DECEMBER 2003
My intent was to go from Tulsa to Denver because that was where the song was going.
I drove through a fierce blizzard. In the midst of it, my distributor was slimed by oil. I was unable to maintain highway speed. I disassembled my distributor with my leather-man tool at a service area just the other side of the Kansas border.. I scrubbed the oil with paper towels – scrubbed too hard. I broke the nubs in the distributor cap.
But the electicity did some amazing arching in the high humidity, the cold wetness that enveloped, and penetrated the distributor. I was able to easily move with the blizzard congested traffic. But then I came to the other side of the blizzard. The humidity dropped. The electricity strained. The car was again seriously disabled. I could not maintain highway speed.
When I reached Salina, Kansas and I-70, I turned east away from Denver and where the song was going towards the refuge of the missile base, the home of my friends Ed and Diane Peden, 18 miles west of Topeka. It took over four hours to go the about 100 miles to the missile base. I had never driven a car so disabled – so far.
At the missile base I replaced my distributor cap and read of the Elysian Mysteries, the rye ergot entheogen, the myth of Demeter, the earth mother, goddess of the cultivation, her beloved daughter Persephone, Persephone’s abductor, Hades, god of and the underworld.
The Elysian Mysteries were about the uniting and integrating of consciousness/unconsciousness, life and , male and female, the living and the , the mortal and the immortal, the domesticated and the wild, sobrity and ecstatic drunkeness, the cultivator and the cultivated. The first conjunction between Persephone and Hades was lawless . But their union became a sanctioned marriage. The god Tripomine is the fruit of their union, integration. He travels the world in a chariot pulled by snakes. He disseminates the knowledge of the cultivation and being cultivated. He is a fruit of the great union the great integration of consciousness and unconsciousness, life and , male and female, the living and the , the immortal and the mortal, the domesticated and the wild, sobriety and ecstatic drunkeness, the cultivator and the cultivated. The snake power that moves his chariot is the power that drives transformation, the power of the union, the integration of experience, the power of the human incarnate in God, God incarnate in the human.
I left the missile base for Vail on December 23. It was smooth running to Limon, Colorado. I gas-ed up. Was two thirds down the access ramp to I-70, when the car lost power. I rolled back down the access ramp. A Colorado State Cop helped me push the car away from the access ramp. I searched on foot for a mechanic, found one about half a mile away. I returned to the car. After many attempts, the car started up, not only started up was running smooth. I brought it to the mechanic. He could not find anything wrong with it.
Had some problems in the high passes on the way to Vail. But for the most part it was again smooth running.
I left Vail about an hour before sunset on December 24 bound for Walnut Creek, California. I slept in my car just over the Utah border on I-15 North. I woke around 5 a.m., drove for about an hour, and again encountered blizzard.
I again drove through it. I got on 80 west. Had smooth running all the way to Lovelock, Nevada. About 20 miles west of Lovelock was unable to maintain highway speed. There was an exit for Toulon.
The only thing I could see in the cold, dark night was a bright street light. I thought I again had to disassemble my distributor to see if the oil slime was obstructing the spark. I drove to the light, raised the car’s hood. I then encountered a very unthreatening older, hippie appearing dude. I explained my situation.
He said he didn’t anticipate there would be a problem about me attending to my vehicle beneath the light. But then the mayor the leader of the place I was at was approaching me.
For the first time I looked around and examined the place I was at. It was a post-apocalyptic kind of place. There was a large mill that seemed like it exploded and burnt was precariously perched on the brink of total collapse. There were all these trailor homes haphazardly scattered.
Not thinking – because it was cold, I put my hands in my pockets as I approached the leader of Toulon, Nevada. He immediately came to believe I was reaching for a firearm, and pulled a big assed hand gun out, and aimed it at my head.
I raised my arms. I assured him I didn’t have a weapon. I allowed myself to be frisked by the first guy I had encountered. I truthfully and convincingly answered all the question that were asked of me. They came to believe that I was a broken down passer-by with no malicious intent toward the inhabitants of Toulon, Nevada. I told them of my recognition and admiration of the out-of-the-box wildness that still persists in Nevada. I gave the leader – John Hershel – two good cigars. I wished him a Merry Christmas.
