Sacred Ground: Ley Lines and Vortices of the American West

[lorae]

STARS IN THE MARBLE MOUNTAIN WILDERNESS OF NORTHERN CALIFORNIA
by Lorae Ireland

This series of stars within stars was shown me by Spirit Teachers. They told me to look for a configuration of stars on a Forest Service map of the Klamath National Forest.  After getting that map, I marked all the larger mountains with red dots.  I stayed up quite late that night trying to see the pattern of the stars but finally went to bed in defeat.  However, the next morning I immediately "followed the dots," bringing out a series of stars within stars, described below.

A large, perfect six-pointed star encircles a smaller six-pointed star which encloses a five-pointed star with a triangle in the center.  This five-pointed star is within yet another perfect six-pointed star formed by the indent points of the first two.  The Indians were aware of this configuration, given the names of "Medicine" mountain and Big and Little Medicine Creeks in the very core.  Medicine Mountain is sacred to the Karuk Indians.

A message from Spirit Teachers:

"We come to tell you of the wonders of the Earth you live on, wonders forgotten by the race of man long, long ago.  We come to remind you of who you truly are.  You are not yet prepared to receive that knowledge in full, and we will begin gently, slowly, carefully:  Know that this Earth of yours is a marvel, and that you are one with Her.  As the configurations of the surface hint at larger realities, so your very physiology is an amazing living communications instrument, an instrument long unused.

The woman writing this has pledged herself to service to us and to all mankind.  This instrument was put to partial use to bring this old, forgotten knowledge to the consciousness of humans now on Earth: We speak now of the Stars in the Marble Mountain Wilderness of Northern California.  

This is, indeed, a sacred area, the portals of, as you would say, the Gods.  The five-pointed star is man, the six, the cosmos.  Know that five and twelve are here for you to know, see, feel and use.  We ask that mathematicians, the highest philosophers, meditate upon these symbols embodied in the mountains, and understand that of which we have shown thee.

We also hope that young people, and older people who are young--those with open minds and pure, open bodies--explore this area and ask to communicate with us, for this area is, indeed, the greatest Portal of all on Earth, and many wonders have been and will be in this place.
That is all."

From my journal, April, 1992:

Spirit Teachers: "The Stars in the Marble Mountain Wilderness ARE THE KEY TO LIBERATION."

Me:  "If so, I ask for your protection."

"We have always been with thee."

"Thank you.  How are they the key?"

“For you to know the truth.
They are our portal for transportation and communication.  You, also, can leave the Earth through this portal."

VISION QUEST into the center of the Stars in the Marble Mountains

For the fall equinox of 1994, I hiked into the center triangle with my friend, R. [Rodney Michael Carr-Smith - you can read some of his writing here: http://www.greatdreams.com/anover.htm.]  
I'd met Rodney briefly at the Unity Gathering earlier. (See http://unveiling.18.forumer.com/index.php?showtopic=59 )
It's a 17-mile hike, one way, from the trailhead to the center of the "Stars".  His friend K had driven all the way from Massachusetts to make this "Priestly Journey into The Stars in the Marble Mountains".  

Before we started, as we were putting our gear in the car at Takelma across the Oregon border, we saw the smoke clouds boiling up over the mountains to the south.  We drove over the pass and stopped at the Happy Camp Ranger Station to ask about the fires.  

The lady at the ranger station  told us that three fires had sprung up with 100 foot-high walls of flame.  When we looked at the map, each appeared to be just outside the three sides of the center triangle of the Stars.  Nevertheless we drove on down to Somme's Bar to the trailhead.  

In the trailhead parking lot, we hesitated in confusion.  K. said that because of the fires, he wasn't going in, but R. intrepidly began packing his backpack for a quick hike in and out.  He told us that if he wasn't back by four days to expect him to be on the top of Medicine Mountain.  I half-heartedly decided that the least I could do would be to hike with him as far as camp that night to give some moral support.  I told K. that if I didn't come out the next day to know that I had gone on in with R.  So we set out and hiked until well after dark.

The next morning was fine and the trail easy.  I felt safe and it didn't seem too difficult a thing to continue on into the center.  We hiked twelve miles that day on good trail that repeatedly climbed above the creek several hundred feet, then dipped down to climb again.  With the anxiety to get there by the equinox at eleven that night, I got very tired climbing and hiking in the heat.  

In late afternoon we came upon a camp of exhausted Karuk Indian firefighters.  They were all sound asleep, with their boots still on and sticking out of their tents.  We tiptoed past their camp and continued. About eight p.m. we arrived at the mouth of Medicine Creek and collapsed into our sleeping bags on the rocks.

We slept like the dead, and woke up about 10 in the morning.  When R. first stood up he looked like a transparent blue cutout, then my eyes saw him in a normal way.  We swam in the creek, crossed it and hiked a short distance into the Center Triangle.  

At a high point where the trail changed direction we did a short ceremony, planted some crystals, said some prayers and invoked LIBERATION.  We didn't stay much longer than half an hour because R. pointed out that those white flakes floating down were not snowflakes.  We hiked five miles back to an old cabin where the trial forked to Medicine Mountain.  At that place we made camp early because we were both still quite tired.  

The next day we came out at the trailhead about three in the afternoon.  Amazingly, K. was waiting for us.  He told us that the area had been evacuated because of the fires and that he’d planned to send a search party for us if we didn’t show up by nightfall.  No wonder we’d had the trail all to ourselves!  We went to a cafe in Happy Camp and had the best hamburgers and cokes ever.  Then we drove up the Klamath and  back to Takilma.

K. left for Sedona and on to Egypt the next morning and R. and I for the Puget Sound Area where he lives in his artist studio near Chief Seattle's grave.  We got there two days later after a leisurely wander up the coast.  I went to visit my sisters and parents in Sequim, Washington.  

Late that night I got a phone call from K., who had already called R.  He asked if I had seen the papers.  I told him "No," and he said that the night after we came out at the trailhead, a huge green "meteor" had screamed in from the east and landed in the Marble Mountains.  People as far south as the Bay Area saw it.  As excited as a child, I yelled, "We did it!"

For your quest: Before you go, get maps of the Klamath National Forest and the Marble Mountain Wilderness from the Forest Service at Happy Camp, California.  Plot out the pattern of the Stars on both maps.  Be sure to fix the position of the center triangle on the Wilderness map, because you'll need that information to know when you're there.  From Somme's Bar on the Klamath River it's a two-day backpack into the center of the Stars, four days round-trp.  Of course, tell someone where you're going and when you plan to get back.  Horse packers are available if contacted a week or so in advance--the Forest Service has a list.
 
Plan to arrive in the triangle at a new moon, a full moon, or some special time of the year.  Weather permitting, in the summer you can take a side trip up to the top of Medicine Mountain from the cabin on the creek--allow at least another two days.   I wouldn't plan to go up there when there's a possibility of snow.  Be careful, be sober, be mindful, and act from a centered state of integrity--this can be tricky business.  And, at all times, pay special attention to the animals and birds that you see.
Aside from the side trip up Medicine Mountain, the main trail stays at a fairly low altitude all the way in.  

After a seventeen-mile walk on good trail along the creek, you'll come to the big creek that drains Big Medicine Creek and Little Medicine Creek.  Cross it and camp on the other side.  Carry old tennis shoes with you to wade it--it's no fun barefoot.  It's very good to fully immerse your unclothed body in the water at the ford because that place contains water from both Big and Little Medicine Creeks.

At your camp on the other side, hang food where brother bear can't get into it--there are lots of black bears in the area.  (By the way, you're less likely to be bothered by them if you carry no meat with you.)  Then go on into the triangle and plan to fast in the triangle for three days.  You might get a little chilly while fasting so bring a tent, a good sleeping bag and warm clothes.  Drink the water from the creek - this will align you with the energies there.  You'll fall into an extremely pleasant lethargy in that place, and will almost feel as if you were on drugs.  Don't be lured into staying there longer than three days.   After that, break camp and cross back over the creek, then stop and eat.  Take your time hiking out.  When you get home, write what happened in a journal, but don't immediately talk about your trip to others - keep the energy within you.

To see an enlarged map, go to: http://i18.photobucket.com/albums/b146/lor...xstarslarge.jpg
click on the map, then click + to enlarge.

Plot out this series of stars-within-stars on a US Forest Service map of the Klamath National Forest.  There is a meridian line through the center, so some of the Range and Townships are on one side of it and others are on the other side.  This configuration stands alone, and is not connected to other vortices.

