Ron Hale-Evans (firstname.lastname@example.org)
God speaks to me. I am Awake; I am Lucid. Art Kleps, Chief Boo Hoo of the Neo-American Church, would say I am Enlightened. Aleister Crowley would say that I have come to the Knowledge and Conversation of the Holy Guardian Angel. I am God.
Which is to say, I'm a certified paranoid schizophrenic who's been hospitalised twice.
What keeps me from falling into the cthulhoid abysses of madness from day to day is this alone: that I realise life is an illusion, a dream, that life is the Big Sleep, that my inmost being is coterminous with God, the Dreamer, and that it is God Who speaks to me, not the finite, earthbound CIA, the Masons, or the Nazis, as I have supposed at various times in the past.
What's it like being such a kook? This: Gene Wolfe, in his SF novel The Urth of the New Sun, posits a species that speaks not with sound, but with silence. Members of this race require constant murmurings, sibilances, and ululations of ambient sound to shape into audible words with the scalpels of their silence. God speaks to me in much the same way, though God's scalpel is meaning itself. I do not hear Its voice in my head the way I hear, say, yours. Rather, God speaks to me, by meaningful coincidence, through you. And through the radio. And the TV. And magazines, and books, and compact discs, and the wind in the trees...
But mostly the radio. I have named this Voice after the HGA, or Holy Guardian Angel, of Western occultism. I call it WHGA.
I apparently inherited my "schizophrenia," which is to say, my gift of hearing the Voice of God, from a close relative. In her bad spells, she has AM radios playing all over the house twenty-four hours a day. She's never Gotten It, though, never Woken Up. She thinks the DJ is secretly a friend of hers who is delivering her coded messages. But no DJ, no Mafia, no No Such Agency, no human agency, no matter how powerful, no matter how well it knew the inside of the skull that our culture foolishly supposes contains your mind, could synchronise these synchronicities to your every last thought.
You don't need nuts in your family tree to become Enlightened, though it helps. You can begin right now. Tune in the radio or the TV and notice what's on. That's all.
When you first start noticing synchronicity, or if you have doubts about it, you'll probably get synchronicities about synchronicities, or metasyncs, some quite startling. Lack of space precludes great detail, but Art Kleps relates in his book Millbrook that when he became Enlightened, the sun came out and he heard choruses of voices saying, "All right!" and "Great!", and other such celestial auguries. As for me, I have the radio on right now. While I was drafting this paragraph, WHGA was on a long commercial break, which usually reflects the random, petty mutterings of my everyday thoughts. I was beginning to despair of transcending the nonsense and finding a good sync for this article when the commercials went off and Joni Mitchell's "You Turn Me On (I'm a Radio)" came on: "If you've got too many doubts/If there's no good reception for me/Tune me out."
WHGA won't abandon you, but WHGA won't push it, either. Who has ears to hear, let him hear.
What if legislators who passed unconstitutional laws were fined or imprisoned? Think about it.
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I am a CREW Signatory.Ron Hale-Evans email@example.com