Memories of Yeovil Junction

Unless you’re a hardcore rail buff, this video might be terribly boring. I’m not myself, but I did scan through this to see if I could find anything familiar.

Besides a good general overview of the history of Yeovil’s train stations and some nice shots of steam engines that really pressed some nostalgia buttons for me, I found something interesting.

At 24:37, A train approaches Yeovil Town station (now the site of the Cineworld Cinema) as seen from Wyndham hill, quite near where John and his family lived.

Incidentally, the junction you see in that particular scene is still there; however, only one track, the one to Pen Mill station, survives; the other track was removed in the 1960s and the track bed is now a landscape feature on a golf course, visible in satellite images to this day.

I had been fairly sure I’d been able to see the trains clearly from john’s room on the top floor of the house at Sherborne Road, but this (along with 1880s maps that show no houses behind the terrace where John lived) pretty much proves that this is completely plausible and that there might not have been many trees in the way back then (as there are now).

This explains a lot of why I found a lot of things about the town’s current layout confusing and frustrating.  I suddenly find myself terribly homesick for a Yeovil that is now many years gone.  Pen Mill station is the same as it was all those years ago but the rest has changed conspicuously in the last 120 years or so.

More Sources

Some additional sources that might help the reader understand Phil’s work, in no particular order.

An in-depth examination of the Rosicrucian Brotherhood:

The Chymical Wedding of Christian Rosenkreutz (pdf format):

The Bardo Thodol audiobook:

The Nag Hammadi Library (html format):

The site this is on, the Gnosis Archive, is also one of the best sources for Gnostic texts on the Web and I have used and linked to it multiple times here.

More to come.  Much more.

Mad Monk or 20th Century Mystic?

The great question I have to keep asking myself about my last life (if indeed he was my last life) is this: was he just another crazy old stoner in California who thought he heard voices in Beatles records, or the recipient of a genuine miracle?

It’s known that Phil tended to look at things from a Gnostic sort of framework.  He’d been previously involved with AMORC, one of the various rosicrucian societies that continued a Gnostic lineage going all the way back to the 30 Years war (though allegorically said to be a much older Gnostic lineage).

Having looked somewhat into Rosicrucianism and Hermeticism myself, I can tell you that if you don’t at least know a little bit about Western mystical systems then you’re pretty lost trying to decipher a work like Valis.  I can easily see why someone not familiar with those things would see a very deranged man (just try describing the ineffable in a vernacular language that lacks a well-developed mystical vocabulary without sounding crazy some time).

However, although he had trouble getting his thoughts in order and never managed to zero in on an elegant way of describing his visions, he did leave us at least some clues about what the truth of our existence is.

My understanding of the text and its possible significance- whether the sad decline of a brilliant mind or the flowering of a Gnostic revival- is still evolving.  I’m having to read and re-read, watch and re-watch, and continually review the various pieces of Gnostic literature.  Some of them are in a growing “to read/watch” pile.  Nonetheless, I’m still gaining some understanding of the sort of works one would need to be familiar with to really begin to grasp Philip K. Dick’s later work.

I would like to start linking to those resources here, for the benefit of anyone who has ever been curious.  I won’t ask you to believe any of it because I’m not even sure if I believe it myself, but I’ll at least share resources with anyone who wants to know if there’s anything to it.

Please don’t take for granted the free and public availability of these esoteric works, by the way!  For hundreds of years, you had to be an initiate in a secret society to know most of this.  The teachings were handed down from master to student and strictly controlled.  They remained scarce well past the end of the Inquisition and only became widely available in print after WWII, but they were still rarefied and expensive texts for academics.

We live in an age now when you can build a multimedia library of religious and esoteric texts, lectures, and commentaries that is more complete than most big city libraries right on your laptop.  When Phil wrote his books, he was lucky to be living in California where such texts were relatively easy to come by compared to many parts of the country.

I’d like to start with a video lecture that explains the most basic concepts behind Jacob Boehme’s ideas.  Boehme is said to have had an experience much like Phil’s.  The cosmogony described in the Tractates Cryptica Scriptura from VALIS shares similarities with Boehme’s concept of the world springing from the action of two contending principles, and Phil was known to be familiar with Boehme, possibly from back to the 1960s:

“The World Within- C.G. Jung In His Own Words” is an excellent film.  Carl Gustav Jung was one of Phil’s great inspirations, both a psychologist and a modern-day mystic who had some amazing insights of his own:

If I was indeed Phil, then I can tell you for sure that he intended for his personal copy of the Exegesis to be bound and illuminated like Jung’s book, once he had his notes in order to create a complete work.  Sadly, the chance never came.  Perhaps one day, I’ll write something worth committing to vellum but for now, it eludes me.

