Two days before the end of 2009, I received an email from “Terrance” at thelostmixtape.com.
Yeah. Well, lots of people seek out the { message / map } in recorded wave form. But as She said, “when they are ready, it will become apparent to them.” Based on your e-mail it seems you think you’re ready. Well, excuse me for being a little paranoid. How do I really know who you are? Have you even read her words comprehensively? Do you have any idea what you’re in for??
Terrance then expressed his concern about “real unsavory types” who wanted to take the cassette from him, and voiced a desire to move the discussion offline. I gave him all my info but I didn’t have a “carrier pigeon routing number” nor a “balloon harbor number” per his query. Other people came up with obviously legitimate pigeon/balloon numbers.
A month passed; during that time I visited the Grotto and found a dollar in the lockbox, and small Plexiglas® windows over the dioramas at Coit Tower. A woman walked by while I was eyeballing them and said “aren’t they beautiful?” Also, a new “Further Dispatches From Elsewhere” audio broadcast detailed a series of calls received at the EPWA from a pair of women who were doin’ wheelies on the answering machine, generously peppered with joyous laughter:
“Call us back! Now! Sarah and Liz! Do it! Where do we sign up?”
“We’re here ... we’re waiting ... we’re waiting ... So pleeeaaaase call us back, it’s Liz and Sarah again, we’re just hanging out, trying to figure out what’s up with you guys, we’d really like to know more about you, about your interests, I would like for you to know about our interests, we really feel like we have something to contribute ... if you could call us back that would really be fucking fly, and hyphy ... oh and we’re lonely ... really lonely ... and we’re having pillow fights right now ... what are you wearing? Please call us! We’re reaaally into you ...”
“So, we have money, we have drugs or we’ll do your drugs, we’ll have sex with whoever you want ... but here we are ... we’ll totally sign away our lives ... but we will totally sign our lives over to you ’cause we believe that you’re our family so just call us back, c’mon it’s Liz and Sarah ... we’re here!”
“So ... what did I not do right? Am I ... not coming on strong enough? Do I need to do more? Maybe I’m coming on too strong. Is it too much? Should I hang up? I don’t know, you tell me. I need some feedback, this isn’t fair. I don’t know what to do ... I don’t know what to do with you. Just give me a signal, give me a sign. You could call me back! Do I sound needy? I’m not needy. I totally don’t even care. Okay, don’t call me back, see if I care.”
A few days later, I received a call from a woman located in Los Angeles who had an urgent message.
There’s something occurring ... do you feel it? It’s in the air ... it’s not what you’re used to, it’s not what I’m used to, but just stay there shhhh ... remember this conversation and record it in your mind ... document the call if possible, can you do that? We’re all going to need each other’s memories ... in the future we will need the past and vice-versa, okay? So. Did you feel that? It is something celestial, something soverign ... more powerful than you or I can comprehend ... but ever so delicate ... here on the verge ... dancing upon the precipice ... for this to transpire at all though, we need your full commitment ... do you understand?
She asked me if I could take a vow of silence on the whole matter, and if I had a tooth. Yes; yes. Date and time followed. Shortly after that, Terrance checked in to make sure that I was “in.” I was “in.” Terrance indicated that “at a certain point you will have to fly on your own. And then, you will be met by the flock. Your birds of feather. Your part in this is absolutely crucial. Every little thing is interdependent. There can be no weak links. And if you don’t play your part ... you don’t just let yourself down, you let other people, real people, down.”
Around that time Crumbly Donut received a postcard from “The Operator” in the mail. He was kind enough to indicate I should probably be on the lookout, since I normally never check my mail ... bills, collection agencies, lawsuits, who cares, it just drops into a shredder mounted under the mail slot (“wow, mail was pretty loud today”). Sure enough, a day later, postcard. One side was part of a larger image that apparently said “Greetings From Elsewhere” and kind of gave me the impression that there would be seven others; the other side named the date/time and assigned me a direction (“North”) and some tasks (“Bring pen and paper”; “Wait until everyone arrives”). Then a follow-up call from the LA woman; she was “The Operator” and wanted to make sure I got her mail. She gave me three “mantras” or “intonations” for the event:
assemble.
upward under arc.
proceed silently.
Terrance followed up in email asking for a final confirmation of all of this information.
A few days later, Erik Jamuel took time out from his relentless microwave harassment suffering schedule to pass along important instructions via telephone.
