David Bowie touched and affected my life at many times, in many ways; helping to open my mind, and to mark points on my personal journey. In retrospect, he acted as a totem and a guide for me. When he died last Sunday, I’m pretty convinced he must have surprised almost everyone but himself, as I am convinced he went to death consciously, and entered either Paranirvana or whatever realm he had chosen as his repose. And at the time of this death, he participated somehow in elucidating something that had been eluding me, completing a part of his own mission by helping to clarify mine.
My first rock concert ever was the Nashville, Tennessee stop of the Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust tour, in 1973. I was fifteen, and I had to get my mother to drive me and a friend from my hometown over an hour away, and wait around (at I believe my aunt’s house) to pick us up. Needless to say, the concert was a classic and still unforgettable, and to my recollection I saw Bowie in concert five times between 1973 and what must have been about 1979; Ziggy, Aladdin Sane, Diamond Dogs, Young Americans and the Thin White Duke strutted and preached and encouraged. In retrospect, I “selected” David Bowie as “my” star for many reasons. I was an only child and grew up fairly isolated, though I attended school and always had a couple of friends, and not normally socialized. I was bright but never really picked up on team sports or whatever young boys in small towns in Tennessee in the 1960’s were supposed to be concerned with, and longed for an alternative world; as I entered adolescence, I began to read a lot of science fiction and history. Starting about 1972, I became quite interested in rock singers and songwriters, starting with probably Dylan and Lennon, and became intrigued by pictures of and stories about Bowie in Cream magazine and Rolling Stone, and bought The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars. As a songwriter, Bowie had just what I was looking for; lyrical depth and meaning, interesting stories, packaged in music that excited and invited me. After Ziggy, I bought Space Oddity, and I was hooked.
Emulation of Bowie, of course, was limited. In a lot of ways, his characters were everything I was not; for the most part Bowie reserved his extraordinary intelligence for himself as a storyteller and didn’t project it into his characters; I suspect that Ziggy and Aladdin Sane were a lot more like Iggy Pop than Bowie himself, who always remained hidden. He was thin and svelte, androgynous, whereas I was mesomorphic (at my best) and masculine. His characters were bisexual, and I was not, but I found that my opening myself to the possibility of homosexual experience – that is, accepting it in my mind as valid and somehow exotically desirable, but finding that I had no impulse to participate in any kind of gay sex, and thereby discovering that I was inherently and fixedly heterosexual – I somehow avoided homophobia. Later I lived in San Francisco near Church Street, near the Castro district, and was always fascinated I think by gay culture; I probably saw it at its peak there, leaving in 1983 just as the AIDS plague became fully manifest. To this day, I think that a lot of the – let’s say it, homophobia (I quite dislike this Newspeak of referring to one’s dislike or aversions as “phobias”, but in this case I think it fits) – that I see in heterosexual males comes from some sort of fear that they may in fact be gay, and a vehement denial, a fear of exploration. Having been empowered, mostly by Bowie, to explore this region within myself, and coming up empty of homosexual inclination, I nevertheless was liberated from any fear or resentment of those who found that genie within. Although at our current point in history, I despise, resent and am dedicated to resisting the efforts of those whom I formerly found could not be named, to use the gay population, like the Black population and every other conceivable minority to destroy our culture – to use them as weapons – I will defend fervently the right of anyone to follow his own sexual impulses, as long as those impulses are not imposed on me or any other who is not consenting or capable of consent, and to do so publicly if they so choose. That is, so long as they don’t attempt to impose their alternative choice on me. Such is a legacy of my Bowie years.
What I did find myself able to adopt and emulate, or perhaps to synchronize with, in Bowie, was the persona of the alien, the outsider. Ziggy, Aladdin Sane and the unnamed protagonist of Diamond Dogs and The Man Who Sold the World were science fiction characters, a bit like Bowie’s character in The Man Who Fell to Earth. I felt just as much an outsider as they were. Bowie was of course much concerned in his art with the future, coming at the end of that age when the future was seen in a positive light. From our perspective, having come so far in a parallel but altogether different direction, the rocket ship fantasies of Asimov and Clarke and the movies and TV they inspired – I grew up on Lost in Space and the original Star Trek and preferred the former – seem ridiculous. Bowie’s vision of the future varied from the optimistic – see especially, “Memory of a Free Festival” – to the dystopic, as hinted at in the darkly tinged Ziggy and Aladdin Sane, gone full-blown 1984 by Diamond Dogs. But even his dystopias had a dark and shiny edge and were somehow attractive, like a dark star. And in an era when so many rock stars wanted to pose as somehow occult, meaningful or interesting, Bowie delivered. In 1970 – 1972 I was obsessed with the history of Europe and the Third Reich, and with the novels of Robert Heinlein, George Orwell and Samuel R. Delaney, after that I had Bowie and was never disappointed. Lyrically, intellectually and artistically, and I believe authentically, Bowie flirted with Nietzche and Buddhism, with Aleister Crowley and Orwell and projected “Nazi” occultism. When in later years I came to define my own hidden, internal essence as a Dark Star, I’m sure it was Bowie’s path that I in my own different way, followed.
