Tag: Strange Vibrations

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Strange Vibrations, by Pat Gourley


“Just because you are seeing divine light, experiencing waves of bliss, or conversing with gods and goddesses is no reason to forget your zip code”
Ram Dass

For me strange vibrations have usually involved bouts of anxiety, which fortunately have been short-lived and really quite rare in my 67 years. My first experience with being anxious in an uncomfortable fashion was in my early teens and can be directly related to buying into the bullshit being foisted on me by the Catholic Church and its minions.

In hindsight I do think that my budding awareness that I was a gay little kid was just beginning to come into conflict in so many ways with the Church’s teachings. The cognitive dissonance created by what I felt in my core butting up against the relentless brainwashing could be quite anxiety provoking.

It was the most insidious form of child abuse legitimately sanctioned by society and the Church and it created lots of strange vibrations. By my Junior Year in high school these religiously induced anxiety attacks were quickly abating in large part thanks to my first gay relationship with a loving queer spirit guide in the form of an elder loving mentor.

I wonder sometimes if what I view as the relentless child abuse from all organized religions, often in an extreme form of psychological coercion and intimidation, doesn’t in some ways provide the cover or rather the rationale then for actual physical abuse both sexual and non-sexual to take place. If you are willing to foist on young impressionable minds all sorts of bullshit succinctly laid out in the Baltimore Catechism for example does that make it easier to then extend this form of mind control to involve the physical? All of us are born atheists and really should be left alone with that universal view to eventually sort things out on our own.

I must say that my current spiritual view, which can best be described as Buddhist-atheism, is no longer a source of any sort of anxiety. I have finally learned the amazing calming effect of sitting quietly and focusing on my breath especially when the current fucked-up state of humanity begins to impinge, usually due to too much Internet surfing. Amazing how this can also be remediated by a walk to the Denver Botanic Gardens and a few hours of soaking up that energy.

After extricating myself from the Catholic Church in 1967 my next real bout with anxiety did not occur until the fall of 1979 and involved a bit too much psilocybin and a trip to the Empire Bathes. The resulting moderate freak-out was anxiety provoking enough for me to essentially swear off all drugs for the past 35+years with one accidental episode this past winter – details to follow.

My next strange vibrations did not occur until the fall of 1995 following my partner David’s death from AIDS related stuff. For many months after his death I would have nightmares often ending with waking up in panic mode with the sheets often drenched with sweat. This did stop eventually after about six months of talk-therapy with a great shrink. No, I do not think I was experiencing untreated sleep apnea.

My most recent bout of strange vibrations occurred this past January when I was out in San Francisco. I was being Innkeeper and mentoring a new 14-week-old puppy. It was a rainy evening with only a few guests and as is my want I started craving something sweet about 7 PM. The pup and I were ensconced in the library catching up on Downton Abbey episodes.

Wandering into the kitchen I spied a Christmas tin on the counter. Upon inspection I found cookies that I remember being very similar to ones made in large quantities around the holidays. I quickly made short work of 6 or 7 of these cookies. I thought they had a bit of an odd molasses taste but still hit the spot. About 30 minutes later I began to experience very strange vibrations. This was odd I thought since I was in one of the safest places I can imagine on earth and to have waves of anxiety sweep over me rather relentlessly soon had me wondering if these weren’t perhaps the infamous house pot cookies. Several folks in the house have medical marijuana cards and made use of the herb on occasion often in the form of baked goods but usually only ¼ to ½ of one cookie imbibed at a time.

Long story short I was able to determine that the cookies were “loaded”. After several calls to Denver friends with questions about HIV Meds and large quantities of THC I was assured there were no physical interactions. I clearly recognized the anxiety as familiar ground and was able to weather the storm with the help of a good friend who came home from work early and some conscious breathwork. After about six hours I was pretty much back on earth with the strange vibrations fading away. I was left to ponder a line from an old Grateful Dead song: “Maybe you had too much too fast”.

I was able throughout though to remember not only how to operate my cell phone and walk the dog but also I could easily recall my zip code.

© May 2016

About the Author 

I was born in La Porte Indiana in 1949, raised on a farm and schooled by Holy Cross nuns. The bulk of my adult life, some 40 plus years, was spent in Denver, Colorado as a nurse, gardener and gay/AIDS activist. I have currently returned to Denver after an extended sabbatical in San Francisco, California.

