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Pyramid of the Moon

It is an odd thing, but I can’t seem to recall the year that I went to Teotihuacán with don Miguel and his group for a week-long spiritual retreat in Mexico.  It was just about the same time that I started working with my good friend and teacher, Ramin.  I don’t suppose the date is important.  At that time I didn’t know much about the Toltec tradition or don Miguel Ruiz.  I had somehow found out about a week-long trip to the pyramids and decided to give it a try.  I probably heard about it on one of the evenings that I had gone to see and listen to don Miguel in Sacramento or Davis.  I thought the costs for the trip were exorbitant,t but since I could afford it I decided not to worry too much about the money and go for the adventure. 

I flew from Sacramento to Austin, then on to Mexico City.  I was supposed to meet with the group of people attending the spiritual journey to Teotihuacán, north of Mexico City at the airport in Mexico City and then be bused about 30 miles to the hotel near Teotihuacán.  I arrived at Mexico City expecting a greeter, a sign, or some other fairly obvious way to identify the group. I was new to the group and would not recognize anyone, with the possible exception of don Miguel.  I got off the plane, went into the terminal and found no sign of the group.  There were lots of people milling around waiting for people or waiting to board the next plane, but there were no signs announcing the group, “Toltecs,” Miguel, my name or anything else.  I walked around the airport looking for some hint of what I might do next.  I was getting a little worried since I had no idea where to catch up to them if I missed them at the airport. I hadn’t been told the name of the hotel where we were to stay, or giving any local contact information.  I started to wonder what I was going to do next.  I waited around for an hour and a half, hoping that someone would show up – but they never did. 

I finally noticed that there were some people scattered around the airport sitting on chairs or the floor talking to each other.  They appeared to be together and were also waiting for something or someone.  They appeared to be Americans, so I felt comfortable asking them if they happened to have any idea about the group I was looking for.  It turned out that they were the group, and they were waiting for me!  What a relief that was. 

There were about 100 people attending the trip. The unexpectedly large size of the group heightened my feeling that the prices were quite high.   Once I added up in my head the costs and the income from these folks.  Based on the apparent costs, the number of attendees and the price per attendee it seemed to be a big money maker for the leaders.  I became concerned that I had just signed up for a week of “rip off the tourist.”  However, as I talked to folks I learned that most had taken journeys with don Miguel in the past and seemed to be quite willing to pay the price. They expressed the opinion that the costs were well worth the benefits.  I decided that since I was there, and had already spent the money, I might as well stop worrying about that part, and see what might come of the trip. 

Our group filled up the Club Med that is located right next to the pyramid site, lined up with the Avenue of the Dead, situated in a location that might have actually been part of the southern end of the pyramid complex at one time.  Not having stayed at a Club Med before, I was surprised at the austerity of the place.  It was very pretty and had a lot of “local color” about its design, but was not as lavish as I would have expected of Club Meds.  We seemed to have filled the hotel to capacity as there were no other guests for the week.  The hotel aligned perfectly with my personal desires for accommodations in that it was comfortable and nice, but not gaudy or glitzy.  It turns out that this is one of three or four “archeological” Club Meds, and is not the normal family oriented club that I had heard about.  It was actually perfect; it had all that we needed and was quite comfortable for our group.

Since the group was so large, we broke up into smaller groups to visit the pyramid site.  I was assigned to a group of six or seven ladies.  The group was led by Heather Ash, who had been one of don Miguel’s apprentices and was now a Toltec leader/teacher.  It was evident that everyone in this small group, except me, knew each other very well.  I was happy with the selection since they all seemed to be great people and I looked forward to spending the week with them. 

The plan was to start at the southern end of the Avenue of the Dead, near the Feathered Serpent Pyramid (Temple of Quetzalcoatl) and then carefully work our way north along the mile and a half of the Avenue of the Dead to the Pyramid of the Moon, finishing up several days later at the Pyramid of the Sun.