Largest Six-Pointed Star
Outward Points                                  Indent Points
1. Slate Creek Butte, T11N, R4E, Sec 14        1.Irving Mountain, T13N, R7E, Sec 25

2.Bear Peak, T15N, R5E, Sec 14                2. Tickner Mountain, T14N, R7E,    Sec  25
3.Evans Mountain,  T46N, R5W, Sec 17    3. Black Marble Mountain, T43N,                        R4W,Sec 14/15
4.Quartz Hill, T43N, R2W, Sec 7           4. Bear Wallow Peak, T42N, R3W,    Sec 28
5. Mount of the Cross, T40N, R2W, Sec 30    5. English Peak Lookout, T41N,    R4W, Sec. 17
6. Youngs Peak, T9N, R7E, Sec 23    6. Tom Payne Peak, T11N, R7E,    Sec 3

SMALLER SIX-POINTED STAR WITHIN THE ABOVE, using the same indent points
Outer points
1. Bald Mountain, T12N, R5E, Sec 35
2. Ukonom Mountain, T14N, R6E, Sec 22
3. Huckleberry Mountain, T44N, R5W, Sec 6
4. Boulder Peak R3W, T43N, Sec 15
5. Yellow Dog Peak, T41N, R3W, Sec 24
6. FORKS of Salmon River, T10N, R7E, Sec 13

EVEN SMALLER FIVE-POINTED STAR WITHIN THE LESSER SIX-POINTED STAR
Draw a line from each mountain to the next:
1. English Peak
2. Black Marble Mountain
3. Tickner
4. Irving Mountain
5. Tom Payne Peak

PERFECT SIX-POINTED STAR FORMED BY TWO TRIANGLES ENCLOSING THE ABOVE FIVE-POINTED STAR
Triangle one:  Tickner, Bear Wallow Peak, Tom Payne Peak
Triangle two:  Irving Mountain, Black Marble Mountain, English Peak
The center of the two above triangles, and the very center of the series of six-pointed stars, is between the mouths of Big Medicine Creek and Little Medicine Creek.

Medicine Mountain is found at T13N, R7E, sec 25.  Find Big Medicine Creek at R12, T13 and Little Medicine Creek at Sec 30 & 29.
Triangle:  Tickner to English Peak Lookout
Tom Payne to Black Marble Mountain
Irving to Bear Wallow--drawing these lines creates a triangle in Sec 19 R5W, T42N
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Links for The Marble Mountain Wilderness:

http://www.visitsiskiyou.org/tour_marblemtn.htm

http://gorp.away.com/gorp/resource/us_wild...ea/ca_marbl.htm

http://outhiking.com/marble_mountain.html

http://www.wilderness.net/index.cfm?fuse=N...rble%20Mountain

trail to Medicine Mountain from Fowler Cabin: http://www.topozone.com/map.asp?z=10&n=4587707&e=470286

http://www.garytrinity.net/wool.html





Big Medicine Creek and Little Medicine Creek are the two blue lines in the center of the "Stars".  We camped near the mouth of the southernmost one the second night.

[lorae]

From my unpublished book, Sacred Ground: Ley Lines and Vortices of the American West.
free download at: http://rapidshare.com/files/13187164/vorti...West_edited.doc
By Lorae Ireland

THE RETURN FOCUS TRIANGLE

There is no other place in the world like this unique configuration. The area surrounding the whole Upper Rogue River in Oregon could be a National Park, like Yellowstone, a sacred area to those wise ones who lived on this land for thousands of years before we came here with our peculiar ideas of land ownership and exploitation.

The apexes of this triangle are at Eight Dollar Mountain, near Selma, Oregon, Mt. Scott to the east of Crater Lake and the summit of Mt. Shasta in California.

A perceptive friend noted that this triangle with the line through it is the ancient symbol of the Yoni. (Perhaps this pertains to its function, as a place of returning, or entering.)

The Ley Lines forming the sides of this triangle are:

* MCVAY ROCK south of Brookings, OR/ Eight Dollar Mountain/ OREGON VORTEX/ INDIAN BATTLEGROUND south of Lost Creek Dam--OR/ Rogue River Gorge--OR/ Mt. Scott--OR/ Winema--OR(dv)/ Monument Rock--OR/ BUTTE, MT/ War Horse Nat'l Wildlife Refuge--MT/ continuing on North-East.
* TICHNOR ROCK, Point Orford, OR/ Eight-Dollar Mountain--OR/ Mt. Shasta--CA/ Honey Lake--CA/ Reno, NV/ TONOPAH, NV/ Grand Wash, NV (dv)/ Peach Springs, AZ (dv)/ Prescott, AZ/ MIAMI, AZ/ Animas Peak--NM
* END OF BOLINAS BAY--CA/ Petaluma, CA/ Redding Airport--CA/ Mt. Shasta--CA/ Mt. Scott--OR/ Mt. Jefferson--OR/ Mt. Hood--OR/ Snoqualmie Pass--WA/ Newhelem, WA

The following ley line starts at the OREGON VORTEX , and may go all the way to an island [Easter Island] in the Pacific. It reminds me of a string, and the Return Focus Triangle is the kite on the end of that string (or a landing pattern).

* OREGON VORTEXnear Gold Hill, OR/ Mt. Ashland--OR / Mt. Shasta--CA/ BIG BEND HOT SPRINGS, CA/ Mt. Lassen--CA/ Mt. Baldy--CA/ GUADELOUPE, MX/ on out into the Pacific Ocean, possibly ending at Easter Island

[A book about the Oregon Votex is "The Golden Vortex" by Nick Nelson (Concious Publishing, January 2001), which can be purchased at http://www.vortexmaps.com/htmla/items.php.
Nick lived there for 10 years and experienced many strange phenomena. He's also a self-taught scientific genius, and he writes of many of his inventions (a time-travel machine, for instance) and ideas in this book.]

MT. SCOTT

You can hike to an old Forest Service lookout at the summit of this defunct volcano on the east side of Crater Lake in Oregon. This is one of the apexes of the RETURN FOCUS TRIANGLE. The following first two ley lines are two of the sides of that triangle.


Mt. Scott Across Crater Lake
Photo by Lorae Ireland

These are the ley lines passing through Mt. Scott:

* END OF BOLINAS BAY--CA/ Petaluma, CA/ Rancho Tehama Airport--CA/ Redding Airport--CA/ Mt. Shasta--CA/ Aspen Butte--OR/ Mt. Scott/ 7500' Mountain north of Mt. Thielsen--OR/ Mt. Jefferson--OR/ Mt. Hood--OR/ on north
* MCVAY ROCK south of Brookings, OR/ Eight-Dollar-Mountain--OR/ INDIAN BATTLEGROUND south of Lost Creek Dam--OR/ Rogue River Gorge--OR/ Mt. Scott/ Winema--OR (dv)/ Monument Rock--OR/ BIGHOLE BATTLEFIELD--MT/ BUTTE, MT/ on northeast
* CAPE BLANCO--OR/ Woodby Mt.--OR/ Canyonville--OR (dv)/ Mt. Scott--OR/ Yamsay Mt.--OR/ Diablo Mt.--OR/ STEENS MT. AREA--OR/ Pyramid Pk--WY (This line partly defines the STEENS MT. AREA--OR, in the GIANT TRIANGLE OF THE WEST--see page 63.)

This line defines the base east-west line of the bottom triangle of the STEENS MT. AREA in the center of the GIANT TRIANGLE OF THE WEST.

* Gold Beach, OR/ Mt. Scott/ BIGHORN MEDICINE WHEEL--WY
* Lake Waohink--OR/ Yellow Butte--OR/ Toketee--OR (dv)/ Mt. Scott/ WINNEMUCCA, NV/ Buckhorn, NV/ Indian Ruins/ Gallup, NM
* POINT N. of Shelter Cove, CA/ Boulder Pk.--CA/ Mt. Ashland--OR/ Mt. Scott/ Mt. Spokane--WA
* N. END of Carter Lake, near Florence, OR/ Yellow Butte--OR/ Mt. Scott/ Crane Mt. near Goose Lake--OR/ on southeast
* A POINT on Oregon coast south of Cape Arego/ Sitkum--OR (dv)/ The Watchman--OR/ Mt. Scott near Crater Lake, OR/ Coyote Hills-OR (dv)/ STEENS MT. AREA--OR/ Owyhee (dv)/ Cedar City--NV (dv)/ Great Salt Lake/ Mt. of the Holy Cross (dv)/Pikes Peak--CO (This line defines the base east-west line of the bottom triangle of the STEENS MT. AREA in the center of the GIANT TRIANGLE OF THE WEST--see page 63.)
* Moses Lake Airport--WA/ Trout Creek--OR (dv)/ Bend, OR/ Mt. Scott/ West end of Four-Mile Lake--OR/ Russian Pk.--CA/ 4,000' mountain north of Leggett, CA


EIGHT DOLLAR MOUNTAIN

This conical mountain of serpentine near Selma, Oregon, is the western apex of the Return Focus Triangle. It is as if all the ley lines converge at this mountain before sinking into the trench off the coast, which is like a giant antenna, pulling all deep into the Earth. Eight-Dollar-Mountain, along with the whole Siskiyu Range, has the most peculiar geology, mineral formations, fauna and flora. The Siskiyu's run east and west, and contain many rare plants and animals, for they have both northern and southern climates.