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Strange Vibrations, by Gillian

I was driving north on Wadsworth, probably somewhere about 80th street. It was April 10th 1967. I was working swing shift at IBM’s new facility located between Boulder and Longmont. I lived in Lakewood on 32nd street so it was a long commute, but I enjoyed the drive through what was mostly, at that time, still peaceful farming country. Suddenly my car fell victim to some very strange vibrations. It shook. It bounced. The steering wheel wrenched free of my grip. Shit, I thought, I must have a flat. Now I would be late for work. I regained control of the wheel, breaking hard, and pulled the car off onto the shoulder where I came to a stop and turned off the engine. Strangely, the car still seemed to be shaking. Or maybe it was I who was shaking. I stepped out onto the road, immediately loosing my footing and almost falling. What was the matter with me?

With one hand on the car, I gingerly walked around it, still feeling very wobbly on my feet. No flat tire. At the same time, I was gradually realizing that I was not alone in pulling over. Other vehicles, both ahead of and behind me, had also stopped. Other drivers were standing beside their cars looking confused and puzzled. Then I saw it was the same story across the street; southbound traffic had also come to a standstill.

An older man and woman leaned warily against a pick-up a few feet from me. They peered questioningly at me, he from under a big, battered, cowboy hat.

‘What in Hell was that?’ he asked, querulously.

I shrugged, helpless.

‘I never felt nothin’ like that before,’ offered a young man sitting coiled astride his motorcycle as if ready to spring off at the first signs of any further misbehavior.

‘I’d guess it had to be an earthquake,’ offered a woman, pointing meaningfully to the California license plate on her bumper. I have experience with such things, she implied.

We all digested that in silence, pondering, but we don’t have those here, do we?

Slowly, we all returned to our vehicles and went unsurely on our way.

In August of that same year, I was once more heading north on Wadsworth, this time in the half-light of early morning as I was by then working the day shift. Suddenly my car fell victim to some very strange vibrations. It shook. It bounced. The steering wheel wrenched free of my grip.

Shit, I thought, I must have a flat. But just as quickly followed another thought. Oh no you don’t, you don’t fool me twice like that – fool me once, etcetera – this is another bloody earthquake.

As I, and other drivers, hurriedly pulled off the road, I could see myself as that California woman: experienced, blasé. But I rather fell down on sophistication by checking out the tires anyway, immediately I was out of the car. No flat. I was too slow off the mark, anyhow, to impress anybody.

‘Another goddamn earthquake,’ grumbled a voice.

‘Guess so,’ agreed another.

With world-weary shrugs we drove off.

The quake of April 10th was determined to be a magnitude 5.0. The second one I experienced later that year, the strongest ever felt in Denver, was 5.3. These two were the strongest of a whole series of relatively minor quakes over several years; The Colorado School of Mines recorded more than 300 earthquakes here in 1967 alone. This unexpected surge in earthquake activity was determined by the USGS to have been induced by pumping waste fluids into a deep disposal well at Rocky Mountain Arsenal, and as a result this practice was discontinued.

Those were, indeed, strange vibrations. Mercifully they remained relatively small and no major damage resulted. But the population of the entire Denver Metro area at that time was at most 800,000. Now it is three million. If the current crowded high-speed highways shook now as they did then, it is hard to imagine there would not be many multi-car pileups.

Alas, however, we don’t seem to have learned a thing from the Rocky Mountain Arsenal saga.

Fracking results in the same kind of fluid injection deep below the surface, many areas involved in fracking operations are suffering incredibly large numbers of small quakes and yet we refuse to accept any possible cause and effect here. Oklahoma, as if that poor state didn’t suffer enough from tornadoes, is a case in point. In 2009 there were 20 earthquakes recorded in Oklahoma measuring 3.0 and above. Since then, as fracking continues, the number has risen steadily to a count of 890 in 2015. As William Yardley, a reporter for the LA Times put it* –

‘Yet even as many anxious Oklahomans now track seismic data on their smartphones and struggle to sleep through the long, rumbling nights, there has been one notable location where people rarely seemed rattled. That is here, in the state capital, where the oil industry holds so much sway that for decades drill rigs have extracted crude from directly beneath the Capitol building.’