Each morning don Miguel talked to all of us in a large group for an hour or two, then we broke up into our smaller groups to experience the pyramid complex.  We were told some of the history of the place from don Miguel’s point of view, which turned out to be quite different from what I read on the plaques and the written materials presented for the tourists.  Then we were told what lessons and experiences were possible in this power place and were guided on a tour that was a only our group, rather than an archeological tour of the ruins.  We were using the place and its energy as tools, not as something to see.  In the afternoon we took a break or attended training sessions put on by various spiritual teachers.  In the evening Miguel talked to the group about the day and set our intent to continue working in our dreams.

We spent the biggest part of each day within the confines of the pyramid complex.  It was an interesting experience to be focused on meditation, power, awakening, and personal understanding in the middle of a place that was bustling with tourists and venders selling local goods and trinkets.  We focused on our work, and let the hustle and bustle flow around us.  I felt that those tourists that noticed us at all must have thought we were pretty wacky since we were on such a totally different pace and were spending our time in places that didn’t seem to have much visual draw (but did have a strong energetic attraction).  Mainly it was clear that we were two distinct groups of people, flowing past each other but not interacting very much.  It opened my eyes to the possibility of experiencing a place in peace and solitude, even though it is thronged with tourists.  I have since noticed this division at temples where the holy men go about their business, seemingly without hindrance from the many tourists around them.

After about three days of moving north along the Avenue of the Dead, we came to the Pyramid of the Moon – and climbed the steep stairs to the top.  At the top of the pyramid is a wide square or “plaza” that is slightly raised toward the center.  This day appeared to be school field trip day since there were many school kids in uniforms, many tourists with still and video cameras, and others on the pyramid.  I don’t know how many people were up there, but I would guess there were at least a couple of hundred.

Heather decided that we should sit in a circle and chant “Om” for awhile.  We started to sit in a circle, but were stopped by a big, rather intimating looking, guard.  He noticed what we were about to do and wagging his finger at us, indicated that we were not to do that.  We were surprised and disappointed that we weren’t going to be allowed to chant on top of the pyramid.  However, he then motioned us to follow him, which we did.  He pointed down, and there was a marker – he had brought us to the very center of the pyramid.  He then indicated, with the hint of a twinkle in his eye, that THAT was the right place to do what we wanted.  He didn’t seem to have a problem with our project, he just wanted to make sure we did it in the right place!

We sat and formed a circle that was perhaps eight feet across, closed our eyes, and started chanting.  It was one of those magical times when chanting Om starts my entire being to vibrate and feel like it is expanding and connecting to the universe.  I had experienced this sort of feeling when chanting this simple word before, so I wasn’t surprised with the feeling.  However, when I slowly opened my eyes while continuing to chant I was taken totally by surprise.  I found myself facing not just the circle of friends, but a huge column of energy shooting up out of the center of the pyramid!  It filled the space between us.  It was the size and shape of the trunk of a redwood tree.  It appeared to be flowing upward, reminding me of a huge jet of water shooting out of a fire hose or something like that.   The surface of the column shimmered and danced as it moved, forming a distinct boundary that looked like I could reach out and touch it.  However, this didn’t seem like the prudent thing to do since it was obviously so powerful and beautiful. It was not something I dared, or wanted, to interfere with.  I didn’t think to look up to see how far it went, but it went straight up out of my field of vision into the clear blue sky.  We continued to chant for ten or fifteen minutes longer, and that huge jet of energy kept rushing from deep within the pyramid, into the sky.  I felt that we had tapped into the energy that was the reason for the pyramid in the first place.  It finally dissipated, and we stopped chanting.  I had been absolutely, totally caught up in the power of the chanting and the power of the column of energy.  My body was alive and my soul was soaring.

Once we stopped, I looked around.  The first thing I saw was our big guard friend.  He had a huge grin on his face, smiling at us.  He gave us a big “thumbs up” sign to let us know that he knew that we had tapped into the energy of the pyramid.  Then I looked around to the rest of the people on top of the pyramid; they were all silent and transfixed in their spots.  They were all focusing on where we were, were all silent and everyone looked as dazed as I felt.  I believe that they not only experienced what I had seen, but were caught and moved by the energy just as I had been.  They all looked peaceful, content, and transported to “another place.”  This included all of the school kids who had stopped their running and yelling to stand and behold the miracle with us. 

