A CONVERSATION OVER SAUCERS As Dennis came into the camp that afternoon,
 he hailed me excitedly.
 He thrust his notes into my hands, and I read what you, dear reader, have just also read.
 But I felt the themes of the strange place we had come to crystallize.
 I felt again the sense of something in the sky, calmly omniscient but closely observing
 us.
 I returned to the beginning and read it all over again.
 I had no basis whatsoever to judge what I was reading.
 My brother's scientific speculation seemed to have acquired a life of its own.
 He was like a great all-knowing computer; indeed, later this theme would emerge even
 more explicitly.
 I listened to him explain his idea.
 He was very deeply into it.
 Ideas were coming out of him like spaghetti out of a rasher, thousands of words about
 all these strange things.
 He said, "You know what we could do?" and then he laid down the rap which is now enshrined
 as the central doctrine of the opus.
 He called it hypercarbulation, something that you can do using different kinds of vocal
 sounds.
 For instance, if you pluck a string, it will sound in the octave in which it is struck,
 but it will also sound in octaves above and below its key.
 It has what are called harmonic overtones.
 If you strike the chord and then quench it, you can hear the harmonic overtones.
 It was something which had fascinated Pythagoras.
 Dennis pointed out to me that one can use two sounds to cancel a sound if they are exactly
 the same in relation to each other.
 This same principle can be used to still molecular motion.
 In very localized areas, one can produce low temperatures with audio cancellation.
 Dennis felt he had figured out a way to do something using psychoactive compounds, psilocybin,
 the tryptamine complex, and then the harmala compounds, the beta-carbolines which occur
 in Yahé.
 He said that if you look at the molecules of the progressive cyclosizing of the beta-carboline
 family, what you find is that the electron spin resonance of these molecules moving from
 one to the other is in fact a harmonic overtone.
 This is interesting because Claudio Naranjo reported that 50% of his subjects that took
 harmine in Chile reported a buzzing in the head.
 It was not associated with other kinds of psychedelics.
 It seemed to be uniquely associated with these harmine compounds.
 The Jivaro shaman also reported buzzing in the head.
 Dennis' idea was that when one takes Yahé, when it is metabolizing through one's neural
 matrix in the brain, a sound is heard.
 This is a complicated theory about the enzyme dynamics by which one is able to hear this
 sound, but that is the gist of it.
 Not all compounds have an electron spin resonance.
 They have to have a free ring.
 All compounds with a free ring will resonate.
 The hallucinogens we were interested in have free rings, and DNA is also able to resonate.
 It is a phenomenon of molecular structure.
 During the process of metabolizing the alkaloids in Yahé, a relationship is formed with the
 tryptophan metabolites in the brain.
 A sound is heard that is characteristic of the interaction.
 Once the sound is heard, it can be imitated.
 What you have is a vocal sound.
 Dennis insisted he could do things with this sound.
 He said that he would be in effect emitting an amplified spin resonance, an amplified ESR
 modulated sound that he would hear coming from these compounds in his brain.
 Making this sound would set up a series of harmonic vibrations above and below it in
 other compounds also metabolizing in the brain.
 Now from this theoretical basis he took flight.
 When he cancels the sound, if he is in the correct relationship to the molecule he is
 directing sound at, its temperature will drop.
 Of many millions of this kind of molecules struck by this sound, a few dozen or hundreds
 will be in the correct geometrical relationship, and they will be frozen out, their molecular
 motion stilled nearly instantly.
 Now a peculiar property of low temperatures is that very high bonding energies appear.
 A molecule close to absolute zero will bond to anything.
 It forces its way into the structure.
 The harmine molecule, which is analogous to a little bell, gives a bell-like chiming sound.
 If we come on it right and cancel it, there is neural DNA active in the brain.
 The electrical configuration of harmine is enough like the molecular configuration of
 adenine, one of the bases in DNA, that it will replace it.
 It will bond through into the chain, and when it is bonded in it has a ring.
 It's the same size as adenine, but it's slightly more complicated.
 It is a free resonance ring.
 He paused and then gathered his thoughts to continue.
 Now the normal ESR of harmine is a simple signal, but the electron spin configuration
 of DNA is very, very complicated.
 It's a broad band.
 When the harmine goes in there, it will cease to broadcast its own resonation, because it
 will have become very tightly bonded into the over-structure of the macromolecule.
 It will instead begin to broadcast the ENR resonation of the DNA.
 That's it.
 If you have followed this this far, the rest is easy.
 DNA is what you are.