[To view the statistics, go to http://www.latimes.com/nation/la-na-sej-oklahoma-quakes-fracking-20160302-story.html ]

The famed Erin Brockovich is now deeply involved, and the Sierra Club is suing energy companies involved in fracking, but legal wheels grind slowly and many fear that it will all be too little too late. These numerous small quakes, especially in areas where there are already large faults, may lead to ever larger ones and eventually to a seriously damaging quake. Well, duh! I’m not a geologist, but that seems pretty elementary to me, even if we don’t have statistics to prove it.

My sincerest hope is that the legislators, if not the energy companies themselves, will pay attention to the abundant messages being sent by these countless strange vibrations, before we end up with very big vibrations which no-one will be able to ignore. The Beach Boys once sang heartily and happily about good vibrations and excitations. Alas, I fear nobody will sing, or be happy, about these vibrations; and the excitations are liable to be much too exciting.

© May 2016

About the Author

I was born and raised in England. After graduation from college there, I moved to the U.S. and, having discovered Colorado, never left. I have lived in the Denver-Boulder area since 1965, working for 30 years at IBM. I married, raised four stepchildren, then got divorced after finally, in my forties, accepting myself as a lesbian. I have been with my wonderful partner Betsy for thirty years. We have been married since 2013.

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Strange Vibrations, by Pat Gourley

“Just because you are
seeing divine light, experiencing waves of bliss, or conversing with gods and
goddesses is no reason to forget your zip code”
Ram Dass
For me strange vibrations
have usually involved bouts of anxiety, which fortunately have been short-lived
and really quite rare in my 67 years. My first experience with being anxious in
an uncomfortable fashion was in my early teens and can be directly related to
buying into the bullshit being foisted on me by the Catholic Church and its
minions.
In hindsight I do think
that my budding awareness that I was a gay little kid was just beginning to
come into conflict in so many ways with the Church’s teachings. The cognitive
dissonance created by what I felt in my core butting up against the relentless
brainwashing could be quite anxiety provoking.
It was the most insidious
form of child abuse legitimately sanctioned by society and the Church and it created
lots of strange vibrations. By my Junior Year in high school these religiously
induced anxiety attacks were quickly abating in large part thanks to my first gay
relationship with a loving queer spirit guide in the form of an elder loving
mentor.
I wonder sometimes if
what I view as the relentless child abuse from all organized religions, often
in an extreme form of psychological coercion and intimidation, doesn’t in some
ways provide the cover or rather the rationale then for actual physical abuse
both sexual and non-sexual to take place. 
If you are willing to foist on young impressionable minds all sorts of
bullshit succinctly laid out in the Baltimore Catechism for example does that
make it easier to then extend this form of mind control to involve the
physical? All of us are born atheists and really should be left alone with that
universal view to eventually sort things out on our own.
I must say that my
current spiritual view, which can best be described as Buddhist-atheism, is no
longer a source of any sort of anxiety. I have finally learned the amazing
calming effect of sitting quietly and focusing on my breath especially when the
current fucked-up state of humanity begins to impinge, usually due to too much
Internet surfing. Amazing how this can also be remediated by a walk to the Denver
Botanic Gardens and a few hours of soaking up that energy.
After extricating myself
from the Catholic Church in 1967 my next real bout with anxiety did not occur
until the fall of 1979 and involved a bit too much psilocybin and a trip to the
Empire Bathes. The resulting moderate freak-out was anxiety provoking enough
for me to essentially swear off all drugs for the past 35+years with one
accidental episode this past winter – details to follow.
My next strange
vibrations did not occur until the fall of 1995 following my partner David’s
death from AIDS related stuff. For many months after his death I would have
nightmares often ending with waking up in panic mode with the sheets often
drenched with sweat.  This did stop
eventually after about six months of talk-therapy with a great shrink. No, I do
not think I was experiencing untreated sleep apnea.
My most recent bout of
strange vibrations occurred this past January when I was out in San Francisco.
I was being Innkeeper and mentoring a new 14-week-old puppy.  It was a rainy evening with only a few guests
and as is my want I started craving something sweet about 7 PM.  The pup and I were ensconced in the library
catching up on Downton Abbey episodes.
Wandering into the
kitchen I spied a Christmas tin on the counter. Upon inspection I found cookies
that I remember being very similar to ones made in large quantities around the
holidays. I quickly made short work of 6 or 7 of these cookies. I thought they
had a bit of an odd molasses taste but still hit the spot. About 30 minutes
later I began to experience very strange vibrations. This was odd I thought
since I was in one of the safest places I can imagine on earth and to have waves
of anxiety sweep over me rather relentlessly soon had me wondering if these
weren’t perhaps the infamous house pot cookies. Several folks in the house have
medical marijuana cards and made use of the herb on occasion often in the form
of baked goods but usually only ¼ to ½ of one cookie imbibed at a time. 
Long story short I was
able to determine that the cookies were “loaded”.  After several calls to Denver friends with
questions about HIV Meds and large quantities of THC I was assured there were
no physical interactions. I clearly recognized the anxiety as familiar ground
and was able to weather the storm with the help of a good friend who came home
from work early and some conscious breathwork. After about six hours I was
pretty much back on earth with the strange vibrations fading away. I was left
to ponder a line from an old Grateful Dead song: “Maybe you had too much too
fast”. 
I was able throughout
though to remember not only how to operate my cell phone and walk the dog but
also I could easily recall my zip code.
©
May 2016 
About the Author 
I was born in La Porte Indiana in 1949, raised on a farm and schooled
by Holy Cross nuns. The bulk of my adult life, some 40 plus years, was spent in
Denver, Colorado as a nurse, gardener and gay/AIDS activist. I have currently returned to Denver after an
extended sabbatical in San Francisco, California.
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Strange Vibrations, by Ray S