I have never mentioned my experience to Heather or any of the other ladies in my group, so I don’t know if I was alone with my perceptions, or if we shared them that day.  I thought about asking them, but was afraid that talking about it would somehow dissipate the magic, turning it from something really special to just an imagined figment of my imagination.  I didn’t want to move it from a “felt” experience to a “thought.”  It really doesn’t matter too much if we shared the same thing or not, because I am positive that all of us on top of the pyramid that day shared a huge experience.  We might have experienced it differently, but I am sure that we all felt it.

A friend on Jeopardy

Last night a friend of mine (Lori White) was a contestant on Jeopardy. This isn’t a game show I spend much time with, but check it out now and then when there isn’t much else going on and I want to watch something on TV. It was interesting how much more exciting it was with a friend in the contest. I noticed a couple of things of interest. For one, the other two contestants help their hands behind the podium and therefore you couldn’t tell what they were doing to get to answer. Lori had a push button thing in her hand so you could see her attempting to be first to respond. The previous winner was very fast, I couldn’t see any time delay, but Lori was pushing and pushing, but not so often getting in there first. She looked frustrated, and I was VERY frustrated – I wanted to hear her answer the questions, which she did in ways that would be totally impossible for me to compete with no matter how much time I got to try to get my mind focused – but honestly there wasn’t anything to focus on, I knew very few of the answers.

It was an exciting game with the points shifting back and forth with things like “double jeopardy” and other leveling features. In the end she won!!! So I guess she is going to be back tonight (or whenever the next game is aired). I have a ton of questions to ask her when I see her next. Does she get to keep what she won last night? Of does that somehow get wrapped up in the entire series, or maybe it isn’t actually what she makes? If so, it was almost $19,000 – not a bad evening. Also, was it live, or was it recorded some time ago? Was it fun?? She was really excited to go to the show, I sure hope she had a ball.

However that goes, congratulations Lori for a splendid game!

Old Gum Trees Abide

Bill Fell 6/25/20 and 7/3/20

There is a Buddhist practice called “Aimless Wandering.”  But for the undisciplined practitioner, the discursive thought process is seldomly interrupted.  No problem; write a poem.

Shiny burnt-orange rivulets of resin,
Of ooze, they steal my eye
A sap sickle breaks off with a helping hand  
So what now? . . . Is it the same tree?

Where I grew up, these guys all
Dropped their layers of thin tan skin
Tons of long pink pointy leaves, messy, aromatic
Seasons of shed.  Here instead,

We’ve got rough thick canyons of dark bark
Parallel ridges of deep death, 
Bluffs shade gorges hugging their host
Having settled in for a long haul; and

Leaves, fair-er-hued, more bulbous than I recall
Soaking up this ambient heat, and no
I’m not smelling IT.   But aren’t those old aromas
Merely illusions of my past?

No roots sticking up, neither then nor now
Both eucalyptus situations barren of undergrowth
Little question who rules these clusters of earth . . .
But for how long?  For any of us?

Stop, stare, notice the discrete moments of me
Of all we non-native species.  And
For this afternoon, I still have a bike path to walk
Amongst the blessed patches of shade.
 


 

Web site developer agitation

I apologize for the long gap in my “daily” posts. It isn’t that I have been ignoring this web site, it is because I have been using my time budget to change the website – hopefully for the better. The experience has been an interesting one that alternates between not having an idea of how to start, followed by experiments and frustrations, eventually calming down with a bit of “success” – only to realize that the success was but a stepping stone on an invisible path: then returning to not having an idea of how to start from that point.

I am finding this process to be highly frustrating because I have almost no “mental model” of how the web site works. The tool that I am using, Word Press, provides two views to the website creator. One view is through “blocks” of material (such as the drop down menu, the “sidebar” area, and the pages) that can be selected, moved around, modified in certain ways. This is fine for those that design by “messing around” – but that is not my style. I like to know “how it works.” For people like me, WordPress provides the completely opposite view – all of the html computer code that creates those blocks. So you can switch to that view and have much more control, but when I do it feels like I am faced with a big pile of letters and numbers in no particular order. Yicks! Does this mean I have to learn yet another computer language? Oh my goodness, that is a daunting task.