 The physical form is just a lot of juicily expressed reflections of enzymes set in motion
 and coded by DNA.
 Neural DNA is known to be non-metabolizing.
 It does not go away.
 The meat on your body comes and goes every year.
 Your skeleton is not the same one you had five years ago.
 But neural DNA is an exception.
 It is there for all time.
 You come into the world with it.
 It records.
 It's like a storage place for memory.
 Not only our personal memory, but any entity or organism which has DNA in it.
 There is a way to find a connection to it.
 This is it.
 You put a radio into the DNA and this ESR resonation will begin to flood your system
 because the bond will be permanent.
 There will be no way to disrupt it.
 It will tell you everything.
 Everything that can be known in the world of space and time because it contains your
 own and everyone else's records.
 We are all connected through this magical substance which is what makes life possible
 and which causes it to take on its myriad forms.
 All DNA is the same.
 It is the settings that are different.
 You get butterflies, mastodons, or human beings depending on the settings.
 Or so you say, was my noncommittal reply.
 For the moment I simply did not know what to say.
 He stared at me, clearly expecting more.
 I believed in the infinite self-transforming power of the human mind and species and I
 could suppose that there are parallel worlds and alternative dimensions.
 I could imagine any number of science fiction possibilities, provided I was not asked to
 believe that I was about to be personally present at their discovery or unleashing.
 But this is what he was saying, that we had somehow stumbled upon or been led to the trigger
 experience in the human world that would transform the ontological basis of reality so that the
 mind and matter would become the same thing and reflect the human will perfectly.
 How could anyone conceive of such a thing?
 We had come to La Charrera with a belief that if life and mind are possible, then the mystery
 of the universe might well be inexhaustible.
 Something very passive yet ever-present was there elaborating these ideas in our minds,
 something that we had thought of for some days as the mushroom.
 We talked several hours about these ideas and what finally emerged was the idea that
 we needed a test, or at least Dennis maintained that a partial test of this idea could be
 undertaken to convince me.
 He thought that as the superconducting state became voice-stabilized, there should be a
 marked lowering of temperature in the immediate area.
 In our talking we had left the area of the hut and drifted down the forest path.
 It would be possible to attempt to generate the effect of coolness right there on the
 spot, he supposed.
 We seated ourselves on the sandy path facing each other with the afternoon sun on both
 of us.
 After a couple of preliminary low mechanical buzzes, Dennis made a sound very similar to
 the sound that he had unleashed in the Knoll house three days before.
 This sound had an extremely peculiar quality and as it rose in intensity, I looked down
 at the hairs on my arms and saw them rise as goose flesh formed and a wave of intense
 shivering swept over me.
 I yelled to him to stop.
 He stopped instantly and seemed much drained by the effort.
 I was quite disoriented.
 I frankly could not tell whether a real wave of very cold air had swept over me or whether
 the particular sound had somehow made my body react as though it were being exposed to cold
 air.
 It was not lost on me that if the effect had truly generated a blast of cold air, then
 it had violated the known laws of physics.
 No, that was not lost on me.
 But I did not care to experiment further.
 The whole thing had an eerie aura about it and if the effect was real, who knew what
 could come of pushing it too far.
 I was more confused than ever by my magmatic brother and his burgeoning ideas and abilities.
 The whole thing seemed absurd and yet very compelling, like a hypnotic game into which
 one becomes absorbed in spite of oneself.
 We returned to our camp and mentioned to all present that Dennis had generated the wave
 of cold air that he had predicted from the theory, but it was all sufficiently ambiguous
 that no one felt drawn to comment.
 It was already quite clear that two camps were emerging, one that wished no further
 part in these matters, whatever their validity, and one reflecting our own opinion that cautious
 experiment was indicated.
 A commonality of language was breaking down.
 After dinner, Vanessa and Dave returned to the Riverside house and the three of us settled
 into our first night in the forest since arriving at La Charrera.
 Dennis was in a state of continual activity, amplifying his ideas and trying out new wrinkles
 on us.
 He retired into a world of very intense activity.
 He wrote his ideas over and over, the steps to do it and the theory of why it should work.
 He was spending lots of time alone writing, or he would come back and talk to us.
 He was on to something very strange.
 His word pictures caused reality to shimmer and wrinkle at the edges.
 He was really in touch with this bubbling obsidian fourth-dimensional fluid that we
 were going to bond into a usable tool and end history and go to the stars.
 [Music]
 My attitude was, "Fine, we'll try it."
 The atmosphere was drenched with the bizarre.
 Now we had arrived at the center of the Amazon and we could feel something in the sky watching.