* MCVAY ROCK south of Brookings, OR/ Eight-Dollar-Mountain/ OREGON VORTEX/ INDIAN BATTLEGROUND south of Lost Creek Dam--OR/ Rogue River Gorge--OR/ Mt. Scott--OR/ Winema--OR (dv)/ Monument Rock--OR/ BIGHOLE BATTLEFIELD-MT/ BUTTE, MT/ on northeast (This line is part of the "Return Focus Triangle" see page 50.)
* TICHNOR ROCK, Point Orford, OR/ Eight-Dollar Mountain--OR/ Mt. Shasta--CA/ Honey Lake--CA/ Reno, NV/ TONOPAH, NV/ Grand Wash, NV (dv)/ Peach Springs, AZ (dv)/ Prescott, AZ/ MIAMI, AZ/ Animas Peak--NM (This line is part of the "Return Focus Triangle" see page 49.)
* GOAT ISLAND--OR/ Eight-Dollar-Mountain--OR/ WOMEN'S SACRED SPRING near Klamath Agency, OR (Kimball State Park)/ Mt. Diablo--OR/ Malheaur Lake--OR/ Wilder, ID/ BIGHORN MEDICINE WHEEL--WY
* Culumbra Pk.--NM/ Mt. Ness--UT/ Desert--UT(dv)/ Rocky Springs--UT(dv)/ Beowaw--NV(dv)/ WINNEMUCCA, NV/ Mt. Ashland--OR/ Eight Dollar Mt./ Gold Beach, OR
* Eight Dollar Mountain/ The Watchman--OR/ Granite--OR(dv)/ SLEEPING CHILD HOT SPRINGS east of Darby, MT/ HELENA, MT


MT. ASHLAND

Mount Ashland, near Ashland, Oregon, is in the center of The Return Focus Triangle and exudes wonderful gold and violet positive creative energies. This vortex is on the ley line beginning at the Oregon Vortex (which is situated on the line between Eight-Dollar Mountain and Mount Scott), which passes through the very summits of Mt. Ashland, Mt. Shasta, Mt. Lassen and Mt. Baldy in Southern California.


The Summit of Mt. Ashland in Southern Oregon
Photo by Lorae Ireland

These are the Ley Lines passing through this Vortex:

* OREGON VORTEX/ Mt. Ashland--OR/ Mt. Shasta--CA/ Big Bend Hot Springs--CA/ Mt. Lassen--CA/ Mt. Baldy--CA/ on out into the Pacific (This is part of the configuration of the RETURN FOCUS TRIANGLE, see page 50.)
* ROCKS in Ocean south of Bandon, OR/ Woodby Mt.--OR/ Mt. Ashland--OR/ Pyramid Lake--OR/ on southeast
* Culumbra Pk.--NM/ Mt. Ness--UT/ Desert--UT(dv)/ Rocky Springs--UT(dv)/ Beowaw--NV(dv)/ WINNEMUCCA, NV/ Mt. Ashland--OR/ Eight Dollar Mt.--OR/ Gold Beach, OR
* A POINT north of Shelter Cove, CA/ Boulder Pk.--CA/ Mt. Ashland--OR/ Mt. Scott--OR/ Mt. Spokane--WA
* Mt. Baker--WA/ Mt. St. Helens--WA/ Toketee--OR(dv)/ Mt. Ashland--OR/ A Point between the Mouth of the Russian River and Fort Ross, CA


The Sacred Spring on Mt. Ashland, mentioned in Intro To Vortex Book
Photo by Lorae Ireland



Mt. Shasta on the Ley Line from the Oregon Vortex, Taken from Mt. Ashland
Photo by Lorae Ireland



MAP OF THE RETURN FOCUS TRIANGLE

Mt. Ashland is in the center. The Oregon Vortex, a place of enormous magnetic disturbance (When you fly over it the compass spins.), is on the line from Eight-Dollar Mountain to Mt. Scott at Crater Lake and is at the end of the ley line from Mt. Shasta.
This ley line begins at the Oregon Vortex and ends at Easter Island.

[lorae]

Shannon posted this:

Wow, neat info... does it also relate to this then?

Another puzzle is mysterious alignment of world's ancient sites. Easter Island is exactly aligned along a straight line around the center of the Earth, with the Nazca lines, Ollantaytambo and the Great Pyramid of Egypt. Other world wonders that are within one tenth of one degree of this alignment include: Perseopolis, the capital city of ancient Persia; Mohenjo Daro, the ancient capital city of the Indus Valley; the Oracle of Zeus-Amon at Siwa; and the lost city of Petra. The Ancient Sumarian city of Ur and Angkor temples in Cambodia and Thailand are within one degree of latitude of this alignment

That's Easter Island right at the bottom! The image is linked to the originating site.

Shannon

[lorae]

First of a series of "summer reading."  

This is the preface to my unpublished book, Sacred Ground: Ley Lines and Vortices of the American West.

PREFACE
During the summer of 1991 I experienced a spiritual awakening, which can perhaps best be described by the sequence of events that led to that transformation: It began in the summer of 1990 when a neighbor lady kept after me to come to a meeting at her friend's house.  At this meeting some Indian medicine people were to take us up to a spacecraft to give us healing.  I thought this all was a terrific joke, but she persisted.  After days of her humorous nagging, I finally agreed to go.

When the time came, I went to M's house.  There were some peculiar or at least, very different people there--one strange fellow had stringy long hair, no teeth and wore a kilt; and another enormous fat man weighing at least 400-pounds sat across from me.  He spoke with scathing, sarcastic humor.  Other various new age young people were there, oozing phony sweetness and light.  I wasn't comfortable with this group at all.  The Indians seemed to be the only normal people there.  R. was young and beautiful, and her father and aunt appeared to be typical rural Mexican Indians, quite down-to-earth and sensible--very solid.

They told their story: First, they had developed the ability to heal with touch, but tired of the crowds.  Then they became involved with space beings, communicating with them and going up to their craft.  At that point, they'd begun to think that perhaps they had gone crazy.  The man said, "It was a good thing that I didn't drink, because I would have thought that was the cause."  Next--which I've discovered is part of the process--they were viciously attacked in a terrible car wreck which left them with severe injuries.  They learned to protect themselves and then began to give these seminars.  However, the man died within a few months after this meeting.

The fat man broke in on the discussion, which had begun to ramble, by asking to be the first client.  He laid himself down on the floor, R. sang an Indian song and the uncle did strange things with his hands, holding his fists out in front and shaking them vigorously.  The fat man soon began to tell us where he was.  He said, "I see the most beautiful colors I've ever seen in my life."  He reported that "they" told him to get an amethyst stone to wear and not to be so cynical and negative.

He came to, and various other people took their turns.  This went on for the rest of the afternoon.  I felt that people deserved their privacy so I didn't eavesdrop on any more of the "trips."  I passed the time wandering around M's back yard which she had landscaped into a wonderland of trees and pathways through the flowers.  However, as the hours wore on, I got so bored I almost went home.  Then about six-o'clock in the evening, nearly everyone was gone.  It was my turn.

I took off my shoes and lay down.  Nervously I said, "I'm a complete amateur at this sort of thing.  Probably nothing will happen."  R., at my head, began to sing.  Suddenly I realized that this was no joke, and becoming more than a little worried, I quickly said the "Lord's Prayer" three times.  By then I felt myself leaving my body through the top of my head.  Immediately, I found myself surrounded with red light.  The next color, or rather, experience, for I really felt these lights as if they were material, was emerald.  It felt soothing and not so intense as the red.  I seemed to be moving horizontally through these lights.  The green changed to gold, then finally to white.  I hesitated before moving into the glaring white because it looked so bright I thought that it might be the end of me.  R. encouraged me to step into it, and I did.
All throughout this whole experience, I could hear people talking in the house, doors opening and closing and the telephone ringing.  I kept talking to R. and her father, telling them what I was experiencing.

After adjusting to the white energy, I popped into a huge rock-walled dark medieval room.  A tall man in a blue robe came in.  I said, "I know him.  He's my friend."  Like Alice in wonderland, I had changed and had become a little girl.  Then he led me by the hand as I floated beside him to an even darker room lined with books from floor to high ceiling.  Abruptly he silently held out a scepter.  It was about four feet long and had a blazing crystal fireball on the end.  Holding it high, he offered it to me.  I stared at it, then said to R., "I'm not ready for this."  But she said, "Go ahead, take it, you're worthy."  So I reached for it.  As soon as I got hold of it, the charge knocked me to the ground and I almost lost my grip.  It pulsed like electricity.  I stood still for some time, moaning with the shock from so much energy.  Then I dropped it and immediately found myself whirling very fast down a dark blue tunnel.  R. asked me what was happening.  I told her.  She calmly told me to pick up the scepter.  By imagining it, it was in my hands again, and I popped out of the top of the tunnel.

I found myself in a beautiful, beautiful world of green rolling hills and singing blue sky.  I heard gorgeous soft music as if from a huge orchestra just out of sight, and as I moved about, the music changed.  It seemed to come from the plants or rocks in specific areas.  At my feet and all around spring flowers glowed in pastel colors I'd never seen before.  The light seemed to come from within the colors.  I saw no one, but I felt the presence of many beings fill the air with love and harmony.  The man in blue was also nowhere to be seen, but this wasn't to say that he wasn't present.  Ahead and to my right a mountain stream tumbled down the slope through the flowers.  On a hill to the far right a dark craggy leafless old tree was silhouetted against the light in the sky.  To the left in the distance, I saw a glowing pastel city of pointed domes.

I went down to the creek, waded in and splashed the water up and over me.  It turned to sparkly diamonds in the air, and tingled when it touched me.  My body felt wonderful, alive and full of pleasure.  After some time, I tired of this and told R. that I was curious about the city.  Her father said, "Ask permission to go there."  Hesitantly, I asked.

Instantly I found myself walking the wide jewel-like streets.  I didn't see any people, but it didn't feel deserted either.  I walked facing the rising sun and the stonework beneath my feet glowed of iridescent colors.  Like a magnificent symphony, a peaceful harmonious silence filled the air.  Rising from the very edge of the street, monumental clay or rock buildings of off-white were defined by sharp shadows in the clear morning light.