Muse, where are you now? I couldn’t sleep last night when we
were in bed together because you refused to be still. Now you want to play hard
to get.
Quickly like the dawn of a new day my tardy Muse returns
upon our decision to go to the basement storage locker in search of some long
forgotten item that has suddenly become indispensable.
Muse distracted me from my mission by a strange change in
the atmosphere of the room. No, lights didn’t dim, floors and walls didn’t
creak, and there certainly were no vibrations. Nothing so spooky and corny,
just a compulsion to look into some old boxes filled with three generations of
family memorabilia, treasures and trash. Some best left to rest in dusty peace,
but the decision to dispatch some of it, as always it is, is more convenient to
ignore the stuff—out of sight out of mind.
A high school diploma, class of 1943—the prize from
surviving four traumatic years at four different high schools.
A 100-year-old, or so it seems, photo album with many faded
sepia photos labeled by my mother identifying people I never knew.
A picture of my father with some of his army buddies at
camp, pre-World War One. Looking closely, I could hardly recognize this pretty
young boy, but it was reassuring to have met this man in his early days.
Then a letter addressed to my mother from a dear friend
expressing her condolences when learning of my parents’ divorce. It was an
intrusion on my part to have read the letter to its conclusion, especially when
the friend indicated that the woman my father later married had been a mutual
acquaintance of all of the parties. Sometimes you learn more than you needed
to, but it did answer some questions and left more to remain unanswered—which
is just as well.
Reminiscent of this bit of drama, up from the depths of
another musty file of memories came the vibrations of the summer two weeks that
conveniently located me at YMCA camp, circa 1939. Oblivious of nothing more
important than trying to avoid getting knocked down with a mouth full of Lake
Michigan sand while playing King of the Hill, my parents took the opportunity
to drive up to camp for an unannounced visit whereupon they broke the news of
their decision to divorce. And this was the beginning of my new life as a kid
raised only by his mother and without the presence of a father to show him how
to be a man or something other than the pansy they were blessed with.
Hindsight being the disaster that it is, the vibrations of
all these many years have had their good vibes too. After Uncle Sam’s
contribution to my higher education, the ensuing attempt at a good middle class
married life with a wonderful wife and family, followed by my very own debutante
coming out part and joining the real GLBTQ world, the boxes can continue to
mustier or be more musty until little old Muse and I make another trip to the
strange and scary land of TMI [Too Much Information – ed.].
So much for the strange vibrations that result in too much
navel gazing and self-indulgence; it wasn’t fun while it lasted.
Fini.
© 23 May 2016 
About the Author