 1995 9:25 am.
I am dead.
At once, it is noon. The storm is over. I am myself again, confined inside a tiny body at the wheel of the Volkswagen, traveling along the desolate Parkway. I discover Mama has stuffed pillows behind my back, which aches like a raw nerve the length of my spine, like its been crushed by a great weight.
I was in a shamanic state of consciousness, gone only minutes in ordinary reality.
I am an Erie shama. Often, using physic abilities, in an altered state of consciousness, I enter supernatural realms or dimensions to bring guidance and obtain solutions to problems afflicting the soul. Alleviating traumas affecting the soul restores the physical body of the individual to balance and wholeness. I operate within the spiritual world, which in turn affects the human world. The restoration of balance results in the elimination of the ailment.
Mystical experience can be triggered by stress or the contemplation of great beauty; fasting, pain, childbirth, death, birth, drumming, dancing. Sexual orgasm. Schizophrenia. LSD. But I do not know the cause of ErieLeary.
Then at once, spontaneously, I understand the effect of EireLeary: Dana LeAnne Cooper. and I cause balance, we equal each other, and a third, something higher. The child. At our destination: Lost Nations, on the News I see in reality, the event I recently experienced as Dana LeAnne Cooper, an Erie: As a gestalt, I see the whole, right to Timothy McVeigh's death by execution. I witness to anyone who will listen and make a tape concerning the above.
Years later, when I was introduced to the internet, having written this account, it occurs to me, What If I Am Wrong? And I didn't really die as another. And my ability to be another is a dysfunction of my brain, a mental aberration. Maybe I'm crazy. I Googled Oklahoma City bombing and saw a picture of the building after it was bombed, and it was familiar to me. I'd died there with my son and seen it from the same perspective as I left my body and, mingled with others, Erie, rose above it.
Through a process of elimination, I found the website of Dana LeAnne Cooper. And for the first time, I saw my face, saw who I was during the missing time I am abducted from my "self".
I Google the child, two-year-old Christopher, who I brought forth and went forth combined. I know him: And there he is in a picture: round head, blond hair, brown eyes. Anthony Cooper I (the first) said he and his wife, Dana, adored Christopher, whose full name was Anthony C. Cooper II.
"He was a very happy child, very vibrant. 'Mr. Personality,'" Cooper said.
He said his wife, Dana, loved all children. "She was the most beautiful person I ever met. Everything she did, she did for the children."
The knowledge that all minds are interconnected, and love is gravity, was handed down from my Mama to her Mama before her. An Erie myth:That 's a story, a long one, the Erie tell.
My Mama's Mama, Matriarch of the Erie, birthed 13 children! And she only lost one: Anita. A tot, four years old, enfolded in her Mama's arms as the child died of convulsions. The story is told that Mama went with her baby to heaven. Rose from her physical body, went through the tunnel to the light, to peace., then suddenly, at once, Joy.
Most sorrowful, the Matriarch came back to physical reality. She had to. All those kids.
This certainly wasn't the first time I had momentarily become someone else. I am a psychic wound, open to all sorts of sensitive matters. I need protection from the moods and vibrations people project. I have to be careful in deciding which thoughts are my own. It is real easy for me to slip into becoming someone else.
Recently, I became my son, Dusty's, Aunt Debbie. At the beginning of the episode, I became horrified by my own thoughts; then I wondered, whose thoughts are these? And I'd been given to see the aunt and even who the aunt was talking to: Dusty's Probation Officer. Later, I told Dusty about what was said between the two of them, so he could divert a lot of trouble. The Probation Officer and Aunt Debbie never figured out how he had known about their private conversation.
That day, the sun cast the willow trees in strange relief, shadows like clawing desperation played the walls of the garage, I bent to pick up a stack of papers, letters and stuff, when I was suddenly overwhelmed by the idea that I'd just been given a death sentence. It exploded in my mind like a nuclear bomb. I'm going to die, soon, very soon. I'm going to die.
It wasn't a physical sensation-- I wasn't feeling sick or injured-- rather, words appeared in my mind as if someone was saying them to me: You are going to die. Then, suddenly-- at once!-- the filthy garage was overlaid with another view of a wood-paneled office, and a man in a white lab coat, a doctor. I saw both scenes at once; they were both real to me. Typically, my first thought was of my children. Who would take care of my kids?... No one could ever fill the void I would leave.
And then, if that wasn't strange enough, I had a comforting thought:of myself,-- Irv. (Irreverent) Maxine Bogus, I called myself then-- in connection to caring for my children when I, Mickie, was dead I thought of myself, as if I was outside myself-- I had a mental image of myself in a close relationship with Mickie's children.
There is a moment of confusion, and then I understand. Mickie is in a medical doctor's office, and so am I. Mickie had just been told that she was going to die. It is all so improbable-- Mickie had beaten breast cancer and was in good health, I thought-- And yet, . I am Mickey. thinking about my children, thinking that I -- Max Bogus-- will care for her children when she is gone. These thoughts and feelings didn't belong to me; dear God in heaven, they belonged to Mickie.
At once, I realize that the stack of papers, letters and stuff on the garage floor, I'd been reaching for, now, I held clinched in my hands out in front of me: there is a handwritten note from Mickie : Only the closing is visible: Goodbye My Friend, Mickie.
February 20, 2005, Hunter S. Thompson, gonzo journalist and an Erie,--1970, ran for sheriff of Pitkin County, Colorado, on a Freak Power Party platform of decriminalizing drugs, best known as the author of the non-fiction novel Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, portrayed by Johnny Depp, an Erie, in the film adaptation--. Hunter S. Thompson took his life with a self-inflicted bullet to his chemically enhanced brain.
My Mama, Erie Matriarch, died at the same moment: And I became the last great counterculture writer in the world. And Matriarch of the Erie.
My Mama was one with nature. She had a direct relationship with God. She loved unconditionally, without reservation. Especially the children. Mama knew that spiritual development and psychic abilities are connected. We are much more than the physical: Our minds extend beyond the brain, and our hearts go on forever.
At Mama's deathbed, ErieLeary. I tell you not as a matter of faith, but of experience, that I accompanied her to the afterlife dimension. A little dog ran to greet her from a forest by a mountain lake. A flat-bottom boat figures into Mama's heaven. Her brothers and sisters were there, her dear friends and her favorite aunt. David and Lorrie, both suicides, were there, playing hide and go seek. (All children play Peek-a-boo and every child is Erie.)
Home was at the end of a wandering path through the forest, where her Mama waited for her. in a garden (The only essence I didn't feel in her heaven was my dad.) When I experienced all the children on that higher plane, playing in the sunshine, I knew she'd made it to the place that Erie men call the Happy Hunting Ground; Erie female's call it the Garden.
I came back to my children and grandchildren here, in this place.
Sheldrake, whose theory of morphic fields and morphic resonance leads to a vision of a living, universe with its own inherent memory, is Erie.
An Erie, Carl Jung put forth the conceptual model of analytic psychiatry: the Collective Unconscious.: Erie. Jung created the word and the theory: synchronicity. Uncanny coincidence, the unlikely conjunction of events, startling serendipity. A glimpse into the underlying order of the universe. the "acausual connecting principle" that links mind and matter. This underlying connectedness manifests itself through meaningful coincidences that cannot be explained by cause and effect.
Such synchronizations occur when a strong need arises in the psyche of an individual. I feel there is a connection here with ErieLeary.
Scientists see a theoretical grounding for synchronicity in quantum physics, fractal geometry, and chaos theory. They are finding that at deeper levels, everything -- atoms, cells, molecules, plants, animals, people -- participates in a sensitive, flowing web of information. Physicists have shown, for example, that if two photons are separated, no matter by how far, a change in one creates a simultaneous change in the other. Just like the Erie.
The notion of a collective global consciousness is accepted truth within many cultures that honor the sacred feminine, but scoffed at by modern scientists. Women know, and male. researchers are finding solid data to support the conclusion that we’re all connected .
The Global Consciousness Project is an international collaboration of Erie:scientists, engineers, and artists that maintain a global network that has been collecting data continuously since 1998 from sensitive instruments which produce random sequences. Our purpose is to examine subtle correlations and structure in the data that seem to reflect the presence and activity of consciousness in the world. Looking at major global events including both tragedies and celebrations, we have learned that when millions of us share thoughts and emotions the GCP network shows correlations. This is evidence for interconnections at a deep, unconscious level. We are a collective. Interchangeable. We are global consciousness or oneness. Erie.