To my left, to the north, wide stairs led up to a Grecian-type building of huge marble columns glowing pure white.  I climbed the steps.  At the entrance I looked inside.  In the shadows, I saw a floor of alternating black and white diamond-shaped tiles about a yard wide in an enormous room.  The black tiles looked like onyx and the white alabaster.  To my right, to the east, sunlight came through the spaces between the white columns, which were about two stories high, if not higher.

On the far wall, high wooden shelves held huge upright ledgers.  In front of this wall, I saw a long high table on which some of these ledgers were lying open.  They looked to be about three feet by five feet in size.  Then I noticed tall beings in dark brown robes with hoods over their heads standing behind the tables, apparently deep in concentration as they studied the open ledgers.

Intimidated in the powerful silence, I stood there for some time, embarrassed and feeling like an interloper.  I said, "I'd better leave.  I'm just a human and don't belong here."  R's father said, "You're not just a human.  Ask permission to go to them."  I said, "Unh uh.  Nope.  I'm not of this level."  He persisted, so I mentally asked permission.  

Instantly, they showed me thousands of my past lives, going back to when I was a warrior on the stars.  I can't really describe how overwhelming this was for me.  I saw that I had been man and woman, king and peasant, scoundrel, wizard, fool, diplomat, fisher, builder, mathematician, savage.  Botanist, farmer, metal-worker, banker, sailor, nun, queen, spoiled snob, beggar, warrior, treasonous spy, priestess, hunter, astrologer, doctor, artist, musician, witch, story-teller, criminal and petty-thief.  Weaver, painter, grower, cook, singer, prostitute, dancer and poet--not to mention many many persons of absolutely no importance whatsoever, but nevertheless, many times a teacher.  He said, "Now do you understand that you're not "just a human?"  In a shaken voice, I weakly agreed.

Then the robed beings swooped over.  They surrounded and overwhelmed me with hugs of great affection.  I've never felt such perfect complete love.  It was so intense I began to cry.  They tried to communicate to me mentally, but their high energies blew my circuits, and all I could comprehend was a glowing white ball about four inches in diameter.  After a short time, I began to shake, and told R. that I couldn't stay there any longer.

Immediately, I began hurtling back into this world.  I fell, then hit a level before falling again.  Like falling off a cliff and hitting a ledge, I fell and hit, fell and hit, over and over and over again, for a very long way.  I ripped through many levels to get back in time to still exist here.  Falling from what seemed to be a hundred feet above, I brutally crashed back into my body.  Shaking violently and uncontrollably in the slow dark energy of this world, I felt cold and awful and sobbed like a child.

The man said, "Amateur, indeed!"  R. held a purple glass of water to my mouth.  I slurped it like a baby, dribbling out the sides of my mouth.  Then I ran outside to stamp my bare feet on the rocks to get grounded.  Later, M. gave me some heavy split-pea soup to eat, which helped a lot.  After about an hour I was settled down enough to drive.

When I got home that evening, I excitedly told my son and his friends what had happened.  They weren't impressed.  He said, "Ma, it sounds like heavy drugs to me.  Are you sure you're telling us the whole story?"

That experience was my first conscious immersion in the spirit world in this life.  Nothing much happened for several months, but I began to write down some of my memories of certain lives.  On April 18, 1991, during one of these writing sessions with M., I recorded this passage in my journal.  Unbeknownst to me, Spirit Teachers were putting me on the path to receive the vortex and leyline material:

Me:  Mt. Shasta has some connection with the crucifixion which I do not understand at this time.
 
Teachers:  "A CLEANSING.  A FOCUS FOR MANKIND.  A COMMUNICATION WITH OTHER REALMS.  Issa will help you.  Go up to Mt. Ashland this spring and meditate.  Drink the water!  Wear white.  Drink from a purple glass.  Use your crystal-wand.  LISTEN:  Fast three days before doing this May 28.  Be there for the sunrise and sunset.  Then watch the moon the night of the 28th.  Others are welcome.  You are establishing an electronic pathway at this time.  Same as the Spring festival when He began to speak in Palestine."

According to their instructions, I planned to be on the mountain the early morning of May 28.  I decided to camp the three days of the fast.

On the third day I camped on the Klamath River south of the I-5 freeway.  I began to remember my life as an Indian Medicine Woman in the 1850's.  Although our tribe lived in what is now called the Applegate area, we had several times hiked over the Siskiyous and crossed the Klamath River to go into the Marble Mountains for ceremonies.  After dropping down into the Klamath drainage, we felt coolness and terrifying energy as we approached the corridor to the entrance of the Sacred Area.  At that time, the Klamath River raged dangerously swift and high through mountainsides of enormous trees.  Clear and full of fish, the water tore with primitive energy to the sea.  Now in this end time, in the lifeless afternoon heat, a dispirited little river wandered sluggishly between denuded hills.

At first I felt sad and depressed, but the more I thought about it the madder I got.  By late afternoon, driving back to Mount Ashland in a thoroughly negative and irritated state of mind, I hurried mindlessly along with the rest of the cars.  Suddenly, a beautiful four-foot long snake appeared in the road in front of me.  A car approaching from the opposite direction gave me no choice but to run over him.  At that point, I felt a break in time, a changing of energies, a "whump" to my solar plexus.  I knew then that the next day wasn't going to go well (next day, indeed--it's been three years), and I felt sick to my stomach about squashing the snake.

Large rattlesnakes are often supernatural or spiritual--but, of course, some are only snakes.  At one time, American Indian medicine people understood that the snake symbol was related to Mount Shasta.  The symbol of the snake and the spiral are one and the same.  Here in the West thunderstorms are spiraling winds of great force interacting with mountains.  Mount Shasta is a giant crystalline pyramid, a transmitter and receiver, and the spiral has to do with electronic waveforms.  The Ram's horn  is a spiral, and this partly explains the connection between the Bighorn Medicine Wheel in Wyoming and Mount Shasta.



Note:  I found an ancient ram's horn on Turtle Rock, north of Table Rocks near Medford, Oregon.  There are wonderful energies at that place.  There's a shaman's cave under the east side of that cliff.  The old man is still there in the spirit world.  I asked him if he wanted to leave this earth, but he said that he was going to stay right where he was to watch the coming show.  He wasn't at all friendly,and told me that his family had been murdered by the whites.


At the Ashland Hot Springs, I arranged to camp for the night.  After signing in, I took a soak in the hot water to purify my body from the fast.  I set up my tent while it was still light, then got into my sleeping bag and set my wristwatch to wake me at one thirty.  It was hard to sleep with all the traffic noise, but during the long hours of waiting, I did sleep a little, waking fitfully every so often while feeling quite out of place.

1:30 a.m.--time to go.  I tried to be quiet as I packed up my tent and started my car.  I drove out onto the highway.  On the freeway, I passed one lonely truck before turning off the ramp at the top of the pass.  From there, it was twelve-empty miles to the Mount Ashland ski lodge.  By three o'clock I found a place to park off the side of the road.  It was much too early so I tried to sleep curled up in the back seat.  Stretching out was impossible and I shivered in the cold.  Finally it was 4:38 a.m., the time of the full moon.  I got stiffly out of my car and stumbled through the snow to the edge of the bank.  The dark wind cut at me with biting unfriendliness.  Feeling like a complete fool, I chanted and whirled my crystal staff three times, then pointed it off in the darkness toward where I thought was Mount Shasta.

                       
View of Mt. Shasta from Mt. Ashland

I got back in the car and started the engine to warm up.  Morning seemed a long way off.  I felt disconnected from my rational frame of reference and sensed a vague uneasy lack of confidence.  The dark cold hours dragged on.

The evening before, I had filled a clear glass jug from a spring at the campground near the ski lodge, and it now seemed to be a good idea to treat this Mount Ashland water with the first rays of the rising sun.  As the sunlight began to touch the mountainside, I saw in the distance that Mount Shasta wasn't where I had thought it was hours before in the dark--so much for psychic accuracy.  However, the clear morning air seemed too glorious to be of this world.  Standing in the shafts of first golden light, I lost all fatigue and doubt.   I pointed my crystal staff at the jug saying, "I charge this water with the white light of the Father to give me love, wisdom and power."

Although snow was still on the ground and it seemed like winter, I planned to spend the day on the mountain.  Due to the fast, I wasn't feeling very comfortable, so I found a place out of the wind near some big rocks where I huddled in my sleeping bag in the sunshine.  For a short while the sun felt warm, but soon the fog came swirling in, covering me with a freezing cloud.  It was too cold to meditate, and clearing the fog off the mountain became my principal preoccupation for the day.  After much concentration on my part, a weak sun would come through, only to be lost again.  I drank the special water through the day.  

I wasn't hungry, but I was beginning to feel weightless and spacey.  Some friends and others had told me they were coming up about four in the afternoon.  Even though I was chilled and again having doubts about this whole thing, I stayed there until exactly four, but left before anyone came.  I didn't trust my now super-attenuated nervous system to be depended upon for driving in traffic if I stayed longer.  Later, these people did drive up to the lodge, only to find me gone.  I missed them by only minutes, but they had been delayed by various car problems.

About a week later I planned a trip to Mount Shasta with a friend.  Thinking that an ephemeris might shed some astrological light on the significance of May 28, I phoned the owner of the metaphysical bookstore in Yreka.  She had what I needed.  On the Shasta trip,  we stopped at the bookstore.  The owner was an older lady of obvious spiritual development.  She told us about watching on her TV an emergency newscast evacuating the town of Mount Shasta because the mountain was erupting, but later she realized that no such program had been actually broadcast.  Then, abruptly she insisted that I read Coming Earth Changes, a Survival Handbook by Page Bryant (Sun Publishing Co., Santa Fe, NM, 1983).  I bought the book.  Later, at home, it didn't take me long into the first few chapters before I understood why I was reading it.  Ms. Bryant defined ley lines and vortices.  For me, "Eureka!"--instant enlightenment!