Perhaps I will eventually have to step off into the abyss and learn the version of html that is used because that seems to be my way of doing things. It reminds me of when I was first learning to drive. In those days a stick shift, with a clutch, was the option. I was having a hell of time using the clutch without jerking and jumping around. My friends mastered it quickly just be fiddling around until they “got it.” Not me, there was no amount of fiddling that was helping. Luckily, one of my brothers was working on his car and had the engine and transmission out of the car and on the shop floor. I took it apart until I could see what was in the bell housing where the clutch assembly “lives.” At that point I could see how the clutch worked, what levers and springs did what and why. From that moment on shifting smoothy was a piece of cake – I understood how it worked so I could make it work. I am having that problem again with this website. I still don’t know how it works, but it is slowly coming into focus.

So… please bare with me while I go through a period of changing, fixing, and hopefully improving the layout and presentation of the materials. I think it is getting better, but there is always a good possibility that I will completely change my approach and the look and feel will change a lot – or maybe not.

Covid Series

Bill Fell 3/25/20 and 4/11, 26/20 and 7/3/20

This poem in multiple parts began March 25, 2020 and part 7 was written on February 25, 2021. It’s been a long year.


1.

First TP run up to Woodland
  Sudden signs of a new time
    Symptoms appearing

2.

A shear burnt-orange linen tube stretched overhead
This “collar” then pulled back up; masks in-breath, out-breath
Reaffix glasses and ready, to mix minds and hearts; a
Mild itch upper cheek, below lower lip 

Fetching Ibuprophen for Marian at CVS,
Scarved to the hilt; my fellows similarly clad
Albeit in stylized masks of shapes and colors
Just like me, and not 

Forgetting to check the TP -- paper towels shelf,
Just another thread I choose to study from my perch
Mild itch at the nose bridge, cheeks; no fog
Just as it is 

What’s changed in this cashier’s life, I ask?  Besides
Plexy-glass separators, the “stay-back” stripes on the carpet
Grabbing the receipt, out the door to perfect Spring
. . .  but for the lack of rain and snow this Winter

Calm abiding and paths of non-rejecting; possible
Studies and practices during this lockdown
Blessed be the teachers, students and hosts, and
The servers of essential services 

Sincere appreciations amongst all the stresses
These bourgeois sufferings being my lot
A shifting scene of storylines, insubstantial, but
Only when I will allow this inspiration

3.

Washing hands?  Sure, and I’ll have my own towel
    Thanks for the nudge
Wearing a mask?  Sure, but I’m a slow adopter
    I dress for the middle  
Staying put?  Sure, another habit to suspend
    I don’t lack for ways to connect  

4.

So enters the clown-in-chief
    Where will he take us today?
        We’re living in a meme-fest

5.

Getting up to leave 
Bending down to drop a kiss
Atop a dear mom’s head.
Caught in my own drama
I let distancing lapse, unilaterally
Redefining our germ circle

Driving off . . . .  OUCH
Second thoughts, best thoughts?

6.

—–Forwarded Message—–

On Feb 14, 2021, at 6:17 PM, Bill Fell <bill….@*****> wrote:

Hi Alex,
Any update on your dad?  Also, I’m in contact with Darleen T….. and will let her know the status in case Harvey asks.  The three of us all worked at PERS together in the 70’s.
Bill

—– Forwarded Message —–

On Feb 14, 2021, at 6:20 PM, Alexander <****@…..> wrote:

Bill,

I do have sad news to report. As of 5:30 PST today Harvey passed away due to COVID complications. 

-Alex

—– Forwarded Message —–

 On Feb 14, 2021, at 8:59 PM, Bill Fell <bill….@****> wrote:

Wow.  Alex, I am so sorry to hear of this.  