I Know This Place!

St. Mary’s Parish Church, Dennington, Suffolk.  I don’t know when I know it from (probably not the Middle Ages since the pews look about right, and those are probably post-medieval) but I definitely know this church.

I haven’t gotten a clue this strong that I knew a place from a past life since I first saw a photo of the Marin County Civic Center.  The difference there is I already had an inkling that I’d had a past life in Marin County in the 60s; this one just came out of nowhere and I haven’t gotten that reaction to any of the dozens of other old churches I’ve seen photos and video of.

Incidentally, I spied this very unique nave in a wonderful documentary about medieval sensibilites toward death and how they left their mark on old churches:

That Feeling Again

One of my courses this term is a class on the art and architecture of India.

When we got to a discussion of the Chaitya Hall at Karle, I had the distinct feeling I had seen these carvings in person once.  That feeling has occurred multiple times throughout the course.  However, any thoughts that I’d had an earlier life in India were tempered by two things.

First, I realized that the various Buddhist, Hindu, and Muslim structures we’ve covered are mostly ruins now, and that they somehow look “correct” that way.  I cannot picture them in their heyday, painted brightly and festooned with flowers as they would have been.  Even with photographs of more recent temples in India I still picture myself among ruins.

Second, I came to realize that the way I feel when I see Indian architecture is as a perpetual outsider to that culture, even when I nominally understand what the religions behind these buildings believe.  I even catch myself with negative feelings about these structures sometimes.  It took me a while to realize but the familiarity I feel is more like that of a British colonist than as a native.  I find myself struggling to maintain objectivity in the face of an incredibly strong orientalist impulse.

I now think I may have traveled to India during my mid-19th century life.  At least, that’s the most likely time to have done so since John was unlikely to have been there (though his battalion certainly was there early in the war).  My recollections are not clear but I did seem to recall ladies with parasols standing around the Lad Khan temple and a general atmosphere of exuberance and perhaps slight apprehension as a tourist in an exotic land.

Still, such a feeling is out of keeping with the objective studies of an art history major.  I’m not on an elephant safari in 1855, why do I keep thinking like someone who is?  It’s irritating.

Yes, The Way We Talk About Women Is A Problem

Having been completely cis male in most of my prior lives and a writer known for annoyingly stereotyped female characters and being unfair to my wives in my last life, the following will be something I would have probably never said before.

Yes, the way we talk about women is a problem.  Experience is a harsh teacher.

I have to be honest about something: part of the reason I didn’t transition sooner was because deep down, I had shit tons of internalized misogyny to deal with.

I grew up with a mother whose mental illnesses made her extremely emotionally unstable and gave her a cruel, vindictive streak. Early on I was taught by the men in my life to believe that that’s just how women were. That’s certainly how bad wives on TV shows acted, and how many men are socialized to see women: as an obnoxious pest who plays mind games and complains about not being appreciated. That is to say that the men in my life were not being mean-spirited by telling me that my mother was a “typical woman,” but they were repeating a meme that was soaked deep into the culture and I had really no point of reference for any other view.

But I also grew up with the option of living life as a man, and confronted with these unlikable visions of womanhood I could never imagine myself as anything but a man. I began to see a woman as a fallen, dirty thing and in my pride I thought “I am not fallen and dirty, so I must not be a woman.” I admired the Greeks and the Romans with their masculine ideals and came to see homosexuality as a morally superior form of love. From there my ideas descended into a morass of pseudo-classical homosexism.

Even when gender dysphoria began to hit, I still tried to love my homomasculine role as a gift, so much that I constructed a false identity around it. I had the perfect body to be a bear, and I found it surprisingly easy to bed cute guys who were looking for a big burly chub. It was such an ego boost to have a body type that so many guys actually preferred where I knew, if I lived as a woman, I would just be seen as fat and ugly.