I asked my Teachers to explain to me what I had been doing on Mount Ashland in the freezing early morning dark on May 28.  They said that I had been establishing electronic lines of force as well as demonstrating my desire to serve the Great Ones.  This didn't tell me much, but at least I understood that there was some kind of relationship between Mount Ashland and Mount Shasta.

To better understand this Ashland-Shasta "electronic line of force," M. and I taped some aeronautical charts together to look at this line.  We noticed that we were living within a triangle formed by Shasta, Crater Lake and Eight-Dollar Mountain near Selma, Oregon.  Furthermore, a line drawn from Mount Ashland to Shasta also touched the very top of Mount Lassen, and also, that line extended northwest apparently ended at the Oregon Vortex near Gold Hill.  At that time we couldn't determine the location of the vortex near Crater Lake.  Many of the volcanoes of the West Coast seemed to be situated one after another on straight lines or in geometric patterns.

Later, working at home on a World Aeronautical Chart that had grown to include the whole Western United States as far east as the Black Hills, I could see that lines from the Four Corners area seemed to follow rows of Indian ruins going into and through the Grand Canyon, ending at Santa Barbara.  Also, that the line from the Oregon Vortex touched the exact summits of Mounts Ashland, Shasta, Lassen and Baldy in Southern California.  This line bisects what I have been told to call The Return Focus Triangle, with apexes at Mount Scott near Crater Lake, Mount Shasta and Eight Dollar Mountain near Selma, Oregon (see page 50).

Next, my Spirit Teachers told me to build a medicine wheel near a vortex on our ranch.  I told them that I knew nothing about Indian religion and wouldn't know where to start.  Ignoring my complaints and arguments, they told me to get rocks from all four vortices of the Return Focus Triangle to place at the four compass points of the wheel.  Next I was told to get a conch shell for the center, putting in it a small gold nugget, a quartz crystal and a ruby (which makes laser light in both worlds).  That did it.  I told them that I couldn't get a conch shell, and a ruby was out of the question.  However, a few days later, as I wandered through a second-hand shop, the owner's daughter came in.  She was carrying a large conch shell and said, "What shall we do with this?"  Of course I bought it.

Listening to my Teachers for each step, I put this medicine wheel together.  I bought a teensy-tiny ruby for the conch shell.  Mount Shasta rocks made up the south points of the wheel, Crater Lake the north, Mount Ashland the east, and serpentine from Eight Dollar Mountain on the west corner, the Point of Wisdom and Power facing the East.  In the center of the wheel, extending to the circumference and using rocks from each of the four vortices for each spoke (Eight Dollar rocks for the west, Shasta for the south, Crater Lake for the East and Mt. Ashland for the north), I oriented a cross to the four compass points.  In the very center of this cross went the conch shell with gold, crystal and ruby touching each other in the cut part.  

By putting this wheel close to my home, I brought forth enormous energies into my life.  Medicine wheels, by their very nature, probably shouldn't be close to places of habitation.

At the same time, I was working on another book, and in that book, had written that pure water blessed with the rays of the rising sun would purify.  Fasting, meditating and drinking this special water would bit by bit raise the vibration (cell by cell) of the body and mind to clear the consciousness, lifting the whole personality to a state of listening to God.  In some ways, it's like tuning a radio to the proper frequency.  Anyone can do this.

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As I collected the rocks for the medicine wheel, it seemed efficient and logical to get pure spring water from all four vortices at the same time, then to mix it in a single container.  Every morning I treated this water in a clear glass jug with the first rays of the rising sun, using my hands to charge it with the White Light of the Sun and programming it to bring me the Christ-Consciousness.  I drank that water all throughout each day.  

Almost immediately, I began receiving clear and precise information, but it came all at once.  I always first made contact with my personal core group of instructors, whom I call Spirit Teachers, but there also were several groups of teachers from different levels.  Sometimes they would connect me to the "great computer in the sky" for the vortex information itself.  This impersonal source seemed to be impatient with my slow human mind and its inability to process large amounts of material all at once.  Aligning my mental energies to such perfect intensity led me to become dissociated and dissatisfied with my life down here.  At the same time, my false ego retaliated with overwhelming emotions of confusion and doubt, trying to get me to return to my former mind-state, and I wondered if I had gone mad.

Nevertheless, as if to emphasize the validity of the transformation, Spirit Teachers sent me a polyphonic four-voice cantata in Ab minor in the baroque style of the Bach family.  I wrote that one morning while drinking coffee out on the deck.  Using an ink pen, I made no mistakes, and went in to the piano only once or twice to confirm that a note was what I had heard.  Given my thin musical background of playing a mediocre clarinet in school band thirty years ago, I had to admit that I was experiencing something more than a deranged imagination.

Then my Teachers told me to look for a configuration of stars on a Forest Service map of the Klamath National Forest.  After getting that map, I marked all the larger mountains with red dots.  I stayed up quite late that night trying to see the pattern of the stars but finally went to bed in defeat.  However, the next morning I immediately "followed the dots," bringing out a series of stars within stars, described on page 62.

For the next three months, I put my conscious, logical, thinking mind on hold, and would look and look at the maps, forgetting myself and losing track of time.  I have a somewhat photographic memory, so I believe that I was taking pictures to put in my mind.  Then I'd sleep.  The following morning, compelled to draw lines from various points to other points, I saw patterns; patterns of triangles, spokes of wheels and vortices occurring along straight lines.  Unknown vortices became evident when many lines crossed at exactly the same spot on the map.  Some of this latter type, which I call "derived vortices," are obviously large and powerful because of the many important ley lines intersecting at these places.

During this mentally fuzzy, but in other ways alert period of time, in an absolute frenzy of discovery, I saw that there was a unifying organization to many of the vortices of the West.  Other separate, superimposed systems involved different vortices.  The next few months I existed in a meditating and half-conscious state which alternated with the logical, awake state.  The latter consciousness was used for the hours and hours of tedious and precise work drawing the lines, trying to compensate for the curvature of the earth and the lack of correlation of maps of different scales--all done on my too-small kitchen table.  In the following pages, I have written in two states of consciousness; one mystical and the other the normal logical waking state.  I decided to mix these two voices because it was exactly this state of being in two minds that produced the material for this book.

During that summer, strange paranormal events manifested--my horse was killed by lightning, and, as more peculiar events happened, I felt disconnected from my former safe life.  Enormous stress came to the surface in my family, and I finally left my home with only my car, my dog, some camping gear and $200.  Within a few months, my whole life had blown up into a puff of nothing.  It's been almost three years since all of this, and I'm still trying to regain my balance.  However, in spite of all the upset to my life, I would never want to return to my original frame of reference.  My view of the universe is broader now.  I've been shown a tiny glimpse, but there is much more to be understood.  I hope that the following information on ley lines and vortices will encourage others more knowledgeable than I to further investigation.

My Teachers say that it's been many millennia since humans on this continent have been aware of some of this information, and the time has come for it to be known again.  I want to be of service to Those in the Light, as was He, the Christed One, who is now, soon, in this time of enormous change, both geologic and in the affairs of man. to come again to this Earth, to this new Holy Land in the American West.

Lorae Ireland
Enterprise, Oregon
December 10, 1993

Next: Mt. Shasta
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[lorae]

By Lorae Ireland

MT SHASTA

My first experience with Mt. Shasta happened in 1988.  While in Portland looking for an accounting job, I'd idly picked up a book at the library called Learning to Channel.  I tried some of the techniques, but didn't seem to be getting anywhere, so forgot about it.  However, I had been keeping a journal, writing in a rather freewheeling state-of-consciousness style.

One rainy evening, I began to write in a sacred way, as if from formal scripture.  I noticed that I wasn't thinking ahead, but simply transcribing words the moment I thought them.  Something strange was happening.  I wrote, "Who are you?"  Immediately, my hand printed in letters almost half a page in size, "I AM."  Positive that I must be consorting with spirits trying to trick me, I was terrified.  I crumpled it up and put it in the wood stove to burn.

I didn't do any more writing for some time, but finally began again.  As before, I started writing all sorts of things, obviously not from my conscious mind.  Curious, I asked if I were writing it.  The reply was, "Your hand is moving the pencil."  I asked if I were going mad.  I have lost the notes, but the answer was something to the effect that we humans had to cling to a certain narrow view of reality to feel safe.  I took the bait, thinking that the worst that could happen was that I would scribble some nonsense on pieces of paper.

After a week or so of this apparent communication, "They" told me that I needed to get away from the city.  I was to go to the "mountain" and fast for three days while drinking the water there.  They said that I would get further instruction after doing this.  At the time, I was concentrating on getting a job and would have forgotten about it if I hadn't written it down.

Soon after that, I drove to the Medford area for a job interview.  The door to the offices had a picture of a pointed snowy mountain on it.  After the interview, I explored in the forest above Selma, and camped overnight at a trailhead.  In the morning, I wrote in my journal from Spirit Teachers:  "We're happy that you are moving to the Point of Power.  Now, go to the coast and walk on the beaches as you make your way back to Portland."