It's the first day of Fall. I am sixty, Jacob is thirteen (just). He is repeating seventh grade. He falls in love. With Sam. I am psychic, I know before he does. All the children know that the Erie Matriarch has an eye in the back of her head that records not only the naughty, but keeps them safe as well.
I am writing this at my computer, when spontaneously, at once, I am in a library surrounded by shelves of books, and large wooden tables. I'm just getting up from a chair, thinking math, and turn my attention to a female being, who stands before me, close. I am bigger,. She has long brown hair; she is gentle. The moment is transfixed. I love her. Her name is Sam.
Soon as Jacob arrives home from school, I ask him, "Do you know someone named Sam?"
He appears indifferent. "I know a lot of Sams."
I know. He loves Sam. For one moment, I was him, when he fell in love.
Jacob's hair hides his eyes, an avoidance to intimacy. The school councilor reports that he failed prosocial, which means his label is antisocial. Last year he was classified depressed. He lifts his tee shirt to show his round belly and announces that he is going to exercise to improve his self-confidence. He and his male friends run around and around the house.
His gym teacher calls to say that Jacob is a pleasure to have in class, still has not brought in his shorts, let's not have a repeat of last year. Jacob stands before me gasping for breath. "I need to go to the doctor! When I exercise, I cannot breath! I'll never make the mile. I couldn't last year!"
Two weeks ago I took him to the doctor who assured him he was fine, his voice was just changing. I tell him I called the Doctor who said he should exercise more. Jacob hands me the phone with a bewildered expression. It is his Science Teacher, who asks/states that I'm Jacob's mother. I let him assume. No sense in dragging up the past. Mother is dead. The Sheriff shot her.
Jacob and I both knew that she would die young, just not that young. Like Spring, and first love, there is acceptance. Jacob is a pleasure to have in class, says Science Teacher. He never has a pencil. He owes two papers. Let's not have a repeat of last year. At bed time he informs me he has no shorts for gym tomorrow. Then Jacob suddenly remembers that tomorrow is Picture Day. I hound him to take a shower, brush his teeth. Wear your new psychedelic shirt. He wears the same thing over and over. A red hoodie with the cape pulled over his face.
"You have my blue eyes, and your mother's freckles," I tell him, feeling his sudden largeness. He says, "I have my father's brain." He smiles vacantly. Last year, he'd completely forgotten Picture Day. No picture of Jacob last year. He would have been wearing the same clothes. Next day, the sun, the yellow school bus, tall sunflowers at the end of the walk. Jacob emerges from the gang of teenagers let off the bus at the curve. He remembers to get the mail from the box; he even notices the FATE magazine when he hands it over. Asks, "Have they published you yet?"
He cleans his room, tapes his screen windows, organizes the clothes in his drawers and takes a bath. Brushes his teeth. I'm writing this story when Jacob appears in the same clothes he wore last year. "Remember that ice storm?" he starts. The reason he did not go to the school dance last year. The ice storm. He is cute. Round and earnest. And innocent. Stupid-- hey, he's male. Jacob is going to the dance, this year, and it is on Friday, between 7 and 11, and it cost $3 for single and $5 for couples.
"I'll give you ten dollars. Are you going with someone? A couple?"
"Well, they also have refreshments--pizza and stuff--"
"I'll give you twenty if her mother drives. You pay for the tickets."
He giggles. "Her name is Sam."
I meet Sam in person when she arrives with her tooth brush, a bottle of sauce she likes on everything she eats, and her little brother, Brandon, who announces that we are family. Sam is tiny, with long dark hair.
I have the capacity to actually become another person she confides.
I have the name for it, Our blue eyes meet. ôErie.ö [!gad]The French called the Erie, "Cat Nation." The name Erie is a shorter form of the Iroquoian word "Erielhonan" meaning literally "long , long tail" or “Nation du Chat” or "People of the Panther," referring to the native panther skins that my tribe wore ceremonially. The panther ((aka pumas, panthers, cougars, mountain lions) of the region is the Erie totem. A totem animal is one that is with your tribe for life, both in the physical and spiritual world, and acts as a guardian spirit.
We are the wild (free) Indians, us Erie: a matriarchy, notorious for shamanism, vision-quests, and doing to many hallucinatives. Erie possess an unusual set of psychological attributes: Intense psychic abilities. And a disposition for difficulty with authority.
Erie declare a sublime connection between all things and so does theoretical physics. The universe is not materialistic, but an interwoven pattern of energy systems where time can speed up and slow down, where the same elementary particle can appear in two places at the same time.
So can I.
I am Matriarch of the Erie. I connect all Erie.
I am an indigenous grandmother, Erie by birth and white by ancestry. On occasion, I spontaneously merge with another in total empathy, and actually become them for short periods. I hear what they hear, see what they see, feel their emotions; I think their thoughts, as well as my own. This capability to have out-of-body into-another-body experiences is commonplace to the Erie. The subjective experience of that entanglement is what we call mystical experience, or in general: Erie.
Like my Mama and her Mama before her, the Erie Matriarch connects all Erie. Erie mental structuring is not in linear form, but rather holographic: each piece contains the whole. Rather than one leader, the Erie act together through dynamic, cooperative processes of self-organization that demonstrates the possibilities of biological systems organizing on spiritual principles and cooperating on a global scale that mimics the dynamics of natural living systems. Each maintains its integrity as an independent being, yet is devoted to the whole, balancing the individual interest with the collective interest, as birds fly in a flock, through emergence.
Eriemargence, my tribe calls it.
For this article, I researched this phenomenon of being another, and found there is no name for it. I Googled: Be Another: Out of Body Experience (OBE), and Near Death Experience (NED). Astral projection. The closest description for what I experience when I "just drop in" comes from Harvard psychologist Timothy Leary, and his associate, the spiritual teacher Ram Dass, who promote LSD as mind-expanding and enlightening.
I call it ErieLeary: The Capacity to Be Another.
Once I was Julie Munson, a young murder victim. I told the cops where to find my body in the eerie swamp. I tried to tell them who murdered me, an Erie, but they convicted the wrong man. An Erie. And once, I died as an Erie woman, Dana LeAnne Cooper, caring for the children in the nursery of the Federal Building blown up by Timmy McVeigh an Erie. Because I have occupied others, thought their thoughts, felt their pain, died, I know we are one.
There is no separation of individuals. Immediate participation in the cosmos is available when we surrender individual identities: Psychic abilities and expanded awareness are a product of this understanding.
The Erie is in direct contact with God. Each individual is a sovereign nation; we each draw our power from a central Creator. We don't label, not even relationships. Us Erie, we just belong to each other. Everyone is our tribe.
The Erie motto is: Just take care of the children, who remember why we came here. And everything else balances. All children are Erie: Children exist on a higher plane: they are spirit in a mystical state of elevated awareness. Children have yet to form prisons of history, nations, judgments, and laws. Laws of science and math and values. Children realize magic. Magic, the ultimate outlaw, the terrorist of the cosmos: It's eerie. Magic is unexplainable, magic obeys no laws. And neither do the Erie.
April 19, 1995, 9:11am: I am driving along a lonely stretch of the Parkway that borders Lake Erie, listening to Ozzy's Dairy Of A Madman on the radio. Suddenly it changes to Pink Floyd: Darkside of the Moon. In the passenger seat is Mama, Matriarch of the Erie (at the time) a tiny, dark woman, like me. We both have an intense fierceness about us. We both love unconditionally. The echoing sound of thunder from a distant storm over the water reaches us, although here the sun is shining: It is an Erie Lake Effect.
Suddenly, spontaneously, at once: I am Dana LeAnne Cooper, 24, Director of The America's Kids Day-Care Center. I hear everything Dana, an Erie, hears, see everything her eyes see, think her thoughts, as well as my own. I feel her emotions, her pain, her joy. Her death.
I am confused. I do not know that I am Dana Cooper. I do not know where I am, certainty I don't know why. Nineteen babies surround "me" inside a cavernous room, the nursery on the second floor of the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma. The pinpoint of my existence, that which I, Dana, hold true is, love the children. Care for the kids.
Separately, I am wondering, How, a word significant to the Erie. How can I be in a place unknown to me? How am I inside a being that I have no connection with other than, love the children? An Alien abduction crosses my mind. It can't be real..
Perhaps I am an angel, I possess another being. Spiritually I comfort another by being them, so empathic to another, I am another. I am everyone. Erie.