“Hey ... This is Erik Jamuel. I ... I ... I can’t ... I can’t really talk about this now see? Because no line is secure. Even our minds aren’t even secure, so, so ... So, we really have nothing to lose by just saying it ... ha ha ... So ... so I’ll cut to the chase. BE CAREFUL!! You can get lost along the way. Believe me, I know. That’s why I always write my direction on my LEFT HAND. Got it? When you ... When you get a direction, you must write it on the PALM of your left hand ... Otherwise, we all perish, see? See?”
Eric continued to emphasize the left-palm-writing procedure until eventually the microwave harassment was too much (you could hear it over the line) and he had to sign off with a cheery “Ahhhh ... uhhhh .... ahhhh .......”
Then, radio silence for awhile. But suddenly: A PROBLEM! Terrance sent a message out to everyone who was scheduled for the same event – eight people – and indicated that one of the eight was dropping the ball with only four days left. It was up to us to rout him/her from his/her hidey hole/hole. But. The only information we had was that this person was on this new mailing list. So we could send more messages to the list in the hopes of sparking something, but that was about it. Everyone (except this person) checked in and said hello while we were spinning around trying to figure out who #8 was. Within 24 hours, we had our answer: #8 was bumped; another #8 was chosen and informed via a hand-typed letter delivered to her doorman two days before the event.
Later that same night, XAdamDX (whom I had seen at the patent event) informed us that he received a text message telling him to go to Fallon & 9th in Oakland at 9pm. At the street corner, XAdamDX indicated there was a woman on the street corner playing a red accordion; she was dressed in a white clean suit and hardhat.
[...] she handed me a small brown envelope, with my first name typed in all caps on the front. I opened the envelope immediately, causing the accordionist to double the tempo on the tune she was playing, possibly as a warning that this may not be the safest locale to read the contents. I thanked her and headed home to relay the information to all of you.
I have been named the CALLER LOCATOR
our location is: [location], Oakland CA
attire: Casually.
Play it cool and tread lightly
The morning of the event, I carpooled with Duckstabd to a nearby coffee shop, a pre-event meeting place arranged via our new mailing list. We both knew Crumbly Donut, and obviously XAdamDX, were going to be there ... but no one else. We recognized the rest of our group of eight using our prearranged signal: silent, deadly jazz hands. After caffeination, all eight of us drove to [location], a quiet hilly residential neighborhood. The obvious attractant in that area was a flight of stairs, and we found a gold rabbithole at the top of it. Postcards were assembled, with the missing eighth represented by the hand-delivered letter.
At 10:30, one person (“East”) indicated that their postcard told them to wait until everyone had gathered, and then she was supposed to ask Northwest what to do next. Northwest indicated that we should descend. Street-side rabbitholes kept us on track. Arrow, arrow, swing, arrow. Oh swing! There is no time for you now.
After this, control passed to Northeast, who said we should go to “path’s end.” The path magically turned into pallets.
Then it was Southwest’s turn; he had an address that corresponded to Chapel of the Chimes, an Oakland Columbarium/Crematorium/Mausoleum and Funeral Home. It was designed by Julia Morgan, who was also the principal architect for Hearst Castle. We stood “under shelter, but not inside,” and then control passed to South, who indicated we had to find a compass. We looked all around. We fanned out. We scoured the outside. Top. Bottom. The only half-viable candidate was a large stained-glass window high above just inside the chapel ... but then someone found a small “N” and arrow on the ground. We were probably stepping on it multiple times while looking everywhere else. There’s always something like that, a simple thing that hides in plain sight. It humbles you. A good starting place.
We were instructed to build the rest of our directions by reciting what was left on our postcards, round-robin style ... eight people, three fragments each ... twenty-four total. The final construction gave us the only directions with which to make our way through the building. The phrase ended with “Proceed silently. Silently. Silently. Silently. Silently. Silently. Shhhh. Shhhh.” So we proceeded silently with shhhing. The Chapel of the Chimes is filled with little rooms filled with urns filled with ashes. A large majority of the urns were shaped like books, so it was sort of like a literal autobiographical library section: you, in a book. We shuffled under some arches, up stairs, and used specific urns as wayfinding guides.
I turned the corner into the Court of Patience and laughed out loud (Shhhh).
A golden boombox. The front of it was engraved: “Benis Senatenton.” The group gathered around it. Following the last bit of the fused fragments, Crumbly Donut pressed play.
It was Eva.
She indicated that she was all right. She guided us out of the Court of Patience, through some other rooms and into another small alcove.
“ ... We’ve all arrived here for a reason. Each one of us played our part. There are no weak links here today. You are among trusted souls. Your connection is solid ... and real. Now ... are we ready to continue the voyage? Take a deep breath ... okay.”