After the era of the Thin White Duke, Bowie went down paths where I sometimes followed and often didn’t. I loved “Golden Years” and the title song but felt no resonance with the persona of Young Americans. The last Bowie I truly loved (despites some great songs on Lodger) was the Berlin-based Bowie of Low and Heroes, and of his haunting soundtrack for Christianne F., to this day one of my favorite movies. I’ll never forget the subway sequence set to “Warszawa” and tried to emulate it in my real life experience, riding the subways in San Francisco with my Walkman. There’s no doubt that Bowie’s output during this period was drug-affected, but so was my own experience, law school or not. So much of the mental space in which I tried to live was in that one song. From that point on, I wanted to live in Berlin – Bowie’s Berlin, but later Lou Reed’s Berlin. I never got to see the real one until last year, but I wish I had been there before and when the Wall came down…
Nevertheless, the dark shimmery image of the loner, the outsider, the alien, the artist, the occultist, yet one capable of great mirth excitement and ecstasy, was all I ever wanted to experience, to do and to be.
Bowie and I largely walked separate paths from 1983 until 2013, when he released “Where Are We Now?”. The album that accompanied it, The Next Day, was a mixed bag, and I think represented Bowie and Visconti getting their recording legs back. But that song was magnificent, and I think ranks with Bowie’s best. When I went to Berlin last October, I made sure to take the train to Potsdamer Platz, and to visit Ka Da We. There is in Berlin a David Bowie Music Tour, but I didn’t take it. He lived in Berlin in the 1970’s, when it was West Berlin, a small Western enclave of decadence, art and enterprise surrounded by the Soviet Monster. I walked its streets in what I think will be seen as the new Islamic invasion, and tried to pull from its racial and genetic memory stores. Walking the dead, indeed.
There is to be discussed, with regards to Bowie’s death last Sunday, the matter of what he gave the world, as well as the separate topic of what he gave me. His illness, we know, was kept secret from the public, obviously by his choice. The final album Blackstar is loaded with goodbyes and final messages. The video for Lazarus could hardly be more explicit. I laughed yesterday reading an article in which Tony Visconti expressed his belief that Bowie had plans for further recordings, and hadn’t expected to die so soon. I believe that Bowie may have encouraged his friends and family to believe that, but I know that he knew better. It is clear to me that Bowie chose the time and the place of his demise, and although if I had been there I am sure that I would have known for sure, I believe that he entered into death consciously, as an evolved being would. I believe that he timed the release of his final gift to the world for his 69th and final birthday, and that he exited life two days thereafter.
Where the entity that called itself David Bowie went when he left this plane, I don’t know, although I believe he may have known. What I do know is this: I believe I have written previously that, coming out of my own moment of darkness, I called out to a God who responded to me and saved me, and without whom I would not be writing this now. At the time I envisioned that God only as an open doorway, a trap door up into the heavens. Later I came to see, not God himself, but his emissary – my own guide, with whose guidance and cooperation I came to this life, the team leader of my spiritual platoon – as a figure who reminds me as much of Krishna as anyone, but who is somehow blue, like Vishnu, like the blue man I saw just beneath my own skin, in a meditation resulting from a misguided attempt at psychotherapy a few years ago. That spritelike creature is also somehow David Bowie, or maybe Bowie is or was another member of that same team, senior to me, who has guided me in subtle ways since I was fifteen years old, and he was twenty-six. What comes next for him I don’t know, any more than I know the answer to that question regarding myself.
