Where the Spirits Ride the Wind: Trance Journeys and Other Ecstatic Experiences

Where the Spirits Ride the Wind: Trance Journeys and Other Ecstatic Experiences

Where the Spirits Ride the Wind: Trance Journeys and Other Ecstatic Experiences

Where the Spirits Ride the Wind: Trance Journeys and Other Ecstatic Experiences

Excerpt

It was with trepidation, even fear, that in response to the urgent entreaties of many friends here and abroad I began writing this account of our common adventures. Would our spirit friends, the Surpassing Ones, approve of the endeavor, which was bound to reveal much, perhaps too much, about their secrets? and even more important, had I even properly grasped the nature of the kind of reality into which our hesitant steps had taken us?

Then one night, just before the day was about to break, I had a vision. Snowy white against the grey of restlessly seething clouds, Ï saw the head of the Bear Spirit emerging. But before I could give in to the feeling of happy recognition, it twisted as if agitated by a mighty wind and, dissolving, became one with the hulking mass of a powerfully pulsing white presence. Driven by the storm, that in turn lifted, and from below it, a bundle of taut, vibrating strands streaked with enormous force into the hugely magnified likeness of one of the pebbles that I had found during the summer of my initiation, bearing the face of the Badger. the wind carried that away also, and a delicate fawn cavorted out of nowhere, twisted upon itself, and was gone. Then all was calm, and nothing was left but a slightly tilted, narrow, empty bookcase, carelessly nailed together from short furring strips with some of them missing, floating, as if suspended forever, in the vacuity of the now immobile greyness.

The significance of the vision and its relation to the project I was agonizing over did not become clear to me until a week later, when on a field trip to Yucatan (Mexico) late in 1986, I once more saw Anselmo preach. in May 1970 this young Maya Indian farmhand and barber had had a vision. During the Sunday service of the Apostolic village congregation to which he belonged, he saw some candles being extinguished, and he heard the voice of the Holy Spirit ordering the Brothers to go out and convert everyone, for Christ’s Second Coming was close at hand. the hoped-for event was to occur at the beginning of September of that year. After the failure of the prophesy, what was left of the devastated congregation developed along more conservative lines, while a handful of diehards gathered around Anselmo and built their own House of Prayer at the far north end of the village, independent of any church authority or organization.

Anselmo was still the fluent and effective speaker I had known sixteen years before. But as I sat there in the carefully tended small mud-and-wattle building, listening to him speak about a vision of the Prophet Isaiah, it occurred to me that not once did he ever refer to his own many visions of that fateful summer so many years ago. Instead, over and over again, he lifted the Bible . . .

Search by... Author
Show... All Results Primary Sources Peer-reviewed

Oops!

An unknown error has occurred. Please click the button below to reload the page. If the problem persists, please try again in a little while.