 We were happy heads trying to explore one last fairy tale so we could be rationalists
 forever.
 And now we had come out here to encounter something enormous, something alive and very
 old and very strange, something peculiar in the extreme.
 I was quite uncreative in this period.
 I was taking the mushroom.
 I was ecstatic all the time.
 I would simply sit and listen to Dennis rave.
 It went beyond anything anyone I knew had ever dreamed of.
 [Music]
 We had set the evening of March 4th as the day we would test the full theory of the harmine-DNA
 bond.
 I noted with unusual satisfaction that this day corresponded with an idiotic pun that
 had stuck with me since earliest childhood.
 What day of the year is a command?
 Answer March 4th.
 How fitting then, I ranted and raved.
 How fitting that we will attempt to concretize the soul on that day.
 Absurdly, the coincidence of the date with that pun seemed part of a universal secret
 plan unraveling to bring us to the history culminating moment when man would march into
 a higher dimension.
 My own thoughts seemed to me to be nothing like the super-scientific theory formation
 that my brother was involved in.
 I was baffled by much of what was going on.
 I amused myself constructing a pipe out of the strange heart-shaped fruits that we had
 otherwise given up as inedible.
 From one of those fruits and a hollow reed and a bit of river clay, I constructed a water
 pipe that gave me great satisfaction.
 While the jargon of the ESR biophysicist whirled around me, I contemplated what I had achieved
 with two plants and a bit of mud.
 It seemed to me a marvel of ingenuity, and because the fruit was so strange, there was
 something about it vaguely unearthly.
 This pipe might have been fashioned from one of the fruits that gentle Weena offered the
 time traveler in Welles' epic.
 It was a weird and haunting object, and when it was smoked, the bubbling of the water beneath
 the thick rind sounded very like the beating of some great mammalian heart.
 Even Dennis paused to admire this pipe, and we determined that it would be used in our
 experiment when the moment came to smoke some of the Banisteriopsis capi bark to boost the
 harming levels in our blood.
 We were operating in a world where scientific method, ritual, and participation mystique
 were inseparably intertwined, inseparably because our own minds and bodies were to be
 the retorts of the psychoalchemical transformation that we were experimenting with.
 That day, March 3rd, we all pulled roots and stacked them in the sun.
 It seemed the most satisfying activity imaginable.
 Nothing could have seemed more right.
 That evening we made a tape of our intentions, but unfortunately our tape recorder was not
 in good working order and that tape has proven impossible to salvage.
 It is a loss to be regretted, since the emotional content of what we were experiencing would
 come across most clearly from our own words.
 The taping session ranged over a number of themes.
 Hypercarbolation, for such we had named the process of altering the neural DNA and changing
 a human being into an eternal hyperdimensional being.
 Hypercarbolation, for such we had named the process of altering the neural DNA and changing
 humanity into an eternal hyperdimensional being.
 Hypercarbolation, for such we had named the process of altering the neural DNA and changing
 humanity into an eternal hyperdimensional being.
 Hypercarbolation, for such we had named the process of altering the neural DNA and changing
 man into an eternal hyperdimensional being.
 It was a process that we imagined associated with sexual generation.
 We spoke of it as the birth of an idea, in a sense whose literalness is not easy to convey
 to minds that have not brushed with schizophrenia.
 We hoped that mind, driven by will to the good, could enter into the process of generation
 and guide it toward the production of the imagination-modulated resurrection body so
 dear to Origin and modern UFO enthusiasts.
 The dead.
 We believed that hypercarbolation was to be the shamanic defeat of death, that those doorways
 the dead enter through daily were finally to be thrown open to a hypercarbolated humanity
 that would then have freedom of movement to and from an eternity in which the species
 was a living reality.
 The presence of our dead mother, or Carl Jung, Newton and Bruno, Pythagoras and Heraclitus,
 was an overwhelming and all-inclusive intuition that we shared and could not ignore.
 There seemed to be an ideological lineage whose task was the shattering of the historical
 continuum through the generation of the living lapis of hypercarbolated humanity.
 All these visionary thinkers had worked on their part of this project.
 Now as the secret work of human history, the generation of atoms cosmic body lost since
 paradise neared completion, these shades stirred and pressed near to our Amazonian campsite
 as we became the human atoms critical to the inception of the transformation of man into
 a galaxy roving bodhisattva, the culmination and quintessence of the highest aspirations
 of spawning star-coveting humanity.
 The psychologist will recognize this as a description of messianic ego inflation.