On a final note, I read this article the other day, tracing Bowie’s occult references, of which there are many, reflecting an obviously quite serious study in his youth, and which manifested more darkly in his drug days, the occult being very compatible with drug-addled paranoia. But what interested me was the references to Gnosticism. Gnosticism is known to most of us as early Christian heresy, but actually represents an older belief system. The Gnostics, like their later manifestations the Manicheans, believed the god who presently rules this world – Yahweh, the god of the Hebrews and by extension the Jews, who became the God of most Christians and Muslims, was not the true God, but a demon who is consumed with his own ego. This seems to me to be true, which is why I have sought and followed a path among faiths of an older, truer line. The Gnostics also believed that their prophet Yeshua was a prophet or avatar, I’m not sure which, of the older, true God, and had come to relieve the people from the rule of the demon. It appears to me that when what we know as Christianity was concocted in the time of the Romans, the powers who created Christianity as a weapon to be used against followers of the true God, made from the story of Yeshua the story of Jesus. For myself, I don’t know about Yeshua, and I believe that if those were his teachings, they are lost or not available to me, or else they may be embodied in Gnosticism.
But what I gained from all this is a name for those enemies of our people, on spiritual and material levels. I believe I referred in my prior blog to those who cannot be named. It seems to me that for now, those entities can be called Archons. I state this with some temerity, and to some extent with the intention of taking back that name from where it has been misapplied, as in the writing of David Icke, whose books with his mentions of metamorphizing lizard men, are close enough to constitute actual disinformation, for one seeking the final truth of where we are, of how we have arrived here, and of where we need to go. It may be helpful here to reference the Theosophical writings of Madame Blavatsky, and of Julius Evola, as well as the underlying concept of the Yugas, which indicate that as we move through what we perceive as time, in cycles which descend downward until Creation is reborn and starts again at the top, in a Golden Era, existence, Prakriti, becomes more and more material, denser and denser, and less spiritual. Thus, the earliest beings who walked this place in days before the idea of time, were more spiritual beings than we, and less material. As existence continues to manifest, it and everything in it, becomes more material, more solid and less spiritual. And some of those beings, or their forms, still exist, although they are only partially manifest on our plane. There are in this life, some of us who are the spiritual descendants or partial descendants of those higher beings, who might be seen as Aesir or Light Elves or shining ones, whose other descendants were Heroes. And there are those who are the spiritual tools of Darkness. I think that being composite beings, we are mixed, and have to some extent, within the limits imposed by Provenance, have a choice of which blood and which path to follow. And thus we pick sides in the Occult War which presages and precipitates the end of our Age, which must play out before the next Golden Age begins.
No matter who wins, the result is the same. The forces of Darkness, even when victorious, ultimately destroy themselves as they destroy the world around them. The slate is wiped clean and the world begins anew. We are merely here to play our parts – consciously if possible, but faithfully, as Krishna advises Arjuna before Kurukshetra.
Whenever someone tries to name the enemy in human terms they fail. Hitler blamed the Jews, and while it may be true that many of the destroyers of higher civilization or the civilization of our time may have inhabited Jewish form, it is surely not the Jewish humans of our time who are the enemy. My Jewish cousin-in-law does not participate in occult warfare. Looking at the state of the world, people blame the 1%, or the rich, or the Bilderbergers. Or Lizard Aliens. We may all be of alien provenance, for all I know. In fact, I believe that some of our blood, is. Neither are the Muslim invaders who have been unleashed upon Europe and to some extent here, the actual enemy, any more than the pawns of #blacklivesmatter who threaten to destroy the functioning of our society.
When Orcs arise, they must be slain, but ultimately the battle must be taken to Sauron, if one is to win. When I give name to the enemy, I used it to indicate those who are not fully manifest. But it would be a mistake to believe that the enemy does not act on this plane, or to retreat to a fantasy battle in the sky. Escapism, although tempting, does not suit us at this time. It appears to me that 2016 will be what I would call a year of manifestation, when beings and influences that have been hovering in latent form will appear in the physical world. This year is when the pedal hits the metal and the shit hits the fan, maybe, although I believe it will take a few years to play out.
So this final revelation, like my trip to Berlin, will be one of Bowie’s last gifts to me, probably, in my lifetime, and certainly in his. This name, given indirectly and somewhat arbitrarily, for the enemy, these Archons. Along with this image of this darkly shining transcendent entity, this God who lives within some of us, though perhaps not all. And the knowledge that for some of us, our calling may be in fact to be Heroes.