I can't prove it scientifically or produce witness affidavits: I was Dana L .Cooper helping my son Christopher remove his jacket and thinking about the flight to San Diego I had to catch for the conference I must attend on Child Development..
At the same time, I am myself, future Matriarch of the Erie.
An explosion of violent light that is at once everywhere. The atmosphere is a vibration in sound, waves of energy. Consciously, I'm unaware of the explosion. Or I'm one second ahead of the bomb.
I think, both Dana and I, think: protect the children. Reclaim the children back into the egg, and the egg snug inside our womb. There are children all around, Then sound reaches a sonic boom. And I think, I can't. I can't protect them all. Instinctively, I put my own body, like a table, over a blond male child , my son, two year old Christopher, who has blond hair, brown eyes, like me. Dana LeAnne Cooper.
Although "I" do not know at this time who "I" am, nor the name of "my" son. It's eerie. It's impossible. Shock. The entire building reverberates, then in slow-motion, the structure crumples from under us. Everything is in black and white. I'm holding Christopher as if he was unborn. Falling! Chaos! Then crushing weight, severe pain on my back, my spine. Protect the children. My child is my last human thought.
I have nothing to compare it to. Neither Dana or I know what has happened to "us." Suddenly. Spontaneously. At once.
I become conscious that I exist on a higher plane: spirit in a mystical state of elevated awareness . I experience oceanic waves of joy as collectively-- the closest I can explain it is a cloud of dust-- rising above an expanse of ruble toward the light: Christopher, and the FBI and nineteen children. 168 souls.
And me. Erie.
One ascending soul, a consciousness, that sees from above, all the way to the storm over Lake Erie.
April 19, 1995 9:25 am.
I am dead.
At once, it is noon. The storm is over. I am myself again, confined inside a tiny body at the wheel of the Volkswagen, traveling along the desolate Parkway. I discover Mama has stuffed pillows behind my back, which aches like a raw nerve the length of my spine, like its been crushed by a great weight.
I was in a shamanic state of consciousness, gone only minutes in ordinary reality.
I am an Erie shama. Often, using physic abilities, in an altered state of consciousness, I enter supernatural realms or dimensions to bring guidance and obtain solutions to problems afflicting the soul. Alleviating traumas affecting the soul restores the physical body of the individual to balance and wholeness. I operate within the spiritual world, which in turn affects the human world. The restoration of balance results in the elimination of the ailment.
Mystical experience can be triggered by stress or the contemplation of great beauty; fasting, pain, childbirth, death, birth, drumming, dancing. Sexual orgasm. Schizophrenia. LSD. But I do not know the cause of ErieLeary.
Then at once, spontaneously, I understand the effect of EireLeary: Dana LeAnne Cooper. and I cause balance, we equal each other, and a third, something higher. The child. At our destination: Lost Nations, on the News I see in reality, the event I recently experienced as Dana LeAnne Cooper, an Erie: As a gestalt, I see the whole, right to Timothy McVeigh's death by execution. I witness to anyone who will listen and make a tape concerning the above.
Years later, when I was introduced to the internet, having written this account, it occurs to me, What If I Am Wrong? And I didn't really die as another. And my ability to be another is a dysfunction of my brain, a mental aberration. Maybe I'm crazy. I Googled Oklahoma City bombing and saw a picture of the building after it was bombed, and it was familiar to me. I'd died there with my son and seen it from the same perspective as I left my body and, mingled with others, Erie, rose above it.
Through a process of elimination, I found the website of Dana LeAnne Cooper. And for the first time, I saw my face, saw who I was during the missing time I am abducted from my "self".
I Google the child, two-year-old Christopher, who I brought forth and went forth combined. I know him: And there he is in a picture: round head, blond hair, brown eyes. Anthony Cooper I (the first) said he and his wife, Dana, adored Christopher, whose full name was Anthony C. Cooper II.
"He was a very happy child, very vibrant. 'Mr. Personality,'" Cooper said.
He said his wife, Dana, loved all children. "She was the most beautiful person I ever met. Everything she did, she did for the children."
The knowledge that all minds are interconnected, and love is gravity, was handed down from my Mama to her Mama before her. An Erie myth:That 's a story, a long one, the Erie tell.
My Mama's Mama, Matriarch of the Erie, birthed 13 children! And she only lost one: Anita. A tot, four years old, enfolded in her Mama's arms as the child died of convulsions. The story is told that Mama went with her baby to heaven. Rose from her physical body, went through the tunnel to the light, to peace., then suddenly, at once, Joy.
Most sorrowful, the Matriarch came back to physical reality. She had to. All those kids.
This certainly wasn't the first time I had momentarily become someone else. I am a psychic wound, open to all sorts of sensitive matters. I need protection from the moods and vibrations people project. I have to be careful in deciding which thoughts are my own. It is real easy for me to slip into becoming someone else.
Recently, I became my son, Dusty's, Aunt Debbie. At the beginning of the episode, I became horrified by my own thoughts; then I wondered, whose thoughts are these? And I'd been given to see the aunt and even who the aunt was talking to: Dusty's Probation Officer. Later, I told Dusty about what was said between the two of them, so he could divert a lot of trouble. The Probation Officer and Aunt Debbie never figured out how he had known about their private conversation.
That day, the sun cast the willow trees in strange relief, shadows like clawing desperation played the walls of the garage, I bent to pick up a stack of papers, letters and stuff, when I was suddenly overwhelmed by the idea that I'd just been given a death sentence. It exploded in my mind like a nuclear bomb. I'm going to die, soon, very soon. I'm going to die.
It wasn't a physical sensation-- I wasn't feeling sick or injured-- rather, words appeared in my mind as if someone was saying them to me: You are going to die. Then, suddenly-- at once!-- the filthy garage was overlaid with another view of a wood-paneled office, and a man in a white lab coat, a doctor. I saw both scenes at once; they were both real to me. Typically, my first thought was of my children. Who would take care of my kids?... No one could ever fill the void I would leave.
And then, if that wasn't strange enough, I had a comforting thought:of myself,-- Irv. (Irreverent) Maxine Bogus, I called myself then-- in connection to caring for my children when I, Mickie, was dead I thought of myself, as if I was outside myself-- I had a mental image of myself in a close relationship with Mickie's children.
There is a moment of confusion, and then I understand. Mickie is in a medical doctor's office, and so am I. Mickie had just been told that she was going to die. It is all so improbable-- Mickie had beaten breast cancer and was in good health, I thought-- And yet, . I am Mickey. thinking about my children, thinking that I -- Max Bogus-- will care for her children when she is gone. These thoughts and feelings didn't belong to me; dear God in heaven, they belonged to Mickie.
At once, I realize that the stack of papers, letters and stuff on the garage floor, I'd been reaching for, now, I held clinched in my hands out in front of me: there is a handwritten note from Mickie : Only the closing is visible: Goodbye My Friend, Mickie.
February 20, 2005, Hunter S. Thompson, gonzo journalist and an Erie,--1970, ran for sheriff of Pitkin County, Colorado, on a Freak Power Party platform of decriminalizing drugs, best known as the author of the non-fiction novel Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, portrayed by Johnny Depp, an Erie, in the film adaptation--. Hunter S. Thompson took his life with a self-inflicted bullet to his chemically enhanced brain.
My Mama, Erie Matriarch, died at the same moment: And I became the last great counterculture writer in the world. And Matriarch of the Erie.
My Mama was one with nature. She had a direct relationship with God. She loved unconditionally, without reservation. Especially the children. Mama knew that spiritual development and psychic abilities are connected. We are much more than the physical: Our minds extend beyond the brain, and our hearts go on forever.
At Mama's deathbed, ErieLeary. I tell you not as a matter of faith, but of experience, that I accompanied her to the afterlife dimension. A little dog ran to greet her from a forest by a mountain lake. A flat-bottom boat figures into Mama's heaven. Her brothers and sisters were there, her dear friends and her favorite aunt. David and Lorrie, both suicides, were there, playing hide and go seek. (All children play Peek-a-boo and every child is Erie.)
Home was at the end of a wandering path through the forest, where her Mama waited for her. in a garden (The only essence I didn't feel in her heaven was my dad.) When I experienced all the children on that higher plane, playing in the sunshine, I knew she'd made it to the place that Erie men call the Happy Hunting Ground; Erie female's call it the Garden.
I came back to my children and grandchildren here, in this place.
Sheldrake, whose theory of morphic fields and morphic resonance leads to a vision of a living, universe with its own inherent memory, is Erie.