I camped my way up the coast.  While walking on the beach at Newport, a sharp arrowhead appeared at my feet, right next to the water line.  I later gave that arrowhead to my sister who lived near Teton Village at Jackson Hole.  As soon as I got back to Portland, I made myself a very strong margarita.  Towards the bottom of the glass, a phone call came from the prospective employer's father, a retired accountant.  In my slightly inebriated condition he gave me a rigorous mini-accounting test.  Later, his son called to tell me that I had gotten the controller's position. Amazing, I must say.

I moved south and went to work and became completely involved in learning the business and planning how to computerize the office.  About two months later I decided to leave early one afternoon.  I took some papers to the CPA office down the street, and after dropping off the papers, it was too late to return to work so I wandered into a metaphysical bookstore next door.  As I read the book titles, a man came over.  Abruptly, he confronted me, demanding, "Why haven't you gone to the mountain yet?"  Small and fined boned, he looked to be Mediterranean, with olive-skin and large brown eyes.  His whole demeanor seemed gentle, and I felt that, somehow, I knew him.  

Not missing a beat, I started giving my usual excuses for procrastination; too busy, too distracted, too tired, et cetera.  He ignored all that, and told me that I was to immediately go to Mount Shasta.  Once there, I was to hike up to the saddle on the Wilderness boundary and drop down to a spring with "the finest water on the planet."


Wilderness Spring on Mt. Shasta
Photo by Lorae Ireland

We continued to talk about many things, the nature of reality and illusion, what was really happening with the starving in Africa, etc.  After about half an hour, the bookstore owner said that he was closing and that we'd have to leave.  On our way out, my friend pointed to a book about angels on the desk, saying something about it being time for me to read it.  I replied that I had no interest in that sort of thing.  

Outside, he said, "Do you see auras?"  I told him no, and I wasn't interested in that, either.  Ignoring me, he walked over to stand in front of a white wall and told me to look slightly above the spot between his eyes, but not to focus.  I did that, and was blinded by a flash of brilliant white around him, so bright that I instinctively put my arm up over my eyes.  I told him that all I could see was white, no colors.  He dryly said, "Practice.  The colors come later."  Then he told me that it was time for him to leave.  I asked his name.  He said, "Arax."  I said, "Arax..?"  He said, "That's the name my Father gave me," and got into his old Datsun pickup and drove away.

The next Thursday afternoon, my boss let me off for a long weekend.  As I drove to Mount Shasta, I noticed ominous clouds to the south.  Before reaching the town of Mount Shasta, I seemed to be hearing, with no sound, "You are a warrior."  Me?  Miss Chicken Little?  Really.  I stopped at a quick mart.  An old man came up to me in the parking lot and asked me where I was going.  I told him I was heading up to hike and camp up on Mount Shasta.  He said, "Be very careful.  We lose someone every year up there."  I thanked him and left.


Mt. Shasta in Summer
Photo by Lorae Ireland

On Shasta, I drove to the parking lot at the end of the road.  Disoriented and almost spooked, I walked a little up toward the north, but felt uneasy, and came back to go back down the mountain to camp.  The next day, I put on my backpack and began hiking up the same way, but ended up wandering down trails that eventually petered out.  Confused, hot and tired, I was standing on the saddle at the wilderness boundary when out of nowhere, a young man came running up to me.

He was in his mid-twenties, tanned, muscular, healthy-looking and wearing hiking shorts and a mountain rescue bivy pack around his waist.  His bare torso, face and neck were covered with glitter, and he had thick wavy long light-brown hair and was wearing mirror sunglasses.  He said, “You're supposed to go that way," pointing toward a trail off to the east.  He told me that it led to Squaw Valley, which was there for all to enjoy.  Then he took off his sunglasses and for an instant, showed me his eyes, which were much too large, almond-shaped and a very, very pale glow-in-the dark phosphorescent blue.  He put his glasses back on and hurried off, like the Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland.  I glanced away for a second, then when I looked back where he had been he had disappeared, but we were on a high rocky ridge with no place to disappear to.




On the Trail to Squaw Valley
Photos by Lorae Ireland


I hiked and climbed the two and one-half miles into Squaw Valley.  This spiritual life takes a lot of sweat and stamina and isn't easy, let me tell you.  After an hour or so of hiking, I began to feel doubts about what I was doing.  When I left the trail for a pit stop, I found a large chamois lying on a log.  It was brand-new, and rough around the edges just as it came off the animal.

As I continued to hike in the gloomy afternoon, I noticed many lenticular formation-type clouds.  After what seemed hours of tedious walking, I finally began to descend into the Valley.  My heart almost stopped when I saw that someone had arranged rocks in a large heart-shaped form, and the rocks inside it made out the words "I AM."

I entered the valley and left the chamois on a big rock, thinking that whoever had lost it would find it there.  After all this, I was sure that something wonderful would happen to me in this place, and I greeted the various jaded new-agers there with guileless enthusiasm.  They weren't at all friendly, and one fellow even suggested that I camp up on the ridge.  An approaching lightning storm made it apparent that his motives weren't too kind.


Squaw Valley, September 2004
Photo by Lorae Ireland


Feeling dejected and disappointed, I set up my tent in the lowest hanging valley.  I had bad dreams all night, and the first thing next morning I packed up and began climbing the tumbling cascades.  In the second valley, the flowers were so beautiful, the sky so blue, the air so clear that I felt much better.  An older lady sitting in front of her tent looked like a Tibetan lama.  She welcomed me, saying "Enjoy, enjoy!"  I set up camp.  Then the lady left her tent, rapidly climbing up to the next hanging valley.  After about half an hour I heard coyotes howling from the direction she'd taken.  It actually sounded more wolf-like.  We were up too high for coyotes.  (When I returned to this area weeks later, her tent was still there, but had not been used for some time.)

Later, I, too, began to climb.  A hummingbird liked my shirt, and followed me.  After several hours I stopped at a very high place.  Someone had put rocks in a circle with a stone in the center.  I made a large spiral shape of rocks.  Late in the afternoon, I came back to the valley where the spring emerged.  I lay there in the warm sun for a long time, watching a hummingbird taking a bath in the water.  I spent the weekend there alone, and didn't leave until late Sunday, long after all the others had left the lower valley.

On my way out, I noticed that the chamois was gone.  Near there, the creek had been dammed up next to a camping spot, and I could see where someone had hacked away at a leaning, but not dead tree.  In a bare area near the fire pit I saw a strange piece of knarled wood.  It was about four feet high, and seemed man-shaped with a goatish head.  It sat upright facing the fire.  Inexplicably, I went into a rage, and lifting that wood, I smashed it and stamped on it, breaking it into as many pieces as I could.  I scattered the pieces far from the area and hiked back to my car in a roaring bad mood.

In April of the next year, I lost my job due to strange happenings in that trucking business, so began to devote my time to cleaning up and improving our little farm. (Keep in mind that at that time I was "Ms. Scientific" with pretty much zero interest in the spiritual or supernatural which I considered to be New Age nonsense.)  Two years later I experienced an intense spiritual awakening which began to show me the perfection of the heavenly glories, but also made me aware of our true condition on the Earth at this time.  My Spirit Teachers evidently had decided that it was time for a right smart smack upside the head and time for me to begin waking up. I started writing:

Journal, April, 18, 1991 (repeated from the preface):

Me:  "Mt. Shasta has some connection with the crucifixion which I do not understand at this time."
Teachers:  "A CLEANSING.  A FOCUS FOR MANKIND.  A COMMUNICATION WITH OTHER REALMS.  Issa will help you.  Go up to Mt. Ashland this spring and meditate.  Drink the water!  Wear white.  Drink from a purple glass.  Use your crystal-wand.  LISTEN:  Fast three days before doing this May 28.  Be there for the sunrise and sunset.  Then watch the moon the night of the 28th.  Others are welcome.  You are establishing an electronic pathway at this time.  Same as the Spring festival when He began to speak in Palestine."

According to their instructions, I planned to be on the mountain on the early morning of May 28...I spent the day on the mountain...Some friends and others were to come up about four in the afternoon.  I waited until then, but left before anyone came because I didn't trust my now super-attenuated nervous system to be depended upon for driving in traffic if I stayed longer.


Mt. Ashland in the Summer
Photo by Lorae Ireland
(In May this area is still covered with a few feet of snow.)

This same group got together a month later at Eight-Dollar Mountain for a simple meditation at the time of the full moon.  As fate would have it, I met Sara at this gathering.  That evening, she photographed the straight half-double rainbows we saw in the north.  On the horizon, two astonishingly bright upright stems of glowing rainbow color appeared from behind the trees...

At Sara's suggestion, I met her later on the Fourth of July at the house of a mutual friend.  Because she had told me that she was a spiritual counselor, and I had some distressing personal matters to process, Sara and I decided to go camping on Mount Shasta.  Due to various scheduling delays, we were on the mountain at the time of the solar eclipse, July ll, 1991.  During the eclipse, I felt terrible and stayed in my tent napping through the whole thing.

Sara and I still did not consciously recognize each other, even though we were both as overbearing as ever.  She had appointed herself to play the wise counselor to me, the confused person whose life was a mess.  I didn't accept that scenario, and we soon found that we were both living in completely disastrous situations.  That night we processed through many understandings and revelations, channeling ( or whatever) our various guides and speaking with some space brothers, who offered to tune up my vibrations.  