 Such it is, but we felt these things as anyone would feel them if they truly believed themselves
 to be in the position that we believed ourselves to be in.
 We wondered why, why us?
 To such questions the mushroom spoke in my mind without hesitation, "Because you have
 diligently sought the good and because you trusted no human being more than yourself."
 The emotional impact of these sorts of exchanges was intense beyond anything I have ever experienced.
 I felt humbly grateful to the point of tears.
 I felt exalted.
 We wanted to salvage paradise for humanity and we thanked all gods and nature that our
 eccentric quest out of all the lives and paths being lived on the earth was placed by fate
 to be so near the cutting edge.
 Where the elder shamanism had failed we would succeed.
 The rescue of the timeless pearl of human immortality from the well of death would,
 through the act of hypercarbulation, become a living reality for every person who had
 ever lived.
 All the pain and suffering and war and desperation would somehow be replayed and made right through
 the intercession of the mystery of higher dimensions and backward flowing time.
 The wave of understanding that had been gaining since the 27th of January was now about to
 crest.
 The wave was so strong as to be nearly visible in everything around us.
 The lenticular shape of the approaching lapis seemed to be everywhere that I looked.
 Every shape and form around me was pregnant with its unearthly opalescent depths.
 Before our small party of fellow explorers, Dennis and I wept and exulted, addressing
 the living and the dead with equal candor, saying things that should have been said years
 before and things that could not have even been imagined only hours before.
 We knew that we were behaving bizarrely and were highly emotional, but the intensifying
 wave of understanding that had gathered itself around us explained all of this.
 It was we were assured and assured each other, because ahead of us in time the experimental
 attempt at hypercarbulation had already succeeded.
 So many lines of probable fate were sweeping toward the staggering moment of culmination
 that its inevitability was already sending shockwaves and distorted images of the millennium
 crashing backwards through time.
 Dennis recently reminded me that I assured all present that so inevitable had our experiment
 become that if we did not tend the fire and brew the Yahé, then these things would be
 done by themselves.
 Dry wood rustling out of the forest, gathering itself into the ring of firestones and there
 to burst into flames, the Yahé spontaneously shredding and immersing itself in the waiting
 pot of water.
 At the time, this was an easy extrapolation from the hurricane of shamanic gnosis and
 synchronistic coincidences that was both confirming our success to come and at the same time distorting
 the very ontological basis of our reality as the inevitable choro of time and necessity
 narrowed around us and the black hole of the hypercarbulation attempt strengthened its
 grip on us and drew us with ever increasing inevitability toward the singularity in time
 where an unimaginable transformation awaited all on our planet.
 A transformation so beyond rational understanding that its scattered and distorted reflections
 were mysteries in the keeping of reasoned flaunting religions that have haunted human
 thinking since the dimmest beginnings.
 Running through my mind then for the first time in years was a childhood carol long forgotten,
 "O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie!
 Of thy deep and dreamless sleep the silent stars go by, yet in thy dark streets shineth
 the everlasting light.
 The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight."
 There was another aspect to the reveries in which I was immersed.
 This was something that I imagine is conventionally known as remembering previous incarnations.
 There was an influx of information about being another person in another time, but the time
 was fantastically ancient and the world portrayed without any historical validity.
 Perhaps these images come from the same depths that are the source for some people of the
 conviction that Atlantis or Lemuria once ruled a world no trace of which remains.
 My reincarnation memories were not of life as a citizen in one of those occult locales.
 Rather my reminiscence was set in the mountainous heart of Central Asia.
 It was the age of these images that made me gasp, for even as the images filled my mind
 an invisible presence was assuring me that this was a human existence lived out eight
 thousand years in the past.
 I recognized myself as a reflex of Tingi, the first shaman, a powerful magician and
 an inhabitant of Tibet eight millennia ago.
 Not a primitive, but a technician of hallucinogens and crystals whose long gaze pierced into
 future time, even to the resolution of our little expedition poised on the brink of the
 perfection of the opus.
 It was as though I understood myself to be on one level the living reflex and tool of
 this eldritch ancestor, a super-shaman actually in charge of the effort to recreate the ontological
 status that all shamans have always claimed, that of being able to travel to the stars
 and the places of the dead and return.
 That was the task of this pun master, touching many events and minds in the long and meandering
 river of centuries.
 Such was the mood of the last tape.
 It told far more than I can remember.
 It was intimate and intense.
 I suppose that its loss was unavoidable, even as all that was happening to us seemed necessary,
 like the necessary fulfillment of prophecies.
 [BLANK_AUDIO]


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