An Erie, Carl Jung put forth the conceptual model of analytic psychiatry: the Collective Unconscious.: Erie. Jung created the word and the theory: synchronicity. Uncanny coincidence, the unlikely conjunction of events, startling serendipity. A glimpse into the underlying order of the universe. the "acausual connecting principle" that links mind and matter. This underlying connectedness manifests itself through meaningful coincidences that cannot be explained by cause and effect.
Such synchronizations occur when a strong need arises in the psyche of an individual. I feel there is a connection here with ErieLeary.
Scientists see a theoretical grounding for synchronicity in quantum physics, fractal geometry, and chaos theory. They are finding that at deeper levels, everything -- atoms, cells, molecules, plants, animals, people -- participates in a sensitive, flowing web of information. Physicists have shown, for example, that if two photons are separated, no matter by how far, a change in one creates a simultaneous change in the other. Just like the Erie.
The notion of a collective global consciousness is accepted truth within many cultures that honor the sacred feminine, but scoffed at by modern scientists. Women know, and male. researchers are finding solid data to support the conclusion that we’re all connected .
The Global Consciousness Project is an international collaboration of Erie:scientists, engineers, and artists that maintain a global network that has been collecting data continuously since 1998 from sensitive instruments which produce random sequences. Our purpose is to examine subtle correlations and structure in the data that seem to reflect the presence and activity of consciousness in the world. Looking at major global events including both tragedies and celebrations, we have learned that when millions of us share thoughts and emotions the GCP network shows correlations. This is evidence for interconnections at a deep, unconscious level. We are a collective. Interchangeable. We are global consciousness or oneness. Erie.
It's the first day of Fall. I am sixty, Jacob is thirteen (just). He is repeating seventh grade. He falls in love. With Sam. I am psychic, I know before he does. All the children know that the Erie Matriarch has an eye in the back of her head that records not only the naughty, but keeps them safe as well.
I am writing this at my computer, when spontaneously, at once, I am in a library surrounded by shelves of books, and large wooden tables. I'm just getting up from a chair, thinking math, and turn my attention to a female being, who stands before me, close. I am bigger,. She has long brown hair; she is gentle. The moment is transfixed. I love her. Her name is Sam.
Soon as Jacob arrives home from school, I ask him, "Do you know someone named Sam?"
He appears indifferent. "I know a lot of Sams."
I know. He loves Sam. For one moment, I was him, when he fell in love.
Jacob's hair hides his eyes, an avoidance to intimacy. The school councilor reports that he failed prosocial, which means his label is antisocial. Last year he was classified depressed. He lifts his tee shirt to show his round belly and announces that he is going to exercise to improve his self-confidence. He and his male friends run around and around the house.
His gym teacher calls to say that Jacob is a pleasure to have in class, still has not brought in his shorts, let's not have a repeat of last year. Jacob stands before me gasping for breath. "I need to go to the doctor! When I exercise, I cannot breath! I'll never make the mile. I couldn't last year!"
Two weeks ago I took him to the doctor who assured him he was fine, his voice was just changing. I tell him I called the Doctor who said he should exercise more. Jacob hands me the phone with a bewildered expression. It is his Science Teacher, who asks/states that I'm Jacob's mother. I let him assume. No sense in dragging up the past. Mother is dead. The Sheriff shot her.
Jacob and I both knew that she would die young, just not that young. Like Spring, and first love, there is acceptance. Jacob is a pleasure to have in class, says Science Teacher. He never has a pencil. He owes two papers. Let's not have a repeat of last year. At bed time he informs me he has no shorts for gym tomorrow. Then Jacob suddenly remembers that tomorrow is Picture Day. I hound him to take a shower, brush his teeth. Wear your new psychedelic shirt. He wears the same thing over and over. A red hoodie with the cape pulled over his face.
"You have my blue eyes, and your mother's freckles," I tell him, feeling his sudden largeness. He says, "I have my father's brain." He smiles vacantly. Last year, he'd completely forgotten Picture Day. No picture of Jacob last year. He would have been wearing the same clothes. Next day, the sun, the yellow school bus, tall sunflowers at the end of the walk. Jacob emerges from the gang of teenagers let off the bus at the curve. He remembers to get the mail from the box; he even notices the FATE magazine when he hands it over. Asks, "Have they published you yet?"
He cleans his room, tapes his screen windows, organizes the clothes in his drawers and takes a bath. Brushes his teeth. I'm writing this story when Jacob appears in the same clothes he wore last year. "Remember that ice storm?" he starts. The reason he did not go to the school dance last year. The ice storm. He is cute. Round and earnest. And innocent. Stupid-- hey, he's male. Jacob is going to the dance, this year, and it is on Friday, between 7 and 11, and it cost $3 for single and $5 for couples.
"I'll give you ten dollars. Are you going with someone? A couple?"
"Well, they also have refreshments--pizza and stuff--"
"I'll give you twenty if her mother drives. You pay for the tickets."
He giggles. "Her name is Sam."
I meet Sam in person when she arrives with her tooth brush, a bottle of sauce she likes on everything she eats, and her little brother, Brandon, who announces that we are family. Sam is tiny, with long dark hair.
I have the capacity to actually become another person she confides.
I have the name for it, Our blue eyes meet. ôErie.ö Comments (3)
ErieLeary: The capacity to be another
October 2, 2010 | 3 comments
Image Credit: Mariev Finnegan The French called the Erie, "Cat Nation." The name Erie is a shorter form of the Iroquoian word "Erielhonan" meaning literally "long , long tail" or “Nation du Chat” or "People of the Panther," referring to the native panther skins that my tribe wore ceremonially. The panther ((aka pumas, panthers, cougars, mountain lions) of the region is the Erie totem. A totem animal is one that is with your tribe for life, both in the physical and spiritual world, and acts as a guardian spirit.
We are the wild (free) Indians, us Erie: a matriarchy, notorious for shamanism, vision-quests, and doing to many hallucinatives. Erie possess an unusual set of psychological attributes: Intense psychic abilities. And a disposition for difficulty with authority.
Erie declare a sublime connection between all things and so does theoretical physics. The universe is not materialistic, but an interwoven pattern of energy systems where time can speed up and slow down, where the same elementary particle can appear in two places at the same time.
So can I.
I am Matriarch of the Erie. I connect all Erie.
I am an indigenous grandmother, Erie by birth and white by ancestry. On occasion, I spontaneously merge with another in total empathy, and actually become them for short periods. I hear what they hear, see what they see, feel their emotions; I think their thoughts, as well as my own. This capability to have out-of-body into-another-body experiences is commonplace to the Erie. The subjective experience of that entanglement is what we call mystical experience, or in general: Erie.
Like my Mama and her Mama before her, the Erie Matriarch connects all Erie. Erie mental structuring is not in linear form, but rather holographic: each piece contains the whole. Rather than one leader, the Erie act together through dynamic, cooperative processes of self-organization that demonstrates the possibilities of biological systems organizing on spiritual principles and cooperating on a global scale that mimics the dynamics of natural living systems. Each maintains its integrity as an independent being, yet is devoted to the whole, balancing the individual interest with the collective interest, as birds fly in a flock, through emergence.
Eriemargence, my tribe calls it.
For this article, I researched this phenomenon of being another, and found there is no name for it. I Googled: Be Another: Out of Body Experience (OBE), and Near Death Experience (NED). Astral projection. The closest description for what I experience when I "just drop in" comes from Harvard psychologist Timothy Leary, and his associate, the spiritual teacher Ram Dass, who promote LSD as mind-expanding and enlightening.
I call it ErieLeary: The Capacity to Be Another.
Once I was Julie Munson, a young murder victim. I told the cops where to find my body in the eerie swamp. I tried to tell them who murdered me, an Erie, but they convicted the wrong man. An Erie. And once, I died as an Erie woman, Dana LeAnne Cooper, caring for the children in the nursery of the Federal Building blown up by Timmy McVeigh an Erie. Because I have occupied others, thought their thoughts, felt their pain, died, I know we are one.
There is no separation of individuals. Immediate participation in the cosmos is available when we surrender individual identities: Psychic abilities and expanded awareness are a product of this understanding.
The Erie is in direct contact with God. Each individual is a sovereign nation; we each draw our power from a central Creator. We don't label, not even relationships. Us Erie, we just belong to each other. Everyone is our tribe.