He brought me to his shack and called the County Sheriff in Lovelock. About 20 minutes later the Sheriff was there. His Deputy checked my license and registration. Then they followed me down this frontage road back to Lovelock. At the police station I was given a voucher that allowed me to stay in the motel across the street – for free, because I was recognized to be indigent and indigenous.
That’s where I stayed on Christmas night.
Next morning I could not find a mechanic. I bought a 5/16 wrench and again dissembled my distributor. It was clean – no oil slime obstructing the spark. I replaced my air filter. I began to suspect that I was being confronted with a new mechanical issue that involved either carboration or fuel flow.
The car started right up, ran smooth. I drove down the frontage road back to Toulon. I stopped to talk to John. I asked him what he was afraid of. He said he wasn’t afraid of anything. I checked out his gun rack. There were at least 30 rifles and shot guns visible. He said he was just being prudent, commonsensible.
Around Sparks, Nevada it started breaking up again. At Truckee, Nevada I was unable to maintain highway speed. It took me over an hour to go the 14 miles from Truckee to Tahoe City. When I got there I could find no mechanic willing to look at my car. I bought a $10 phone card. I tried to reach a son of a friend who lived in Tahoe. I tried to reach my friend. I tried to reach my friend in Walnut Creek. But the only person I was able to reach was my friend Jack in San Francisco.
Jack’s thought was that the issue was the fuel filter. He said he had experienced something similar. He said that if I let my car sit for a couple of hours it would be able to run at highway speed for at least a few minutes. He urged me to find a way to get my fuel filter checked.
I couldn’t find my fuel filter. I couldn’t find a place to buy a new one. I had to sleep in my car.
That night all my water bottles froze solid. I woke up with frozen snot on my face.
There is nothing that has such potential of giving great focus like spending a night in a jail cell or your car on a particularly cold night. I focused on my soul on ice. I was able to receive Gnostic instruction. I was able to recognize that my vehicle was powered by the transformative energy, was a snake chariot.
I still dreaded the prospect of going back on to I-80.
It took me most of an hour to to drive the 14 miles back to Truckee and I-80. I parked it by the Albertson Supermarket. I searched on foot for a mechanic. Again I couldn’t find one.
Two hours latter with great trepidation I went down the highway access ramp and started the climb to Donner Pass.
I had totally depleted my $10 phone card. The only person I had reached was my friend Jack. But when I got on I-80 west I realized Jack was the only person I needed to reach. He had given me a paradigm that I could work with. I was able to conceptualize the fuel flow issue. I could see what needed to be done. I drove with a light, intuitive foot pressure on the gas pedal. I kept an even flow. I had to relearn how to drive my car. I had to conceptualize the reality of the Snake Chariot.
The car sputtered at the highest altitudes. But I was able to maintain a smooth flow of gas. After the high passes I had no trouble maintaining 65-70 m.p.h. Three hours latter I was safely arrived in Walnut Creek.
Later that afternoon my friend Bob replaced the fuel filter and the oil filter.
Bob loosened the bolt to drain my oil. He completely loosened the bolt. The bolt was moving up and down. But no oil flowed from the oil pan. I told him that I didn’t need to change my oil. The chariot has long leaked oil. I change my oil every five weeks – but not at once. I told him to just change the oil filter. He removed the oil filter. Not a drop of oil leaked out of the car.
Bob insisted that the car had no oil in it. I drew the dip stick which showed that it was only one quarter of a quart down. Bob said that it must be the only part of the car that was retaining oil. I told him that was clearly impossible. I added a quarter of a quart of oil. It registered on the dip stick.
When Bob removed the fuel filter there was a lot of rust in it. The fuel flow was being obstructed.
There was a scientific, rational explanation of my car problems. But there was no scientific, rational explanation about the oil.
There is something about the human condition that is not subject to rational, scientific analyses. It is the mystery of the human incarnate in God, God incarnate in the human, the snake transformative power incarnate in the car.
There are mysteries.