I agreed, and felt my voice becoming thick and heavy, comparable to going under an anesthetic.  I went to sleep, and they took everything but my physical body up to their spaceship.  I woke the next day feeling wonderful.  My Indian guides were Thunderbird (death and rebirth), Bones (bitter memories from the past), and Grandmother (wisdom).  Thunderbird had been my uncle in the Southwest in a life I barely remember, and Bones had been my Indian husband when I was massacred at Indian Corner, the ranch I occupied that July of 1991.  The old medicine woman was from the Puget Sound area, and I knew her only as Grandmother.

All the Angelic Beings had left the mountain.  "Old Toad," the Masters' gate-keeper, who usually sat his huge ugly self on a crag to the east above the site of the old ski lodge, was not to be seen either.  I missed his raunchy boisterous laughter.  The mountain did not seem to be a magical place this time and was dead and hot.  Two days before, in late afternoon, Sara had photographed it from the freeway.  It had looked dry, gray and dirty, with a sooty haze around the base.  After we set up camp we saw from the signs of wet mud up the banks that the little mountain streams had been dropping rapidly.  There were no birds or chipmunks, and the mountain exuded a hot dead silence.


Shasta   September 2004
Photo by Lorae Ireland

Early the third morning, I “saw” the Goddess of the Mountain.  Her head was huge, part of the south side, like a Mt. Rushmore carving.  A beautiful, dignified older Indian lady with great crevices in her cheeks from many years of tears, she now cried silently, with no tears, a dry, hot expression of unbelievable sadness and pain.

I felt that the present condition of the mountain wasn't to continue much longer, and that a great eruption was coming soon from the sacred spring, now a small mud pond full of demons.  Even the patterns formed from the water bubbling up through the mud made demon faces as we saw later from a photograph taken by Sara.  She also had taken a picture of an arrow of snow on the mountain pointing to where the eruption would come out--the spring.  (The snake symbol involves the spiral, which is death and rebirth.)  The town of Mount Shasta, Redding and the whole upper Sacramento River drainage would be affected, and the I-5 freeway and the railroad would be closed, disrupting transportation for a long time.

Conversation with Spirit Teachers May 27, 1991:

Me:  "We need help.  There are many of us who have come here to be of service at this time of enormous change, but we feel to be not strong enough.  The dark forces of destruction seem to be overwhelming."

"As they should be, my child.  Even perceived evil serves a purpose in the great design.  How else will humankind learn, and remember for eons, the consequences of irresponsible neglect of their being and of the Earth?  Yes, the lesson will be harsh, and engraved upon the consciouness for tens of thousands of years.

"Why are you here?  Why, just as the others are, only your lesson is different, and you have a more subtle, difficult path.  You know that your mind creates your world, but you do not practice that belief.  Be mindful of what you think and say!  Use your imagination and your words to create a beautiful world of being.  Yes, it takes some effort, and you haven’t done this practice in an very long while, but now is the time for you to begin.  You know enough now to create what you want.  You can stop, for the time being, seeking to learn what is, and put your efforts, instead, to creating what will be."  (If only I had paid attention to their words!)

From A Tale of Turquoise, continued:

Late that morning (July 13, 1991), we broke camp and drove down the mountain.  While wandering about the park at the headwaters of the Sacramento, obviously sacred ground--we decided to try to recover a turquoise necklace that Sara had given to a young man.  He had, in turn, given it to a man who she thought was a black shaman.  (While we were discussing what to do, I could sense Thunderbird and others deciding whether or not to trust Sara with the necklace again.  Thunderbird didn't think it was such a good idea.)  Sara knew that the "Black Shaman" who had it lived in Dunsmuir, so we drove there.  As we entered the town, on impulse I turned back, driving down a side road to the Sacramento River to a fisherman's access spot.  I said that this might be a good place to go swimming later.

We continued on, looking for a place to eat lunch.  We stopped and went in one restaurant, but uneasily left without ordering.  After much driving about we chose the place to eat, parking our car across the street in front of a little shop.  After lunch, we went searching for the purported black shaman.  Sara knew his name, and an inquiry at the police station gave us to know where his wife had a small shop--we had parked in front of her shop at lunch.  We walked into the shop, chatted with the young woman there, and Sara directly asked her for the return of the necklace.  This wasn't a complete surprise, because Sara had phoned three days earlier leaving a message on their answering machine telling them that they had something of hers and she wanted it back.


I could hear Thunderbird, my Indian guide in the other world, beating his drums so long and violently that they later broke.  As I heard the drums, I made my own drumming in my head as I have done since childhood when trying to accomplish something in a stressful situation.  The woman spoke on the phone to her husband.  From the other world, the drumming was deafening.  He agreed to give the necklace to us, and she left in her car to go to their house to retrieve it.  The drumming continued about ten more minutes, then Thunderbird quit with a loud crash.  The drum probably broke at that point.  I knew then that the man had given the necklace to his wife.

She brought it to us in a white paper bag, and we quickly left.  We knew not to touch it because it was so contaminated that it had turned an ugly avocado green and looked like a sick, malevolent dead snake.

While listening to my Indian Guides I drove to the fisherman's access on the river.  Unfortunately, there were people there, too many people, but we had to begin the cleansing of the necklace and ourselves immediately.  We were told to put it in the water without touching it, and, using a stick, to swish shampoo around it.  We were both dressed in white, the right protective clothing for this kind of work, and we were to get in the water, clothes and all, and to wash our bodies and hair with shampoo.

We went upstream a bit and crouching behind a not-large-enough rock proceeded with our tricky task.  A young man fishing above us kept falling into the water, no doubt thrown off balance by the enormously dangerous energies present.  That started us laughing.  After all, here were two fat middle-aged ladies staggering about in the river, fully dressed, washing their hair, and behaving quite strangely.  This laughter, I think, saved our lives because it was a great protection.  We washed the necklace again and again, and, lifting it out of the water with my crystal staff, we said The Lord's Prayer three times at it.  I washed my white sandals, then carried the white paper sack between two sticks to the trash barrel.  Some people asked me what I had there.  I said, very abruptly, "NOTHING, DON'T TOUCH IT!" and put it in the barrel.  I should have burnt it, I know - but it was fire season.

I returned to the necklace and Sara, and we carried it back to the car on the staff, putting it above the dash in the sun.  As we rode back to the town of Mount Shasta and up the mountain for the last time, the necklace began to change color, back to a nicer blue.  Sara put it around her neck.  Driving the curves of the highway climbing the mountain, I could hear Thunderbird saying to me, "Come on, Little Rock Head, speed it up!"  (When I was his niece, in my Indian life on the plains, I always had a rock collection.  He called me "Rock Head" which might have also had something to do with my personality.)

At the parking lot, we got out of the car.  As if he had been waiting for us, an extremely drunken sailor or merchant-marine type stumbled purposefully toward us.  A muscular man wearing only shorts and tanned skin covered with tattoos, he was of medium height, about forty years old, and uncouthly handsome in a peculiar way.

Clutching an almost empty half-gallon of vodka, this fellow took an instant fascination to my staff.  In a loud gravely voice he insisted, "That's a fu*king bitchin' crystal.  Let me have it!"  I wouldn't let him touch it, standing firmly between him and it, turning to keep it out of the reach of his outstretched hands.  As if in a surreal movie, we seemed to be performing a jerky little circular dance to Stravinsky in the parking lot.  Overshadowing the scene, the slate-gray harshness of Mount Shasta loomed underneath lenticular clouds in an ice-blue sky.  He badly wanted the staff, but did not touch me, aggressively coming within a few inches of my body, but no closer.


Mt. Shasta Above the Treeline
Photo by Lorae Ireland

Trying not to be bothered too much, we went to fetch an older couple whom I had met many times on the mountain, the first time three years previously.  I asked them if they would come with us over to the spring for a cleansing ceremony.  Asking no questions, they immediately agreed to do so.

My friend Jim was not in his van.  A few days before, I had met him the first time on Mount Ashland when I was up there to get water and a stone for my medicine wheel.  At that time, he had carried water to my car for me from the spring there, and, by co-incidence had done the same for me that morning on Mount Shasta.  While lugging the five-gallon jugs he had said, "Master told me, "Carry water, fetch wood; that is the path to enlightenment."  I remembered him as my old medicine man grandpa from an earlier century.  As a young woman, I had taken care of him until he died of old age.  He had worn the necklace in that life.  The day before in this same parking lot, Sara, Jim, his friend and I had held hands in a circle while invoking a gentle rain to come from Hawaii.  We were in a terrible drought.  (We over-did it.  The storms that came later were terrific.)

Jim was nowhere to be found.  I had wanted him to officiate at the cleansing ceremony of the necklace.  We started walking across the scree toward the spring.  It was late in the afternoon with the shadows getting longer and the colors more intense.  We were two women in white, one old man with knobby knees beneath his white walking shorts, his dignified ancient wife with creased suntanned face and one loud drunken sailor finishing the procession.  

He had absolutely insisted upon being included, bottle, profanity and all.  He called Sara and me his daughters, and wanted to make off to the bushes with either or both of us "For a good fu*k, huh?"  In pidgin English he also insisted that the spring was his, that he had made it and that he was from the ocean near Hawaii.

