Journey to the Hieros Gamos 1983-2012
This series of autobiographical novels experiment with shifts in time to depict a shifting quantum reality of acausal events prescient of The Great Pause of 2020. The invented literary techniques capturing shifts in perception were so new to publishing at the time they were written that they found acceptance by inspiring as avant-garde multimedia art, such as collage and performance.
1984 — SOLD OUT
The première novel in this series experimented with literary form to create an aliveness of character and place. Although set in a particular time and place, Buenos Aries in 1983, the mood of Uncertainty in chaos can be appreciated in Post Covid Uncertainty in which past, present and future converge in a outside of Time and place, t
ASTARA IS BORN
1987- 1992 Hollywood
The second meta novel takes place in New Age Los Angeles where a smorgasbord of conscious raising activities vie for one another. Our heroine renames herself Astara to sample them all while working as a script reader for a talent agency.
WOLF IN THE BOTTLE
1992-1995 Los Feliz
The third novel in the series is set in the newly hip neighborhood of Los Feliz where the protagonist falls for a smoldering actor and focuses her metaphysical journey on the outer connection drawing her into an understanding of her kundalini awakening.
2012 Los Angeles/Brussels/Egypt/Cyprus/Saas-Fee/Berlin
This final meta narrative explodes the boundaries of the novel in Topanga Canyon where the protagonist’s livelihood as a healer and priestess is disrupted by her collaboration with a narcissistic artist who challenges her identity and precarious financial independence. She frees herself by enrolling in a doctoral program in philosophy in Switzerland and a new life in Berlin as an art critic.
CLICK on titles to read excepts of these dynamic meta novels!
1984 — SOLD OUT
His beauty is all the more striking against his miserable environment. The drabness of the tenement has no effect on me when I am in his presence. Usually he is inaccessible, with a distant aloofness which defies penetration. And today, he wears his remoteness as a mask; there is tension in his unyielding expression.
He doesn’t have to tell me what he is thinking. I already know. The wall has been coming down for some time. And now our situation is painfully clear. He has withdrawn into himself, the endless cycle of his suffering, a place where I can’t reach him.
“We can’t see each other anymore,” he says.
There is a cruel, almost sadistic coldness to his voice.
“Why not?” I ask, refusing to accept the obvious.
“I can’t talk about my feelings in English. I have to speak in Spanish.” He turns to me, a devilish smile crossing his lips. “La cosa es que no puedo verte mas porque...”
He rattles on but his Spanish is too fast for me. I shake my head, uncomprehending. “I don’t understaaaaand!”
The parrot squawks and screeches in its cage, mocking the shrill hysteria of my voice. “UNDERSTAAAAND!”
1987-1992 Los Angeles/Malibu
WHITE SMOG BILLOWS...BREAKING THROUGH TO PAN LOS ANGELES BASIN. THE ORDERLY STREET GRID, BEACHES SCARRED BY POLLUTION, DROUGHT STRICKEN MOUNTAINS. ZOOM IN ON THE HOLLYWOOD SIGN. BOLD. GLEAMING WHITE. A BEACON WELCOMING ALL TRAVELERS TO A PARADISE GONE BAD.
PAN TO AIRPLANE IN FLIGHT. THROUGH WINDOW WE C.U. ON A FACE OF A GIRL/WOMAN IN A FLIGHT SUIT. HOLD ON HER WISTFUL GAZE.
WE HEAR THE ROAR OF THE AIRPLANE AS WE C.U. ON HOLLYWOOD SIGN AT SUNSET. FLASH TO DUSK AND THE SHADOWS CAST BY THE SIGN ON THE DROUGHT RAVAGED HILLSIDE, EARTH SCARRED BY TREMORS. PAN THE BEACON FROM BEHIND, REVEALING THE SCAFFOLDING UPHOLDING THE MAGNIFICENT BACKDROP TO THE STAGE THAT IS HOLLYWOOD.
IT IS 1986...A LOW YEAR FOR AMERICAN CINEMA...BUT ONE IN WHICH STARGAZING HIT A PEAK...
1992-1995 Los Feliz
It began, as adventures do, with a dream.
It was the day of the eclipse and she was dressed in white chiffon, participating in a wedding march. A voice told her she must take the dark stranger beside her as her companion. She was adamant in her refusal, insisting she was on the way to meet her soul mate.
She ended up with the stranger. She asked why and was told it was her fate. The stranger had the face of a wolf, glassy eyes, teeth bared, leering tongue viciously lapping...
THE AQUARIAN CONVERSION
2012 Los Angeles/Egypt/Cyprus/Brussels/ Saas-Fee/Berlin
The truth about the Conversion is in the telling. In the Greek myth of conversion, Pholus the centaur had a visitor, Heracles, the strongman, the womanizer. He was thirty and wanted some wine but the only wine that Pholus had was the holiday wine, aged for three generations and he was responsible to the clan to preserve it.
So, what did Pholus do? Did he act as the gracious host and give Heracles the holiday wine? Did he outright refuse, denying he even had wine? Or did he reveal the wine and stand by, helplessly, as the muscleman popped open the cork, sending the community into chaos. Intoxicated by the smell, they rushed into the cave.
All three of these versions of the story were in circulation. No one really knows what happens, as this was a myth, after all, but it doesn’t matter because the truth is in the telling. Depending on what version is told, what version is heard, is what determines the outcome of the myth for that particular individual who tells it.
Do we have to believe the stories that are told? No, in fact, it is our mission as creative beings to continually evolve the stories of humankind to adjust them for our own time and place, just as the ancient civilizations did with their narrative epics. As humanity changes, the myths change.
The myth of the sacred marriage to the Aquarian spirit on top Sacre Monte di Orta which transformed philosopher into poet in 882 is now the mount of Ojai between the parents of the divine child of the Age of Aquarius which itself is new narrative of inborn capacity for humans to create change. In being present in a manner she hadn’t ever imagined, by letting her entire body fill with rage at her lover, the damn had burst. Leo had responded in type and that gave Aquaria a new idea.
Leo and Aquaria had come together not to experience personal pleasure; surely that was part of it, but their unified being, as momentary as it was, was so much grander than they were as separate beings. In fact, it is precisely the power of their beings, the purity of the opposing types, that entrusted them with the birth of something entirely new: the child of the Age of Aquarius! This idea was so new that Aquaria, in her vessel of art critic, couldn’t even yet identify the form, or the medium.