Your dad was a good man.  He hired me into State service 46 years ago this week, and he was my first supervisor.  He taught me a lot during the five years we worked together at the retirement system.  Harvey was the opposite of the sycophant.  He pissed off our Division Chief and other management by taking the side of the retirement applicant in his interpretation of the Public Employees Retirement Law.  And Harvey new the benefits portion of the PERL possibly better than anyone in the department.  Despite his knowledge and his commitment to the members, he was not rewarded by his superiors who held the reins for promotions.  We had many conversations over the years about his attitude (sarcasm?) and his unwillingness to leave it alone.  I respected him for that as did most of his peers.  He was a good manager and a great boss.

Aside from office politics, our political leanings were identical which was critical to keeping in contact over the years.  I will miss our lunches.  Also, we always talked about our respective household situations, and I think my advice was always heard and uniformly ignored, which is probably for the best.  His connection with you was no doubt the best aspect of his life, Eleanor and Alex.  I’m sorry the two of you will never get to England together, as given his obvious mobility issues, I suspected that would have been his last visit to his beloved Great Britain.

Let me know if you have any needs.  And thank you Alex for being a good kid to my dear friend.  

Bill       

7.
Vaccinations

A snake of sedans slithers
  Through pilons, and lime and green vests
    Spirited volunteers, compliant citizens
      Smiles and thank you’s all around 

We of the herd, heard the call
  Here we are getting in line
    Spouses CAN get shot in a single lap
      Blessed be the rule breakers

City Dream

This dream was the first that I am aware of where a Toltec teacher was helping and guiding me in a lucid dream

As the dream started, I was walking though the countryside toward a large city.  The road went through agricultural fields, over gently rolling hills.  It was a clear day, with blue skies and a slight chill to the air.  I could see the city off in the distance, but had a long walk ahead of me.  A car pulled up next to me and the driver, a man in his 40’s, asked if I would like a ride.   I accepted, and we continued on toward the city.  As we drove along he told me that he was going to be my teacher, and that he had something to show me.

We entered a large bustling city, which I assume was New York, or equivalent.  We found a place to park, and he said we had to walk through the city. 

When we got out of the car, I looked around and saw that the city was almost empty.  There were no cars or any other vehicles on the streets.  There were a few people on the sidewalks, but they appeared to be in some sort of suspended animation.  We were walking through a deserted and stilled city.  We walked down empty streets, looking at the skyscrapers and other buildings.  It was an eerie feeling, reading the street signs, looking into empty stores, walking across empty streets.  It was a little like what I imagine it would be to walk through the town of Chernobyl when it was evacuated after the nuclear power plant accident – except that there were motionless people in this city.

I then noticed that the people had started to move, but not with any direction; they were just milling around.  They saw us and were commenting among themselves about us. It was clear that they found us to be out of the norm, and to be frightening.  They pointed to us, and I overheard them telling each other that we were not the same as they were – to be careful of us.

I asked my teacher what this was about, and why was he showing me such an odd place?  He said that he wanted to point out that this is the normal situation; there are a few people who are “awake,” but mostly everyone is asleep and there really isn’t anything going on of importance – most people are just milling around using up their days.  There was really almost nothing in the cities, even though we think of them as being full of things.  He said that he brought me here because he wanted to be sure that I understood that in many ways the path I have chosen to follow is lonely and disassociated from most of the people around me. He said that I would find that most things that I previously thought were important don’t even exist.  Even those few people who do take notice do so from a distance.  They will be fearful because I would be different and unknown to them.  He said it isn’t all like that, but much of what I have come to view as full of important things is actually empty.  He then told me that he would continue to visit me in my dreams to help me along the path to enlightenment.

I don’t know if this dream was some sort of warning or just a statement of fact.  I have thought of it often over the years because it seems so true.  I had just finished a cruise in the Mediterranean that had a lot of the feeling of that dream.  The ship and other passengers were basically not there.  They were busy and seemed to be engaged, but were actually so far into their internal worlds that they missed most of what was happening around them.  Those few that I did talk to were hesitant to get any closer than just passing acquaintances.   When we went ashore to visit old ruins we saw and interacted very little with the peoples or places that we were traveling through.  It felt a lot like that empty city, full of people just whiling away their lives.