And then Eva had one of us retrieve a flower vase high above the entrance way. Luckily there was what I’m going to call a flower vase grabber pole just sitting around nearby. The vase came down, and inside ... blindfolds. What kind of hijinks were we getting into here, in the middle of this chapel.
“West ... hold the contents of the vase ... hand one of each to North, South, and East, and keep one for yourself. Now, set the vase down in a nearby holder. North, South, East and West, pair up with a person not holding a blindfold who is closest to your height ........ Good. Now, blindfold that person.”
West gave me a blindfold. “Glad I’m not being blindfolded,” I thought. Crumbly Donut was. Four of us were to be guides for the blindfolded other four. We put our backs to them, per Eva’s instructions; they reached out and put their hands on our shoulders.
We followed her directions to slowly exit the room, navigate some stairs, and eased our way through tiny rooms. We moved carefully, with small steps, while maintaining continuing awareness of our blindfolded partners. It sure sounds like a walk in the park, but during this time it seemed I was more hyper-aware of my surroundings than I could ever recall having been in my life. It’s probably what carting around a kid is like, except that it was a kid Crumbly Donut-sized. We snaked our way to a larger space called the Garden of Eternal Wisdom.
Eva had everyone take off their blindfolds ... and then the script flipped. All the guides were blindfolded by the previously blindfolded four. Ah. Be careful what you’re thankful for.
Dark.
Crumbly Donut was my guide.
“Know now that you are responsible for those you lead ... and those newly-blindfolded, notice your senses heightened ... sound, touch and scent ... trust in your guides.”
The sound of falling water from a nearby fountain suddenly became more important to me. We again moved slowly through different rooms, listening to Eva indicating where to turn. I could feel when I was in the sun, when I was in shade. Crumbly Donut was constantly checking with me to make sure I was okay. Eva issued sporadic directions.
“Turn left through Supplication ... that’s it, you’re doing great ... continue up ten steps ...”
We ended up in a much larger room, the Garden of St. Paul, filled with filing cabinet-style crypts.
“Regroup beneath the palm tree ... you may remove your blindfolds ... now, step towards the altar at the back of the room ... and set me down next to the candles on the altar.”
Then Eva had us retrieve a second vase with what I’m now calling a pole-grabber function hook.
Wah? It’s not ...
More blindfolds. How ...
“Yes. Four more blindfolds. One for each of you now. Listen closely ...”
Following her instructions, we started to line up in height order facing the candles. This took awhile; I like to think that we were all implementing delay tactics. Someone noticed that the candles were also lined up, so we followed their lead ... from Gloria on the right all the way up to XAdamDX on the left.
We all put our blindfolds on and took a quick moment to listen to the part of our brains yelling “what the FUCK” over and over.
Eva had us feel the wall in front of us, and then she started talking in a tone of voice that you knew meant something was about to happen.
“... you like cartoons, don’t you? Now, imagine, you are the cartoon character ... sleepwalking. It is your Nonchalance that will protect you. Everyone, turn to your right. Put your hands on the shoulders of the person in front of you. You’ve made it this far.”
Eva gave special instructions for the leader of our blind conga line: “Reach out your hand ... and allow me to guide you. Come. Follow me.”
And then we started moving. Wait, what? Gloria’s the mole! No, I didn’t think that, mostly it was “Who’s leading us? Who’s leading us?!?” and “Weooooo, we’re cookin’ now ... this is much better than before.” It was more freeing, which sounds completely at odds with the situation, but that’s what “being led” is all about. “Hey, someone’s handing basic locomotion, great. I’m going to be over here thinking heavier thoughts. Maybe I’ll get pensive. Don’t know. World comma oyster.” We brushed by/through some tall vegetation while approaching Satie’s “Gymnopédie No. 3.” It followed us around a bit along with sounds of the playground we last heard during Eva’s walkabout. In sunlight; in shade. Water. I lost track of approximately where we were, spatially; there were a lot of turns. Everyone had to have been grinning. I was.
We ended up in another big room (Garden of Life Eternal), and there was the jambox, waiting for us. Eva told us to remove our blindfolds. “Welcome back to the world of sight.” Headcount: eight. “I am always here, you haven’t heard my call until now because you’ve been so distracted by what you see and don’t see ...” Then Eva had us move to another, smaller room. Eva started talking and the audio signal sort of started to fold in on itself while we were listening, but we still understood it.
