“Around Tucson, I have a few people I’ve contacted with my outlook from my bizarre shamanic reality- half-in/half-out of the World of the Dead. These people, I wanted to let know more about where I’m coming from, by letting them in on my past and my path or road. I don’t know how many will make the connection about bi-polar homelessness being tied into nomadic traditions & the difficulty of that path as it is suppressed by modern civilization and turned into a convenience of the rich. It is taboo for the poor to be nomads.”
An Open Letter August 31, 2014 6:46 pm
I have a determined drive to communicate with you that comes from a strong feeling that overrides simple reason. There are numerous reasons I could assert but none of them would explain it. I seem to have annoyed you on the phone recently with my somewhat flippant mood of celebrating Bob’s birthday. Anyway, I figure that’s why you told me you’d call me back, yet you never did.
A large part of communication is done in wanting to be understood. That’s why I’m writing this. I usually express myself better in writing than in speaking, so this is a better option for me than waiting for an expected phone call, for more than one reason. Besides, this letter you can read at your leisure, in bits and pieces, or just throw in the trash if you’re so inclined. But please don’t!
Your rap around the memory of Bob was a concise & pleasantly constructed concept which conveyed well to me how I should understand you in relation to what you got out of Bob’s influence when you lived with the Family. It is very zen-like and smooth-flowing, the way I perceived you did that piece of time, detached, with special privilege due to you maturity and the way you hashed out your man to man deal with Bob. He respected you and accorded you liberties suitable to your stature, your sand (courage, determination), your earned and well carried sense of manhood. I fell into a different category and was treated by Bob like an impressionable youth until I finally stood up to him and forced him to respect my manhood.
I was among a wave of younger people who were more like soft clay to Bob’s sculptor’s mind. But one thing I became aware of early on that separated me from virtually every one else who was there is that my sole intent for being there was to study Bob and learn everything I could from him because I wanted to be able to do everything he could do. The longer I went at it I also wanted to go beyond what he could do and correct errors in his thinking and actions in myself.
I couldn’t become an unquestioning “little Bob”, which is what some of the Family thought I was trying to be and what Bob wanted me to be. That’s why I couldn’t accept his offer, at the end of our relationship, to write his 21 books (or 22 with The Golden Reed). My interest had been to learn how he sustained his communication with what he called Duverus. I had done it several times, long before I read The Golden Reed or met Bob. The reason Tom Peasner sent me a copy of The Golden Reed and a message to come to Seligman to meet Bob is because Tome noticed that Bob was saying some of the same things I’d said and, like me, said he got it telepathically (by thought transfer) from a superior life form inhabiting our skies in flying saucers. Tom said he’d never heard anybody else saying such things other than me and figured he could think of no one better to send a copy of the book. I too was taken by this fact when I read The Reed.