Avoidable Stress

Bill Fell 3/8 – 9/20

When asked to represent the Buddhist “faith” in front of the Unitarian Church’s two Sunday morning gatherings, one learns how difficult it is to explain the Mahayana view of “wisdom” in a VERY short time.  So, start with the “two truths,” and end with our opening liturgy four-liner and pray that I can somehow link these two teachings.  But why do I stress over it all?

For Rev. Beth Banks and Cliff Ohmart of Unitarian – Universalist (or “UUians”), Anne Kjemtrup of Davis Engagement and Interfaith Network (DEIN) , and the piano player

Explain “wisdom” in ten minutes
  OK, set some goals, imagine outcomes; speak
    Do the best you can
      It will all be over soon, and then . . . 

Brevity being the soul of wit ,* I’m finding
  The shorter the talk
    The longer the prep
      Everything’s left unspoken

Awakened at 3AM
  Got it! the perfect second sentence
    Capture it this instant, or just
      Stay; risk letting it go

While teaching on emptiness, and 
  Obsessing on ordering a few bullets; ah
      The irony and vanity of the aspiring bodhisattva
          Wisdom is seeing the movie, the pause 

Walkers, canes, name-tagged regulars
  Filling the lobby, the sanctuary
    Not exactly like first day of kindergarten
      Confusion any of us?  
        “May it dawn as wisdom” *

*Four Dharmas of Gampopa are:

Grant your blessings so that my mind may be one with the dharma.
Grant your blessings so that dharma may progress along the path.
Grant your blessings so that the path may clarify confusion.
Grant your blessings so that confusion may dawn as wisdom.

Myriad Triads

Bill Fell 1/17 – 18/20

So what happens to a controversial conversation (read: sensitive, heated debate) when one’s teacher, respected by many, enters the fray?  Turns out, probably not much changes, as this merely adds one more story line that either reinforces our own view, or somehow less likely, opens up the discussion by offering an alternative storyline.

For Ani Pema Chodron, the Sakyong, the
Shambhala Int. Board, the Acharyas, and
Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche

Called out during walking
  Quietly vacating the procession
    Impermanence

A herald has news
  Best read soon, aloud; all’s
    Called out after final bows

Seeking skillful means from the lineage holder
  An old Buddhist nun retires her title, finally
    Impermanence, with less the viscosity of granite

She’s got cred on my street
  Best to listen, aloud; absorb
    She’s calling out sangha for change

Breakfast crowd turns myriad triads
  Most, not all on each’s Sakyong saga
    Fluid discourse around a tablecloth

After dishes, we each have our minds
  And multiple storylines ensue
    With each exhale, the universe changes
    The old me dies; a new me is born

 

  

Doctor Professor Mrs. Epstein

Sarah P. Mandel

Lincoln, Nebraska 1958/59

         My mother Elizabeth, who somehow knew the backstories of people’s lives without engaging in gossip or malice, told me Mrs. Epstein was not raised to be a woman. Her father believed she was a genius and he didn’t want to hold her back. She was supposed to be the physics world’s answer to Marie Curie. So she never learned how to keep house or dress attractively like the women in the Faculty Wives Club. She just studied and was brilliant.

         Elizabeth knew how to do all the things women were supposed to do, including getting dressed up. She had that Irene Dunne/Greer Garson kind of good looks – she’d managed to keep her figure even after three Caesarians.  But she didn’t have much time for Faculty Wives. She was a teacher and an artist with a large family consisting of her professor husband, four children and her parents. With Grandma supervising the kids and various cleaning ladies our household was well organized and reasonably clean.

         Mrs. Epstein was Professor Epstein and Doctor Epstein as well. I wish I knew her first name so I could look up her academic papers, but in those days children did not call their friends’ mothers by their first names. The abstracts of the scholarly papers of her husband, Saul T. Epstein are on the internet with titles such as Time Dependent Impulse Approximation and Causal Interpretation of Quantum Mechanics. I know his name because she called him that when she talked to her children. But they called him Daddy, and he called her Dear.

