When the Impossible Happens

by Grof, Stanislav

  In our Hollyhock training, the discussions about alien abductions soon spread among the participants and continued for the rest of our stay in Cortez Island. This situation culminated when Anne and Jim Armstrong, our guest faculty for this training module, arrived on the scene. Anne was known for her capacity to channel psychic information on any particular topic, whether it involved people’s personal lives, cultural phenomena, human history, or scientific problems. Under the circumstances, the group made a unanimous decision to ask Anne for a reading on the UFO phenomenon. In a reading that lasted over an hour, Anne was able to offer an interesting perspective and many unique insights concerning flying saucers, extraterrestrials, and alien abductions.

  When the training ended, Christina and I flew to Seattle to launch the ITA conference. On the second day of the meeting, the Oregon Herald published an astonishing report about a discovery an airplane pilot had made in the Oregon desert. Flying across this vast plain, he had noticed a remarkable design carved in the desert floor. It turned out to be a perfectly executed Sri Yantra, the most sacred symbol of Tantra, one of the most ancient Indian spiritual traditions. The image was gigantic, covering an area the size of four football fields!

  Yantra is a Sanskrit word that means “aid” or “tool.” Yantras are abstract diagrams, images of various deities composed entirely of primal geometric forms—points, lines, circles, triangles, squares, and stylized lotus blossoms. These forms are juxtaposed, intersected, combined, and harmonically arranged. According to Tantraraja Tantra, there are 960 yantras, each representing a different deity or a specific aspect thereof. Sri Yantra, the most ancient and celebrated of these yantras, is composed of nine intersecting triangles, four oriented upward, five downward. It represents the union of Shiva and Shakti, the cosmic field in creation, and different stages of Shakti’s descent into manifestation.

  In the middle of the intersecting triangles is mahabindu, a point representing simultaneously the source of creation and the transcendence of all polarities and final integration at the end of the spiritual journey. The intersecting triangles are surrounded by concentric circles decorated with stylized lotus petals. The outer layer of this intricate diagram is a square with T-shaped gates on each of its sides. This elaborate and complex spiritual symbol was executed in the Oregon desert with mathematical precision and on a colossal scale. The furrows forming it were exactly four inches deep and absolutely even throughout the diagram.

  When people responding to the pilot’s report arrived on the scene, they were astonished when they discovered that the desert surface all around the design was absolutely pristine and intact. There were no imprints of tires or footprints leading to it. The writer of the newspaper article concluded after doing some research that to replicate this work on the same scale and with the same precision would cost about $100,000. The origin and purpose of this remarkable project was a mystery and, to my knowledge, has remained so until this very day. The article mentioned the obvious parallel to the crop circles appearing mysteriously in the fields of various parts of Europe and added that the prevailing popular belief was that the Sri Yantra in the Oregon desert was the work of extraterrestrial visitors.

  This was the culmination of a series of instances in my life involving UFOs and aliens. However, for Christina and myself, this event had also an interesting personal dimension. During our darshans with Swami Muktananda, he often referred to us mischievously in a tongue-in-cheek fashion as Shiva and Shakti. And just at the time when the two of us launched a large international conference, a sacred symbol representing Shiva and Shakti manifested in a nearby desert. While we ourselves tended to interpret similar happenings in terms of Jung’s concept of synchronicity, there were people in the Siddha Yoga movement who liked to see Baba as a cosmic puppeteer. They believed that he consciously and deliberately staged auspicious events in the lives of his devotees. A few of them who participated in the conference saw the manifestation of Sri Yantra in the desert as Baba’s work. They came to us individually to share their belief that it was without any doubt an expression of his blessing for the conference.

  A LESSON IN FORGIVENESS: Peyote Ceremony with Potawatomi Indians

  As a psychiatrist dealing on a daily basis with emotional problems that plague human life, I became keenly aware of various destructive and self-destructive patterns that are being passed like a curse from one generation to another throughout history. The traumas that the parents experience during their own development in the family of origin leave them emotionally wounded and unable to function adequately in the role of husbands, wives, fathers, and mothers. As a result, they inflict emotional wounds on their off spring. To break this vicious circle is one of the major challenges of modern psychology and psychiatry.