As my dysphoria got worse, I felt like I needed to be cuter so I could get more guys to mount me instead, because I hated always being on top. I wanted to look more androgynous, or even become a fully passable “trap.” But from my experience, “feminine” meant “petite,” and I began to starve myself, setting limits of 1000 calories per day (sometimes going as little as 700) while purging with laxatives. I didn’t think back then I could be beautiful without losing weight.

Only now, in hindsight, do I see just how much these attitudes have been normalized, and just how much damage they do when that’s all you ever hear most of the time. I was completely at the beck and call of a culture that has surprisingly bitter contempt for women and I was none the wiser. Ultimately, had I not grown up in a culture that says women are irrational and vindictive, had I not lived in a culture that fetishizes masculinity as a superior virtue, had I not lived in a culture that puts so much emphasis on small, unhealthy bodies, I would have been saved so much trouble that I didn’t even know I was in at the time. I thought I was just suffering for the sake of “the good fight” of defending masculine virtue when all I was doing was more damage to myself than I had to.

Yes, the way we talk about women is a problem. It’s not cool to shame our bodies, our minds, and our existence. This isn’t about “getting a thicker skin,” this is getting to the heart of a culture that really needs to learn some respect and hold itself accountable for its attitude.


After digesting what I’ve found about William Longespee, I can now say that what he reminds me of in myself is not a positive trait.

He was a habitual pleaser who gave deeply of himself and put up with way more abuse than he had to.  That’s exactly the way I was before my transition.  I had been stuck in that same fucking rut for 8 centuries.

The whole thing with remembering past lives was a direct result of this trait in me.  In 2012 I was rooming with a selfish, manipulative person who never treated me in a civil way once he had the upper hand on me, and I still tried obsessively to be his right hand man… even if it meant forcing myself to remain a man.  One of the things I will never forgive him for was his negativity when I revealed to him that I wanted to transition and the way he used my vulnerabilities against me when I was done putting up with his bullshit.

He did worse.  I found out after he’d moved away that the roommate he had pretty much guilted us into agreeing to take on without even putting on the lease had been selling crack out of our apartment.  It turns out, I was in a situation that was starting to look an awful lot like the Santa Venetia years.

But our relationship was not always this way.  There were times when he and I seemed to be very good friends.  This was back when I was living in Vegas, at the start of my paranoid gun nut phase.  He seemed like a good person to have on my side because he seemed business-minded, I bought my first gun from him, and he was also a sadist who catered to some dark, self-endangering fetishes I had before I gained some confidence.  We joked, we played games, went out for tamales, we commiserated by phone on a regular basis when I was stuck in Arkansas, and he even helped me move to Portland.  I thought I’d really managed to get in good with a real rogue who could help me when the shit hit the fan, and at one time he trusted me to have his back if it came to that.

Still, in hindsight, there was a lot of negativity about him.  Everyone was an “asshole” or an “idiot,” and he always had choice words for easy targets.  He kept having good business ideas and then not following through with them. He was pretty open about some of his more warped ideas too, and he told me some things that kind of scared me even though I’m reasonably sure in hindsight that he was full of shit.  Also, I kept getting followed by clean-cut men in unmarked Crown Victorias after I started hanging out with him in Vegas;  I later learned that there was indeed a reason for that fact which I will not discuss here.

Now, I’m not suggesting that this guy was King John in a previous life (pretty sure he wasn’t), nor am I suggesting that William Longespee was into edgeplay because he had a wounded psyche.  But I am suggesting that the same reason I put up with this guy is at least in part the reason Count William didn’t join the barons’ revolt until the very end when it didn’t really matter because King Louis of France had arrived.  He put his lot in with people he found useful because they found him useful.  That’s exactly what I did to myself.

For that matter, that’s what Phil did too.  He tolerated major assholes because they tolerated his addictions, even fancied them his friends, then got burned in 1972 when his house was trashed and his manuscripts got stolen.  Also like me, Phil was under surveillance (except in those days it was gold-colored unmarked Plymouth Valiants in his rearview if memory serves).

I broke a pattern 800 years old by this gender transition.  I finally transgressed into territory that forced all of the superficial people out of my life, and although it was a devastating experience it seems to have been a karmic jackpot.  I’ve pretty much been dealt a hand that forced me to either stop being a useful idiot to bad people or die, and I’m better for that.

I just hope I remember this lesson next time around.