          Mrs. Doctor Professor Epstein, whom we will call Mrs. Epstein from now on for simplicity’s sake, went on to graduate work at MIT and her life was unfolding according to her father’s plan until she met Saul. Wham! Torrid romance among the slide rules and the girl genius in training became a wife and mother of three children, my eleven year old friend Joanne, aka Anniejo, and her little brothers David and Peter. 

         Our neighborhood was full of old houses, both fancy and plain, and Epsteins’ looked like the top two stories of the Addams Family mansion had been sliced off and plopped on the ground, Mansard roof and all. There were no curtains in the windows, just roller shades, and hardly any furniture downstairs, just a long wooden table with chairs around it. Also a piano with a bench for the boys who banged the keys and sang improvised comedy songs of the seven and nine year old variety. Since my brothers were about the same age, I experienced this behavior as normal and entertaining.

          Occasionally Mr. and Mrs. Professor/Doctor Epstein stepped out for the evening and since I was thirteen, I babysat. This consisted of enjoying the first half of a slumber party with the boys and Joanne. There was no TV and no couch and no rugs on the floor. The whole place was surprisingly clean- it was like dust could find no place to settle, so it flew out the front door like Mary Poppins. What might once have been a second parlor was now a study with two roll top desks covered with papers which must never be touched and two  wooden rolling chairs which the boys raced around the empty living room. The sole wall decoration consisted of telescopic photos of the cosmos – gorgeous blown up shots of nebulas, galaxies and clouds of stars gleaming in the dark vastness of the universe.

         Upstairs in the bedrooms, the boys had bunk beds. Standing on the top one they’d painted a flying saucer on the ceiling. It was a good one too, with aliens looking out the windows and waving hello. When I babysat, the boys ran around nonstop until they dropped and had to be steered staggering into their beds. Then Joanne and I hung out. She was grown up for her age, and fun to talk to. She had long blonde hair and blue eyes like mine and looked nothing like the rest of the family, with their thick dark hair and brown eyes. She said her Grandma was blonde.

         Joanne had a special friendship with Bill Chasen, who lived across the street and was also eleven. His dad, Dr. Chasen, was the head of the Physics and Astronomy Department. The Chasens lived in a three-story Victorian mansion with porches, balconies and an enormous attic. Inside that elegant exterior Mrs. Chasen created the most beautiful and welcoming house I’d ever seen, full of shining wood floors, oriental rugs, actual art on the walls, comfortable furniture, and the mouthwatering smell of perfect brisket. She could mix Martinis. “Bea Chasen knows how to entertain,” my mother said. Grandma poached her cleaning ladies.

         I dog sat for them when they went to Mexico, and explored the whole house at my leisure. I never touched things though, because Mrs. Chasen would have noticed. She liked to smoke and had a lot of lines in her face. She carried her hand-blown blue glass ash tray in her hand as she walked, explaining what Mitzi the cocker spaniel needed. She didn’t look very happy.

          My mother Elizabeth didn’t have time to worry about being happy. She taught hands-on art at Pound Junior High, on her feet all day in high heels, girdle and stockings, and was so tired when she got home that she collapsed across the bed in her good clothes and slept until dinner was ready. “I like a three-ring circus,” she said. She was a Gemini.

         But Mrs. Epstein was different. She laughed all the time and hugged her kids, and she didn’t appear to worry about anything. She could barely cook – it was store-bought potato salad, hot dogs and baked beans at their house, but they were Hebrew National dogs with mustard, and squirted deliciously when you bit into them.  Sitting at the table while the boys banged the piano she would join in, clapping and shouting with them, which made them even more excited. On Saturday afternoons they played cards and board games and slapped the table and everybody cracked up laughing.

         Of course, when Professor Saul T. Epstein was around we had to be quiet or play outside, as everyone understood that he was thinking deep and important thoughts and should not be disturbed in his process. His wife was happy about this as well because the two of them shared the joys of the highest reaches of astrophysics, abstract and abtruse thinking, and she understood exactly what he was up to. She dressed like a disheveled schoolgirl, wearing cardigans with occasional moth holes and somewhat wrinkled white blouses coming untucked from pleated plaid wool skirts, on her feet brown oxford shoes with little girl socks. Her legs were unshaven and her eyebrows unplucked and she got her hair cut at the same barber who did her boys. She never wore lipstick to go to church because she didn’t go to church, or to synagogue either, for that matter. She worshipped at the church of the giant mystery of the cosmos, and she was genuinely happy.