Sara led the procession while the sailor and I brought up the rear.  The old man was outraged that the drunken fellow was with us, and kept loudly voicing his displeasure.  His wife told him over and over again to "just shut up."  I said nothing, but walked in inner peace across the rainbow-colored singing rocks--followed, of course, by the sailor who kept trying to get his hands on me, my staff, or both.  I didn't  speak to him, but simply walked with integrity and concentration, leaving him to mutter and stumble along behind me.


Shasta Rocks
Photo by Lorae Ireland

At the spring, playing the part of the missing medicine man, I followed Thunderbird's instructions, putting the turquoise necklace in the water then out on the bank at the head of the spring.  Several tourists came up the stream, and I requested that they wait while we finished a ceremony, which they graciously did.  I asked if anyone had some tobacco.  Sara had some in her medicine pouch which we put in the center of the necklace.  We needed fire, and my crystal staff pointed at it provided plenty.  While listening to the etheric drums played by the hundreds of Indian spirits present, I danced (shuffled) around the spring three times chanting. (I don't know what, but it sounded authentic!)


Lower Panther Meadow
Photo by Gerald Bringle

I drank from the spring, gathered water into my flask, and again shuffled three times around the spring, scattering the water as I went.  Next I put the rest of the water on the necklace in a figure eight pattern.  To finish, I stood at the head of the spring, and pointing my staff to the east said loudly, "To the East where the sun comes up!"; facing north, "To the North where the cold comes from!"; facing south, "To the South where the light comes from!"; facing west, "To the West where the sun goes down!"; pointing the staff at the sun, "To Father Sun!";  at the spring and necklace, "To Mother Earth and the Sacred Spring!"  Then I spun to my right (Mt. Shasta is a receiving, cleansing vortex.) three times, whirled the staff over my head and yelled some channeled Indian invocation and finished by pointing the staff at the necklace.  I lifted the necklace by the staff and gave it to Sara to wear.

All through this, the sailor had been stumbling about, going to the bushes, reaching for the staff, getting in my way, and generally being a pest.  At one point, at the head of the spring, just before the invocation to the Four Corners of the Universe, I hugged him, called him "Coyote" and thanked him for being there.  (“Coyote” always created comic disturbance at Indian ceremonies.)  He responded with a blank, hostile stare.

When we were finished, the bemused tourists, who had been standing in a little semi-circle about thirty feet away, came up to the spring.  They didn't stay long, however, because our drunken companion started bellowing and wading into the spring, yelling that it was his, he had made it, and he was going to fix it.  He proceeded to throw large rocks from the mud, bellowing and splashing about.  One family with many children was so alarmed that they climbed up on a huge, house-sized rock to the east of the spring.  

I went over to speak to them, and the mother said, "Do you know this man?  He's frightening the children."  I replied that I knew him, that it was OK, and they could come down.  I went back to our loud disruptive and drunken friend and tried to persuade him to come back to the parking lot with us.  He called me daughter again, said that he wasn't leaving, but we could go up in the trees and so on and so forth, all in his usual language.

All this time, Sara and the old couple were waiting in the last of the sun out in the middle of the scree slope.  The family came down off the rock, and the children filed quietly off below the meadow.  Holding my staff beside me, I stood about seventy feet from the spring at the edge of the sunlight while in the shadow of the mountain, the sailor energetically reeled about in the mud, splashing, bellowing and hurling rocks with amazing force.  Rapidly, one after another, six and seven-inch rocks flew fifty feet and more, looking like projectiles hurtled from an infernal mud machine.
I turned and walked away toward my companions.  

His bellows grew louder, then fainter and fainter, following us as we climbed up to the parking lot.  Before we got to our car we met Jim.  On an impulse, I put the necklace around his neck.  He said, "Thank you," and I had to explain that it was not a gift--all who have worn it in the past desire to own its great power again.  He wore it as we all held hands in a quiet circle, still hearing the distant roaring of our sailor-friend at the spring, echoing with supernatural loudness, louder and ever louder in the mountain valley.

We returned to the parking lot, hugged all our friends good-bye, and drove down from the sacred mountain for the last time.  The sun was going down, as our sun is on this age, for we are at the last of one of the twenty-six thousand-year cycles, one of the ages of man on the necklace.

Sara and I went for an Italian dinner in the town of Mount Shasta.  It wasn't until after the second glass of wine that the true identity of the drunken sailor dawned on us.  He was "He Who Thunders Beneath the Sea," a long-forgotten Hawaiian deity who is the connection between Mount Shasta and the mountaintops that make up the Islands of Hawaii.  He causes all earthquakes in the Pacific and along our coastline, all volcanoes in the "Ring of Fire," and many violent electro-magnetic storms.  No wonder he stared at me when I called him “Coyote!”  He's no mere “Coyote!”  Poisidon himself is more likely.  I have found one place in Hawaii where he shows himself--in the Sacred Banyan Tree on Wakikii beach you might see him as a large, brightly-colored loud raucous bird.

To make sure that we didn't miss the point, while we were driving home that night, there was a 6.2 earthquake in the ocean off the vortex at the mouth of Hunter Creek near Gold Beach, Oregon.

A few days later Sara insisted that I come with her to a bazaar to keep her company while she worked there.  Meanwhile, the newspapers reported a terrible chemical spill from a rail car into the Sacramento River near Dunsmuir.  I knew  that I should have burnt that paper sack!  Oh well, maybe the water itself was doomed anyway from the gunk on the necklace.

A thousand years before:
This turquoise, which had turned an ugly khaki green from miss-use and abuse, came back into the service of the Light Beings and was worn by medicine men of the American Indians.  It was used much in the yearly activities at the Sacred Spring on Mount Shasta and the vortex now known as the Four Corners of our states in the American Southwest.  Because its color glowed of true turquoise again, those with sight could see the glow of purple radiance around it.

This same man, who had been Pharaoh, my brother, wore this necklace again as an American Indian medicine man.  He was married to a round complacent person named Spider Woman, Sara again.  I was a little girl, his niece, and felt honored to be allowed to go with the medicine men and women up to the Sacred Spring on Mount Shasta for the yearly spring ceremonies.  We gathered at this Sacred Ground for the full moon in the early spring.  All had to fast a minimum of three days and drink the water from the Spring.

This spring at that time bubbled out of colored crystalline rocks, gushing up into the air about  three feet to fall in a brilliant spray in the sun.  Early in the morning, my uncle would send me up to the spring to let the water fall into a container immediately after the first rays of the rising sun had turned the fountain to glistening colored diamonds.  Surrounded by wildflowers and mosses, this spring attracted many birds, our spirit brothers who spoke and sang to me there.

Deep inside the very center of the mountain, the medicine people could see a shining artifact from the stars that gave a pulse, causing the colored rocks on the surface to ring.  This central shining pulse was the reason for the high vibration and power of this volcano.

The main group, from many tribes, camped further down the mountain, but I was allowed to stay up with the medicine people in the meadow below the spring.  We were friends with the many wild panthers, supernatural sacred animals who slept near us.  Sometimes we fed them, but as a gift, not a bribe.

Ordinarily, when medicine men and women got together there was much joking and wild tricks, for these people were the most fearless of all, and had a truly wild sense of humor to match.  However, at this place, all were serious, because they had great respect for the Lady of the Mountain and Her Spring.

The night of the full moon of the springtime we had a Ceremony of the Drums.  Two hundred or more medicine people in a spiral of concentric circles drummed, sang and played flutes all night long.  We were, among other things, communicating via the spiral from the mountain to our brothers in the stars.  Sometimes we saw brightly colored lights in the sky.  I felt that I was no longer on this earth and that we became floating spiritual beings.


Written March 8, 1993:
INVOCATION FOR MOUNT SHASTA

By the authority of my Divine Father, I AM the power to claim this mountain as the domain of its creator, God Most High.

May all Angels reclaim God's dominion over this mountain and its Lady, that Her Face be no longer marked with tears of sadness, but rather, tears of joy for the return of Her Children to the Shrine of Our Lord.

The time is now at hand for the forces of Light to claim dominion over this Mountain and this Earth.  The contamination of the dark ones is now at an end, and I AM the authority to decree NOW that all darkness, all mis-qualified energy be no more a part of our reality.

I AM the authority to ask for the protection and service of the Mighty Archangels to cleanse, purify and re-vitalize this mountain, this Sacred Mount Shasta, embodiment of the Spiral of Life.  We, as Children of the Creator, do claim this world and ourselves for our Father NOW and FOREVER, that we may experience our true reality on our Mother Earth as a glorious expression of the creativity of our Father in Heaven.

I AM the desire for the angels to again return to their abode on the Mount Shasta, that it be a Light for the World.  May all humankind come here in reverence and joy, to commune with All Beings in the Light of the Father, and may all sincere seekers come to this Sacred Place with welcome, that they might know of their true identity, glorious Children of Light, Children of the Most High.

May this mountain be always a Light for the World, a place for all to experience the great brilliance of their true divinity and immortality.  We drink of the water flowing from the breast of Akaska, the Lady of the Mountain, and hear the birds, our Elder Brothers, who do speak to us of our true being.  
Listen!  Listen!  
And be at peace.

[lorae]

Shasta at Sundown



Mt. Shasta from the Campground, September 2004




Skyrockets and Friends

                      Photos by Lorae Ireland

[energyhealer]

Thanks for sharing Lorelei,

What a tremendous amount if information! Thank you. Many blessings,

[lorae]

Thanks for sharing Lorelei,

What a tremendous amount if information! Thank you. Many blessings,

Thanks!  Nice to be appreciated.