Good. Set down the boombox in the center of the room. Let
in a circle.
Take a look
again. Look around
group. These are the members of your tribe,
family you are seeking. That’s right, you always knew deep down that you were a Divine Nonchalant, and that your home was beckoning
.
you’ve glimpsed into the Elsewhere and felt, for a moment, what it’s like to be here. And it’s only a small taste of what’s to come. Thaddeus Bless.
I left something behind
you. To find it, arise collectively. Leave your blindfolds and the boombox here, and together go
Chapel of Hope. Don’t worry about
there are guardian spirits who will protect
path starts in the Chapel of Hope. Please do not
and tread lightly, without
what I have left for you. Be sure to leave your blindfolds and the boombox here ... I will see you all soon enough.
When we arrived at Chapel of Hope there was a single flower tucked into a rolled piece of cardstock functioning as an ersatz vase. Once unrolled, the vase revealed a map of the building, along with a new destination.
We walked to the room marked with a rabbithole on the map, Chapel of Loving-Kindness.
The ground of loving-kindness is this sense of satisfaction with who we are and what we have. The path is a sense of wonder, becoming a two- or three-year-old child again, wanting to know all the unknowable things, beginning to question everything. We know we’re never really going to the find the answers, because these kinds of questions come from having a hunger and a passion for life – they have nothing to do with resolving anything or tying it up into a neat little package. This kind of questioning is the journey itself. The fruition lies in beginning to realize our kinship with all humanity.
– Pema Chödrön, The Wisdom Of No Escape And The Path Of Loving-Kindness [1991; pg 7]
Sitting in a niche: a brown-paper wrapped package, some flowers, a letter, and the Lost Mixtape. The package consisted of Eva’s journal, hardbound. The letter was an extended piece from Terrance describing how he and a group of like-minded people happened to end up at Chapel of the Chimes to “look beyond the veil of the here & now.” They kept coming back, for months, then one day Neil showed up playing the tape of Eva (the “message-map”) and everything clicked into place.
Terrance also indicated that we should come up with a name for ourselves, to tell our story, to create our own mixtape and submit it to the “Repository of Squadrons.” The first part we took care of right there: Octacadre. Then we started talking about how we all ended up there. One member regaled the group with a tale of having to reassure her mother that she wasn’t in a cult.
“How much have you spent?”
“A dollar nine.”
“Well, if it’s more, you let me know.”
She also had to agree to talk to her pastor about her involvement in this horrible manipulative situation. We all ended up agreeing that she should be the one to take Eva’s journal.
Afterward most of us went and got lunch down the street and came back to the adjoining cemetery for a sit-down lunch on big chunks of quarried rock.
After everyone got back to their various nests, we drew up plans for our mixtape. Meanwhile, the latest adventure had put me into a mindgroove. And then I started laughing to myself, because I was wondering about that latest “hole card” that had The Savants on one side, and Humphrey The Whale on the other. And the “Charley & Humphrey” video that led into the kidnap video. The horse said to think for myself.
[pause]
Oh do NOT tell me there’s a book on whales in the induction office.
[looks] There is a book on whales in the induction office.
I told you not to tell me.
Sorry.
Well, you don’t have to tell me three times, I guess. Then I started listening to the tape.
It’s a simple little thing, really, a cassette tape. There are millions of them on the planet, aren’t there? And this one is full of songs I put together for you, my dears. The San Francisco Savants, my people, my tribe. And these songs are a few of the billions of recordings on this planet so far, left like messages to you. And when I put these songs together in this way, it becomes absolutely unique. Like a fingerprint, or a signature. This tape is one-of-a-kind. And I left this fingerprint for you. And when you put it under a microscope, it becomes a map. And when you hold the map close to your face, and breathe into it, you will hear a river start. And when you see the river, get in. You can float languidly down the stream. And there, someday, you will find me. Trust me, eventually this will all make sense. It may take years and years, but as you know, time is irrelevant. So take this tape, and listen. Listen to these words. Hear the music. And, then, finally, when you are in the right place, at the right time, with the right person by your side, it will suddenly make perfect sense. And I promise, everything will become clear. Okay? In the meantime, please don’t be concerned about me. I am exactly where I am meant to be. And that’s why I left this for you. So that someday, you’d find me. When you’re ready. And in the meantime, it will just take some patience. Patience. Patience. Patience. Patience. Patience. Patience. Patience. Patience. Patience. Patience. Patience. Patience. Patience. Patience. Patience. Patience. Patience. Patience. Patience. Patience. Patience. Patience. Patience. Patience.