How do we know “truth”?

Last Friday I watched a CNN special on Qanon. It was very interesting for many reasons, not least of which was the idea that Q is supposedly an actual person that is providing “hints” to his/her/their followers about things to check out, and what to look for. The approach seems to be to launch a “theory” that is usually a radical claim of some sort or another (such as there being overwhelming election fraud, or global warning is a hoax, or Bill Gates is doing whatever he is suspected of doing this week). The “hints” provided by Q give some directions concerning what to look for when researching the validity of the theory – and some hints of how to interpret the things that are found. These hints get passed around and changed by the followers in much the same way as the game of “postoffice” changes the messages shared from person to person. It seemed to be a little like those computer games where you explore all sorts of unknown and spooky places. The found objects might be numbers in a particular pattern, or colors, or symbols or “special phrases” uttered by powerful people, or…. all sorts things. The point is that the followers are implementing something along the lines of the “scientific approach” in the search for the “real truth.” They have a theory, have an idea of what would support or reject that theory, spend lots of time and effort “researching” the issues, and end up validating their theory. The resultant beliefs are extremely strong and very difficult to change. This is sort of what I do when doing my own “research” on things I hear and see, especially on social media. However, I get good facts instead of crazy ideas. (He says slightly tongue in cheek).

There is another interesting thing that apparently happens when using the on-line search tools. Those tools “remember” you and give answers that are in alignment with your personal interests and beliefs. Therefore, if for example, you are against vaccinations, search on the topic often looking supporting information and then ask a questions concerning their safety and efficacy you will be taken to web sites that support your beliefs that vaccinations are dangerous and not effective. (These new sources of information are usually based upon social media and internet searches rather than original sources.) If however, you are a health care professional doing your normal job and ask the same questions, you will be taken to health care sites that demonstrate their safety and efficacy (usually including lots of data from studies primary source investigations). The result is that one person gets support of their theory that vaccinations are bad and dangerous, the other person gets support of their belief that they are good and beneficial. We are all stuck with trying to find a way to get to the best information without becoming unduly influenced by lies, half-truths, and “cult knowledge” (which isn’t really knowledge at all).

This CNN program brought up the question of what does it take for people to convince themselves that they are correct? It seems like there is perhaps a particular sequence of operations that we, as people, go through in order to solidify our understanding of truth. Maybe it is as simple as what I outlined above. (1) Notice something unknown, (2) make a theory of why that might happen, (3) devise tests to validate or reject the theory, (4) believe. Maybe the very process of researching a theory through experiment, literature research, discussions with others is what counts. If that research somehow gets misdirected, then the outcome is not valid – but we believe it is. There are many, many examples of this kind of thing happening in “real” science, with real scientists doing in-depth oversight reviews and other things to try to find and correct these types of bias errors. It is not just a problem with “them,” it is also a problem for “us.”

The old saw is that in order for a theory to get overthrown you have to wait long enough for the original believers to die. While this is usually said somewhat in jest, there is a very real nugget of truth in it. Once you build a belief into your mind it is extremely difficult to root it out – and scientists are nothing if not strong believers in the fundamental theories. They let the little things change with ease, but try to mess with the fundamentals takes something special – such as Mr. Einstein’s proposition that the reason that the speed of light is always measured to be the same everywhere is that it is! That little question turned into the two theories of relativity and all that followed from them. But it took over 260 years, and dozens of experiments by as many top scientists to finally decide that perhaps Newton was fundamentally wrong. Beliefs backed up by extensive observation, testing and research are difficult to shake – whether the person is someone following Qanon or Newton.

This brings me to a fundamental question: “Are American’s beliefs being tampered with by enemy agents? (internal or external). And if so, is there a means of intervening? Are we actually being the subject of outside agents using “mind control” techniques, or are we just unable to recognize reality because we haven’t learned how to do so?