The Erie motto is: Just take care of the children, who remember why we came here. And everything else balances. All children are Erie: Children exist on a higher plane: they are spirit in a mystical state of elevated awareness. Children have yet to form prisons of history, nations, judgments, and laws. Laws of science and math and values. Children realize magic. Magic, the ultimate outlaw, the terrorist of the cosmos: It's eerie. Magic is unexplainable, magic obeys no laws. And neither do the Erie.
April 19, 1995, 9:11am: I am driving along a lonely stretch of the Parkway that borders Lake Erie, listening to Ozzy's Dairy Of A Madman on the radio. Suddenly it changes to Pink Floyd: Darkside of the Moon. In the passenger seat is Mama, Matriarch of the Erie (at the time) a tiny, dark woman, like me. We both have an intense fierceness about us. We both love unconditionally. The echoing sound of thunder from a distant storm over the water reaches us, although here the sun is shining: It is an Erie Lake Effect.
Suddenly, spontaneously, at once: I am Dana LeAnne Cooper, 24, Director of The America's Kids Day-Care Center. I hear everything Dana, an Erie, hears, see everything her eyes see, think her thoughts, as well as my own. I feel her emotions, her pain, her joy. Her death.
I am confused. I do not know that I am Dana Cooper. I do not know where I am, certainty I don't know why. Nineteen babies surround "me" inside a cavernous room, the nursery on the second floor of the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma. The pinpoint of my existence, that which I, Dana, hold true is, love the children. Care for the kids.
Separately, I am wondering, How, a word significant to the Erie. How can I be in a place unknown to me? How am I inside a being that I have no connection with other than, love the children? An Alien abduction crosses my mind. It can't be real..
Perhaps I am an angel, I possess another being. Spiritually I comfort another by being them, so empathic to another, I am another. I am everyone. Erie.
I can't prove it scientifically or produce witness affidavits: I was Dana L .Cooper helping my son Christopher remove his jacket and thinking about the flight to San Diego I had to catch for the conference I must attend on Child Development..
At the same time, I am myself, future Matriarch of the Erie.
An explosion of violent light that is at once everywhere. The atmosphere is a vibration in sound, waves of energy. Consciously, I'm unaware of the explosion. Or I'm one second ahead of the bomb.
I think, both Dana and I, think: protect the children. Reclaim the children back into the egg, and the egg snug inside our womb. There are children all around, Then sound reaches a sonic boom. And I think, I can't. I can't protect them all. Instinctively, I put my own body, like a table, over a blond male child , my son, two year old Christopher, who has blond hair, brown eyes, like me. Dana LeAnne Cooper.
Although "I" do not know at this time who "I" am, nor the name of "my" son. It's eerie. It's impossible. Shock. The entire building reverberates, then in slow-motion, the structure crumples from under us. Everything is in black and white. I'm holding Christopher as if he was unborn. Falling! Chaos! Then crushing weight, severe pain on my back, my spine. Protect the children. My child is my last human thought.
I have nothing to compare it to. Neither Dana or I know what has happened to "us." Suddenly. Spontaneously. At once.
I become conscious that I exist on a higher plane: spirit in a mystical state of elevated awareness . I experience oceanic waves of joy as collectively-- the closest I can explain it is a cloud of dust-- rising above an expanse of ruble toward the light: Christopher, and the FBI and nineteen children. 168 souls.
And me. Erie.
One ascending soul, a consciousness, that sees from above, all the way to the storm over Lake Erie.
April 19, 1995 9:25 am.
I am dead.
At once, it is noon. The storm is over. I am myself again, confined inside a tiny body at the wheel of the Volkswagen, traveling along the desolate Parkway. I discover Mama has stuffed pillows behind my back, which aches like a raw nerve the length of my spine, like its been crushed by a great weight.
I was in a shamanic state of consciousness, gone only minutes in ordinary reality.
I am an Erie shama. Often, using physic abilities, in an altered state of consciousness, I enter supernatural realms or dimensions to bring guidance and obtain solutions to problems afflicting the soul. Alleviating traumas affecting the soul restores the physical body of the individual to balance and wholeness. I operate within the spiritual world, which in turn affects the human world. The restoration of balance results in the elimination of the ailment.
Mystical experience can be triggered by stress or the contemplation of great beauty; fasting, pain, childbirth, death, birth, drumming, dancing. Sexual orgasm. Schizophrenia. LSD. But I do not know the cause of ErieLeary.
Then at once, spontaneously, I understand the effect of EireLeary: Dana LeAnne Cooper. and I cause balance, we equal each other, and a third, something higher. The child. At our destination: Lost Nations, on the News I see in reality, the event I recently experienced as Dana LeAnne Cooper, an Erie: As a gestalt, I see the whole, right to Timothy McVeigh's death by execution. I witness to anyone who will listen and make a tape concerning the above.
Years later, when I was introduced to the internet, having written this account, it occurs to me, What If I Am Wrong? And I didn't really die as another. And my ability to be another is a dysfunction of my brain, a mental aberration. Maybe I'm crazy. I Googled Oklahoma City bombing and saw a picture of the building after it was bombed, and it was familiar to me. I'd died there with my son and seen it from the same perspective as I left my body and, mingled with others, Erie, rose above it.
Through a process of elimination, I found the website of Dana LeAnne Cooper. And for the first time, I saw my face, saw who I was during the missing time I am abducted from my "self".
I Google the child, two-year-old Christopher, who I brought forth and went forth combined. I know him: And there he is in a picture: round head, blond hair, brown eyes. Anthony Cooper I (the first) said he and his wife, Dana, adored Christopher, whose full name was Anthony C. Cooper II.
"He was a very happy child, very vibrant. 'Mr. Personality,'" Cooper said.
He said his wife, Dana, loved all children. "She was the most beautiful person I ever met. Everything she did, she did for the children."
The knowledge that all minds are interconnected, and love is gravity, was handed down from my Mama to her Mama before her. An Erie myth:That 's a story, a long one, the Erie tell.
My Mama's Mama, Matriarch of the Erie, birthed 13 children! And she only lost one: Anita. A tot, four years old, enfolded in her Mama's arms as the child died of convulsions. The story is told that Mama went with her baby to heaven. Rose from her physical body, went through the tunnel to the light, to peace., then suddenly, at once, Joy.
Most sorrowful, the Matriarch came back to physical reality. She had to. All those kids.
This certainly wasn't the first time I had momentarily become someone else. I am a psychic wound, open to all sorts of sensitive matters. I need protection from the moods and vibrations people project. I have to be careful in deciding which thoughts are my own. It is real easy for me to slip into becoming someone else.
Recently, I became my son, Dusty's, Aunt Debbie. At the beginning of the episode, I became horrified by my own thoughts; then I wondered, whose thoughts are these? And I'd been given to see the aunt and even who the aunt was talking to: Dusty's Probation Officer. Later, I told Dusty about what was said between the two of them, so he could divert a lot of trouble. The Probation Officer and Aunt Debbie never figured out how he had known about their private conversation.
That day, the sun cast the willow trees in strange relief, shadows like clawing desperation played the walls of the garage, I bent to pick up a stack of papers, letters and stuff, when I was suddenly overwhelmed by the idea that I'd just been given a death sentence. It exploded in my mind like a nuclear bomb. I'm going to die, soon, very soon. I'm going to die.
It wasn't a physical sensation-- I wasn't feeling sick or injured-- rather, words appeared in my mind as if someone was saying them to me: You are going to die. Then, suddenly-- at once!-- the filthy garage was overlaid with another view of a wood-paneled office, and a man in a white lab coat, a doctor. I saw both scenes at once; they were both real to me. Typically, my first thought was of my children. Who would take care of my kids?... No one could ever fill the void I would leave.
And then, if that wasn't strange enough, I had a comforting thought:of myself,-- Irv. (Irreverent) Maxine Bogus, I called myself then-- in connection to caring for my children when I, Mickie, was dead I thought of myself, as if I was outside myself-- I had a mental image of myself in a close relationship with Mickie's children.
There is a moment of confusion, and then I understand. Mickie is in a medical doctor's office, and so am I. Mickie had just been told that she was going to die. It is all so improbable-- Mickie had beaten breast cancer and was in good health, I thought-- And yet, . I am Mickey. thinking about my children, thinking that I -- Max Bogus-- will care for her children when she is gone. These thoughts and feelings didn't belong to me; dear God in heaven, they belonged to Mickie.
At once, I realize that the stack of papers, letters and stuff on the garage floor, I'd been reaching for, now, I held clinched in my hands out in front of me: there is a handwritten note from Mickie : Only the closing is visible: Goodbye My Friend, Mickie.
February 20, 2005, Hunter S. Thompson, gonzo journalist and an Erie,--1970, ran for sheriff of Pitkin County, Colorado, on a Freak Power Party platform of decriminalizing drugs, best known as the author of the non-fiction novel Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, portrayed by Johnny Depp, an Erie, in the film adaptation--. Hunter S. Thompson took his life with a self-inflicted bullet to his chemically enhanced brain.
My Mama, Erie Matriarch, died at the same moment: And I became the last great counterculture writer in the world. And Matriarch of the Erie.
My Mama was one with nature. She had a direct relationship with God. She loved unconditionally, without reservation. Especially the children. Mama knew that spiritual development and psychic abilities are connected. We are much more than the physical: Our minds extend beyond the brain, and our hearts go on forever.
At Mama's deathbed, ErieLeary. I tell you not as a matter of faith, but of experience, that I accompanied her to the afterlife dimension. A little dog ran to greet her from a forest by a mountain lake. A flat-bottom boat figures into Mama's heaven. Her brothers and sisters were there, her dear friends and her favorite aunt. David and Lorrie, both suicides, were there, playing hide and go seek. (All children play Peek-a-boo and every child is Erie.)
Home was at the end of a wandering path through the forest, where her Mama waited for her. in a garden (The only essence I didn't feel in her heaven was my dad.) When I experienced all the children on that higher plane, playing in the sunshine, I knew she'd made it to the place that Erie men call the Happy Hunting Ground; Erie female's call it the Garden.
I came back to my children and grandchildren here, in this place.
Sheldrake, whose theory of morphic fields and morphic resonance leads to a vision of a living, universe with its own inherent memory, is Erie.
An Erie, Carl Jung put forth the conceptual model of analytic psychiatry: the Collective Unconscious.: Erie. Jung created the word and the theory: synchronicity. Uncanny coincidence, the unlikely conjunction of events, startling serendipity. A glimpse into the underlying order of the universe. the "acausual connecting principle" that links mind and matter. This underlying connectedness manifests itself through meaningful coincidences that cannot be explained by cause and effect.
Such synchronizations occur when a strong need arises in the psyche of an individual. I feel there is a connection here with ErieLeary.
Scientists see a theoretical grounding for synchronicity in quantum physics, fractal geometry, and chaos theory. They are finding that at deeper levels, everything -- atoms, cells, molecules, plants, animals, people -- participates in a sensitive, flowing web of information. Physicists have shown, for example, that if two photons are separated, no matter by how far, a change in one creates a simultaneous change in the other. Just like the Erie.
The notion of a collective global consciousness is accepted truth within many cultures that honor the sacred feminine, but scoffed at by modern scientists. Women know, and male. researchers are finding solid data to support the conclusion that we’re all connected .
The Global Consciousness Project is an international collaboration of Erie:scientists, engineers, and artists that maintain a global network that has been collecting data continuously since 1998 from sensitive instruments which produce random sequences. Our purpose is to examine subtle correlations and structure in the data that seem to reflect the presence and activity of consciousness in the world. Looking at major global events including both tragedies and celebrations, we have learned that when millions of us share thoughts and emotions the GCP network shows correlations. This is evidence for interconnections at a deep, unconscious level. We are a collective. Interchangeable. We are global consciousness or oneness. Erie.
It's the first day of Fall. I am sixty, Jacob is thirteen (just). He is repeating seventh grade. He falls in love. With Sam. I am psychic, I know before he does. All the children know that the Erie Matriarch has an eye in the back of her head that records not only the naughty, but keeps them safe as well.
I am writing this at my computer, when spontaneously, at once, I am in a library surrounded by shelves of books, and large wooden tables. I'm just getting up from a chair, thinking math, and turn my attention to a female being, who stands before me, close. I am bigger,. She has long brown hair; she is gentle. The moment is transfixed. I love her. Her name is Sam.
Soon as Jacob arrives home from school, I ask him, "Do you know someone named Sam?"
He appears indifferent. "I know a lot of Sams."
I know. He loves Sam. For one moment, I was him, when he fell in love.
Jacob's hair hides his eyes, an avoidance to intimacy. The school councilor reports that he failed prosocial, which means his label is antisocial. Last year he was classified depressed. He lifts his tee shirt to show his round belly and announces that he is going to exercise to improve his self-confidence. He and his male friends run around and around the house.
His gym teacher calls to say that Jacob is a pleasure to have in class, still has not brought in his shorts, let's not have a repeat of last year. Jacob stands before me gasping for breath. "I need to go to the doctor! When I exercise, I cannot breath! I'll never make the mile. I couldn't last year!"
Two weeks ago I took him to the doctor who assured him he was fine, his voice was just changing. I tell him I called the Doctor who said he should exercise more. Jacob hands me the phone with a bewildered expression. It is his Science Teacher, who asks/states that I'm Jacob's mother. I let him assume. No sense in dragging up the past. Mother is dead. The Sheriff shot her.
Jacob and I both knew that she would die young, just not that young. Like Spring, and first love, there is acceptance. Jacob is a pleasure to have in class, says Science Teacher. He never has a pencil. He owes two papers. Let's not have a repeat of last year. At bed time he informs me he has no shorts for gym tomorrow. Then Jacob suddenly remembers that tomorrow is Picture Day. I hound him to take a shower, brush his teeth. Wear your new psychedelic shirt. He wears the same thing over and over. A red hoodie with the cape pulled over his face.
"You have my blue eyes, and your mother's freckles," I tell him, feeling his sudden largeness. He says, "I have my father's brain." He smiles vacantly. Last year, he'd completely forgotten Picture Day. No picture of Jacob last year. He would have been wearing the same clothes. Next day, the sun, the yellow school bus, tall sunflowers at the end of the walk. Jacob emerges from the gang of teenagers let off the bus at the curve. He remembers to get the mail from the box; he even notices the FATE magazine when he hands it over. Asks, "Have they published you yet?"
He cleans his room, tapes his screen windows, organizes the clothes in his drawers and takes a bath. Brushes his teeth. I'm writing this story when Jacob appears in the same clothes he wore last year. "Remember that ice storm?" he starts. The reason he did not go to the school dance last year. The ice storm. He is cute. Round and earnest. And innocent. Stupid-- hey, he's male. Jacob is going to the dance, this year, and it is on Friday, between 7 and 11, and it cost $3 for single and $5 for couples.
"I'll give you ten dollars. Are you going with someone? A couple?"
"Well, they also have refreshments--pizza and stuff--"
"I'll give you twenty if her mother drives. You pay for the tickets."
He giggles. "Her name is Sam."
I meet Sam in person when she arrives with her tooth brush, a bottle of sauce she likes on everything she eats, and her little brother, Brandon, who announces that we are family. Sam is tiny, with long dark hair.
I have the capacity to actually become another person she confides.
I have the name for it, Our blue eyes meet. ôErie.ö [!gad]The French called the Erie, "Cat Nation." The name Erie is a shorter form of the Iroquoian word "Erielhonan" meaning literally "long , long tail" or “Nation du Chat” or "People of the Panther," referring to the native panther skins that my tribe wore ceremonially. The panther ((aka pumas, panthers, cougars, mountain lions) of the region is the Erie totem. A totem animal is one that is with your tribe for life, both in the physical and spiritual world, and acts as a guardian spirit.
We are the wild (free) Indians, us Erie: a matriarchy, notorious for shamanism, vision-quests, and doing to many hallucinatives. Erie possess an unusual set of psychological attributes: Intense psychic abilities. And a disposition for difficulty with authority.
Erie declare a sublime connection between all things and so does theoretical physics. The universe is not materialistic, but an interwoven pattern of energy systems where time can speed up and slow down, where the same elementary particle can appear in two places at the same time.
So can I.
I am Matriarch of the Erie. I connect all Erie.
I am an indigenous grandmother, Erie by birth and white by ancestry. On occasion, I spontaneously merge with another in total empathy, and actually become them for short periods. I hear what they hear, see what they see, feel their emotions; I think their thoughts, as well as my own. This capability to have out-of-body into-another-body experiences is commonplace to the Erie. The subjective experience of that entanglement is what we call mystical experience, or in general: Erie.
Like my Mama and her Mama before her, the Erie Matriarch connects all Erie. Erie mental structuring is not in linear form, but rather holographic: each piece contains the whole. Rather than one leader, the Erie act together through dynamic, cooperative processes of self-organization that demonstrates the possibilities of biological systems organizing on spiritual principles and cooperating on a global scale that mimics the dynamics of natural living systems. Each maintains its integrity as an independent being, yet is devoted to the whole, balancing the individual interest with the collective interest, as birds fly in a flock, through emergence.
Eriemargence, my tribe calls it.
For this article, I researched this phenomenon of being another, and found there is no name for it. I Googled: Be Another: Out of Body Experience (OBE), and Near Death Experience (NED). Astral projection. The closest description for what I experience when I "just drop in" comes from Harvard psychologist Timothy Leary, and his associate, the spiritual teacher Ram Dass, who promote LSD as mind-expanding and enlightening.
I call it ErieLeary: The Capacity to Be Another.
Once I was Julie Munson, a young murder victim. I told the cops where to find my body in the eerie swamp. I tried to tell them who murdered me, an Erie, but they convicted the wrong man. An Erie. And once, I died as an Erie woman, Dana LeAnne Cooper, caring for the children in the nursery of the Federal Building blown up by Timmy McVeigh an Erie. Because I have occupied others, thought their thoughts, felt their pain, died, I know we are one.
There is no separation of individuals. Immediate participation in the cosmos is available when we surrender individual identities: Psychic abilities and expanded awareness are a product of this understanding.
The Erie is in direct contact with God. Each individual is a sovereign nation; we each draw our power from a central Creator. We don't label, not even relationships. Us Erie, we just belong to each other. Everyone is our tribe.
The Erie motto is: Just take care of the children, who remember why we came here. And everything else balances. All children are Erie: Children exist on a higher plane: they are spirit in a mystical state of elevated awareness. Children have yet to form prisons of history, nations, judgments, and laws. Laws of science and math and values. Children realize magic. Magic, the ultimate outlaw, the terrorist of the cosmos: It's eerie. Magic is unexplainable, magic obeys no laws. And neither do the Erie.
April 19, 1995, 9:11am: I am driving along a lonely stretch of the Parkway that borders Lake Erie, listening to Ozzy's Dairy Of A Madman on the radio. Suddenly it changes to Pink Floyd: Darkside of the Moon. In the passenger seat is Mama, Matriarch of the Erie (at the time) a tiny, dark woman, like me. We both have an intense fierceness about us. We both love unconditionally. The echoing sound of thunder from a distant storm over the water reaches us, although here the sun is shining: It is an Erie Lake Effect.
Suddenly, spontaneously, at once: I am Dana LeAnne Cooper, 24, Director of The America's Kids Day-Care Center. I hear everything Dana, an Erie, hears, see everything her eyes see, think her thoughts, as well as my own. I feel her emotions, her pain, her joy. Her death.
I am confused. I do not know that I am Dana Cooper. I do not know where I am, certainty I don't know why. Nineteen babies surround "me" inside a cavernous room, the nursery on the second floor of the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma. The pinpoint of my existence, that which I, Dana, hold true is, love the children. Care for the kids.
Separately, I am wondering, How, a word significant to the Erie. How can I be in a place unknown to me? How am I inside a being that I have no connection with other than, love the children? An Alien abduction crosses my mind. It can't be real..
Perhaps I am an angel, I possess another being. Spiritually I comfort another by being them, so empathic to another, I am another. I am everyone. Erie.
I can't prove it scientifically or produce witness affidavits: I was Dana L .Cooper helping my son Christopher remove his jacket and thinking about the flight to San Diego I had to catch for the conference I must attend on Child Development..
At the same time, I am myself, future Matriarch of the Erie.
An explosion of violent light that is at once everywhere. The atmosphere is a vibration in sound, waves of energy. Consciously, I'm unaware of the explosion. Or I'm one second ahead of the bomb.
I think, both Dana and I, think: protect the children. Reclaim the children back into the egg, and the egg snug inside our womb. There are children all around, Then sound reaches a sonic boom. And I think, I can't. I can't protect them all. Instinctively, I put my own body, like a table, over a blond male child , my son, two year old Christopher, who has blond hair, brown eyes, like me. Dana LeAnne Cooper.
Although "I" do not know at this time who "I" am, nor the name of "my" son. It's eerie. It's impossible. Shock. The entire building reverberates, then in slow-motion, the structure crumples from under us. Everything is in black and white. I'm holding Christopher as if he was unborn. Falling! Chaos! Then crushing weight, severe pain on my back, my spine. Protect the children. My child is my last human thought.
I have nothing to compare it to. Neither Dana or I know what has happened to "us." Suddenly. Spontaneously. At once.
I become conscious that I exist on a higher plane: spirit in a mystical state of elevated awareness . I experience oceanic waves of joy as collectively-- the closest I can explain it is a cloud of dust-- rising above an expanse of ruble toward the light: Christopher, and the FBI and nineteen children. 168 souls.
And me. Erie.
One ascending soul, a consciousness, that sees from above, all the way to the storm over Lake Erie.
April 19, 1995 9:25 am.
I am dead.
At once, it is noon. The storm is over. I am myself again, confined inside a tiny body at the wheel of the Volkswagen, traveling along the desolate Parkway. I discover Mama has stuffed pillows behind my back, which aches like a raw nerve the length of my spine, like its been crushed by a great weight.
I was in a shamanic state of consciousness, gone only minutes in ordinary reality.
I am an Erie shama. Often, using physic abilities, in an altered state of consciousness, I enter supernatural realms or dimensions to bring guidance and obtain solutions to problems afflicting the soul. Alleviating traumas affecting the soul restores the physical body of the individual to balance and wholeness. I operate within the spiritual world, which in turn affects the human world. The restoration of balance results in the elimination of the ailment.
Mystical experience can be triggered by stress or the contemplation of great beauty; fasting, pain, childbirth, death, birth, drumming, dancing. Sexual orgasm. Schizophrenia. LSD. But I do not know the cause of ErieLeary.
Then at once, spontaneously, I understand the effect of EireLeary: Dana LeAnne Cooper. and I cause balance, we equal each other, and a third, something higher. The child. At our destination: Lost Nations, on the News I see in reality, the event I recently experienced as Dana LeAnne Cooper, an Erie: As a gestalt, I see the whole, right to Timothy McVeigh's death by execution. I witness to anyone who will listen and make a tape concerning the above.
Years later, when I was introduced to the internet, having written this account, it occurs to me, What If I Am Wrong? And I didn't really die as another. And my ability to be another is a dysfunction of my brain, a mental aberration. Maybe I'm crazy. I Googled Oklahoma City bombing and saw a picture of the building after it was bombed, and it was familiar to me. I'd died there with my son and seen it from the same perspective as I left my body and, mingled with others, Erie, rose above it.
Through a process of elimination, I found the website of Dana LeAnne Cooper. And for the first time, I saw my face, saw who I was during the missing time I am abducted from my "self".
I Google the child, two-year-old Christopher, who I brought forth and went forth combined. I know him: And there he is in a picture: round head, blond hair, brown eyes. Anthony Cooper I (the first) said he and his wife, Dana, adored Christopher, whose full name was Anthony C. Cooper II.
"He was a very happy child, very vibrant. 'Mr. Personality,'" Cooper said.
He said his wife, Dana, loved all children. "She was the most beautiful person I ever met. Everything she did, she did for the children."
The knowledge that all minds are interconnected, and love is gravity, was handed down from my Mama to her Mama before her. An Erie myth:That 's a story, a long one, the Erie tell.
My Mama's Mama, Matriarch of the Erie, birthed 13 children! And she only lost one: Anita. A tot, four years old, enfolded in her Mama's arms as the child died of convulsions. The story is told that Mama went with her baby to heaven. Rose from her physical body, went through the tunnel to the light, to peace., then suddenly, at once, Joy.
Most sorrowful, the Matriarch came back to physical reality. She had to. All those kids.
This certainly wasn't the first time I had momentarily become someone else. I am a psychic wound, open to all sorts of sensitive matters. I need protection from the moods and vibrations people project. I have to be careful in deciding which thoughts are my own. It is real easy for me to slip into becoming someone else.
Recently, I became my son, Dusty's, Aunt Debbie. At the beginning of the episode, I became horrified by my own thoughts; then I wondered, whose thoughts are these? And I'd been given to see the aunt and even who the aunt was talking to: Dusty's Probation Officer. Later, I told Dusty about what was said between the two of them, so he could divert a lot of trouble. The Probation Officer and Aunt Debbie never figured out how he had known about their private conversation.
That day, the sun cast the willow trees in strange relief, shadows like clawing desperation played the walls of the garage, I bent to pick up a stack of papers, letters and stuff, when I was suddenly overwhelmed by the idea that I'd just been given a death sentence. It exploded in my mind like a nuclear bomb. I'm going to die, soon, very soon. I'm going to die.
It wasn't a physical sensation-- I wasn't feeling sick or injured-- rather, words appeared in my mind as if someone was saying them to me: You are going to die. Then, suddenly-- at once!-- the filthy garage was overlaid with another view of a wood-paneled office, and a man in a white lab coat, a doctor. I saw both scenes at once; they were both real to me. Typically, my first thought was of my children. Who would take care of my kids?... No one could ever fill the void I would leave.
And then, if that wasn't strange enough, I had a comforting thought:of myself,-- Irv. (Irreverent) Maxine Bogus, I called myself then-- in connection to caring for my children when I, Mickie, was dead I thought of myself, as if I was outside myself-- I had a mental image of myself in a close relationship with Mickie's children.
There is a moment of confusion, and then I understand. Mickie is in a medical doctor's office, and so am I. Mickie had just been told that she was going to die. It is all so improbable-- Mickie had beaten breast cancer and was in good health, I thought-- And yet, . I am Mickey. thinking about my children, thinking that I -- Max Bogus-- will care for her children when she is gone. These thoughts and feelings didn't belong to me; dear God in heaven, they belonged to Mickie.
At once, I realize that the stack of papers, letters and stuff on the garage floor, I'd been reaching for, now, I held clinched in my hands out in front of me: there is a handwritten note from Mickie : Only the closing is visible: Goodbye My Friend, Mickie.
February 20, 2005, Hunter S. Thompson, gonzo journalist and an Erie,--1970, ran for sheriff of Pitkin County, Colorado, on a Freak Power Party platform of decriminalizing drugs, best known as the author of the non-fiction novel Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, portrayed by Johnny Depp, an Erie, in the film adaptation--. Hunter S. Thompson took his life with a self-inflicted bullet to his chemically enhanced brain.
My Mama, Erie Matriarch, died at the same moment: And I became the last great counterculture writer in the world. And Matriarch of the Erie.
My Mama was one with nature. She had a direct relationship with God. She loved unconditionally, without reservation. Especially the children. Mama knew that spiritual development and psychic abilities are connected. We are much more than the physical: Our minds extend beyond the brain, and our hearts go on forever.
At Mama's deathbed, ErieLeary. I tell you not as a matter of faith, but of experience, that I accompanied her to the afterlife dimension. A little dog ran to greet her from a forest by a mountain lake. A flat-bottom boat figures into Mama's heaven. Her brothers and sisters were there, her dear friends and her favorite aunt. David and Lorrie, both suicides, were there, playing hide and go seek. (All children play Peek-a-boo and every child is Erie.)
Home was at the end of a wandering path through the forest, where her Mama waited for her. in a garden (The only essence I didn't feel in her heaven was my dad.) When I experienced all the children on that higher plane, playing in the sunshine, I knew she'd made it to the place that Erie men call the Happy Hunting Ground; Erie female's call it the Garden.
I came back to my children and grandchildren here, in this place.
Sheldrake, whose theory of morphic fields and morphic resonance leads to a vision of a living, universe with its own inherent memory, is Erie.
An Erie, Carl Jung put forth the conceptual model of analytic psychiatry: the Collective Unconscious.: Erie. Jung created the word and the theory: synchronicity. Uncanny coincidence, the unlikely conjunction of events, startling serendipity. A glimpse into the underlying order of the universe. the "acausual connecting principle" that links mind and matter. This underlying connectedness manifests itself through meaningful coincidences that cannot be explained by cause and effect.
Such synchronizations occur when a strong need arises in the psyche of an individual. I feel there is a connection here with ErieLeary.
Scientists see a theoretical grounding for synchronicity in quantum physics, fractal geometry, and chaos theory. They are finding that at deeper levels, everything -- atoms, cells, molecules, plants, animals, people -- participates in a sensitive, flowing web of information. Physicists have shown, for example, that if two photons are separated, no matter by how far, a change in one creates a simultaneous change in the other. Just like the Erie.
The notion of a collective global consciousness is accepted truth within many cultures that honor the sacred feminine, but scoffed at by modern scientists. Women know, and male. researchers are finding solid data to support the conclusion that we’re all connected .
The Global Consciousness Project is an international collaboration of Erie:scientists, engineers, and artists that maintain a global network that has been collecting data continuously since 1998 from sensitive instruments which produce random sequences. Our purpose is to examine subtle correlations and structure in the data that seem to reflect the presence and activity of consciousness in the world. Looking at major global events including both tragedies and celebrations, we have learned that when millions of us share thoughts and emotions the GCP network shows correlations. This is evidence for interconnections at a deep, unconscious level. We are a collective. Interchangeable. We are global consciousness or oneness. Erie.
It's the first day of Fall. I am sixty, Jacob is thirteen (just). He is repeating seventh grade. He falls in love. With Sam. I am psychic, I know before he does. All the children know that the Erie Matriarch has an eye in the back of her head that records not only the naughty, but keeps them safe as well.
I am writing this at my computer, when spontaneously, at once, I am in a library surrounded by shelves of books, and large wooden tables. I'm just getting up from a chair, thinking math, and turn my attention to a female being, who stands before me, close. I am bigger,. She has long brown hair; she is gentle. The moment is transfixed. I love her. Her name is Sam.
Soon as Jacob arrives home from school, I ask him, "Do you know someone named Sam?"
He appears indifferent. "I know a lot of Sams."
I know. He loves Sam. For one moment, I was him, when he fell in love.
Jacob's hair hides his eyes, an avoidance to intimacy. The school councilor reports that he failed prosocial, which means his label is antisocial. Last year he was classified depressed. He lifts his tee shirt to show his round belly and announces that he is going to exercise to improve his self-confidence. He and his male friends run around and around the house.
His gym teacher calls to say that Jacob is a pleasure to have in class, still has not brought in his shorts, let's not have a repeat of last year. Jacob stands before me gasping for breath. "I need to go to the doctor! When I exercise, I cannot breath! I'll never make the mile. I couldn't last year!"
Two weeks ago I took him to the doctor who assured him he was fine, his voice was just changing. I tell him I called the Doctor who said he should exercise more. Jacob hands me the phone with a bewildered expression. It is his Science Teacher, who asks/states that I'm Jacob's mother. I let him assume. No sense in dragging up the past. Mother is dead. The Sheriff shot her.
Jacob and I both knew that she would die young, just not that young. Like Spring, and first love, there is acceptance. Jacob is a pleasure to have in class, says Science Teacher. He never has a pencil. He owes two papers. Let's not have a repeat of last year. At bed time he informs me he has no shorts for gym tomorrow. Then Jacob suddenly remembers that tomorrow is Picture Day. I hound him to take a shower, brush his teeth. Wear your new psychedelic shirt. He wears the same thing over and over. A red hoodie with the cape pulled over his face.
"You have my blue eyes, and your mother's freckles," I tell him, feeling his sudden largeness. He says, "I have my father's brain." He smiles vacantly. Last year, he'd completely forgotten Picture Day. No picture of Jacob last year. He would have been wearing the same clothes. Next day, the sun, the yellow school bus, tall sunflowers at the end of the walk. Jacob emerges from the gang of teenagers let off the bus at the curve. He remembers to get the mail from the box; he even notices the FATE magazine when he hands it over. Asks, "Have they published you yet?"
He cleans his room, tapes his screen windows, organizes the clothes in his drawers and takes a bath. Brushes his teeth. I'm writing this story when Jacob appears in the same clothes he wore last year. "Remember that ice storm?" he starts. The reason he did not go to the school dance last year. The ice storm. He is cute. Round and earnest. And innocent. Stupid-- hey, he's male. Jacob is going to the dance, this year, and it is on Friday, between 7 and 11, and it cost $3 for single and $5 for couples.
"I'll give you ten dollars. Are you going with someone? A couple?"
"Well, they also have refreshments--pizza and stuff--"
"I'll give you twenty if her mother drives. You pay for the tickets."
He giggles. "Her name is Sam."
I meet Sam in person when she arrives with her tooth brush, a bottle of sauce she likes on everything she eats, and her little brother, Brandon, who announces that we are family. Sam is tiny, with long dark hair.
I have the capacity to actually become another person she confides.
I have the name for it, Our blue eyes meet. ôErie.ö Comments (3)
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