  A similar pattern of a higher order operates on the collective level and poisons relations between entire countries and nations. Unbridled violence and insatiable greed, two dangerous flaws of human nature, have in the past engendered innumerable bloody wars and revolutions and created immense suffering. The memory of the pain and injustice inflicted by various historical enemies survives in the collective consciousness of nations for centuries and colors their present attitudes and relations with each other. Unresolved and unforgiven harms and injuries keep breeding new violence.

  In the unfolding of human history, the roles of various nations and their relationships keep constantly changing in a rather capricious way. On the surface, alliances and internecine encounters come and go, but the memories of the deep wounds and the resulting prejudices remain. During World War II, Germany, Japan, and Italy, the “Axis powers,” were enemies of the United States, while the Soviet Union was an important ally. After the war, the political landscape changed dramatically. Japan and Italy became friendly countries and the Soviet Union an archenemy. The situation with Germany was more complicated; West Germany now was an ally and East Germany became a member of the hostile camp.

  In the twentieth century, the main challenge for Great Britain and France was Germany, and they maintained a relatively decent relationship with each other. However, a few centuries earlier, they were sworn enemies. At one point of history, the major challenge for England was Spain and for Russia, France: Spain was at war with Holland, Russia’s enemy was Sweden, and so on. Having experienced as a child and teenager the horrors of the German occupation of Czechoslovakia and in my later years the ruthless Stalinist regime imposed on us by the Soviet Union, I have strong personal feelings about this problem.

  Since my early childhood, I have always hated borders and everything that belonged to them—the towers with submachine guns, barbed-wire fences, mine fields, and the soldiers and dogs that guarded them. This aversion ex tended even to more civilized forms of frontiers in the free world and their custom officers, visas, and tolls. I have often dreamed about a United States of Europe, about a future when all European nations would live in peaceful coexistence. Later in my life, this vision broadened to include the entire planet. I like to imagine a future when humanity will overcome all racial, sexual, national, cultural, political, and economic divisions and create a global community. However, I am sufficiently aware of the complexity of the problems involved to realize that this is not a very plausible scenario for our planet.

  After this somewhat pessimistic introduction, I would like to relate an episode from my life that gave me some hope in a better future for us all in spite of the grim overall situation. It was an experience of profound healing and transformation that occurred many years ago in a group of people with whom I shared a non ordinary state of consciousness. Although it happened more than thirty years ago, I still feel very moved and tearful whenever I think and talk about it. This event showed me the depth of the problems we are facing in our world, where for many centuries hatred has been passed from one generation to another. However, it also gave me hope and trust in the possibility of lifting this curse and dissolving the barriers that separate us from each other.

  In the late 1960s and ea
rly 1970s, I participated in a government-sponsored research program at the Maryland Psychiatric Research Center in Baltimore, exploring the potential of psychedelic therapy. One of our projects at the center was a training program for mental health professionals. It made it possible for psychiatrists, psychologists, social workers, and priests doing pastoral counseling to have up to three high-dose LSD sessions for educational purposes. One of the participants in this program was Kenneth Godfrey, a psychiatrist from the VA hospital in Topeka, Kansas. Ken was one of the pioneers of psychedelic research himself, conducting sessions with his clients, but he did not have in his program provision for his own sessions. I was his guide in the three psychedelic sessions he had in our institute, and, in the process, we became very close friends. Ken and his wife were both Native Americans and had a very deep connection with the spiritual tradition of their people and with the elders of their tribe.

  When I was still in Czechoslovakia, I read about the Native American Church, a syncretistic religion combining Indian and Christian elements and using as a sacrament the Mexican psychedelic cactus peyote. I became very interested in having a personal experience of a peyote ceremony, which would make it possible for me to compare therapeutic use of psychedelics with their use in a ritual context. After my arrival in the United States, I was looking for such an opportunity, but without success.

  During our final discussion after Ken’s third LSD session, it crossed my mind that he might have some contacts with the Native American Church and could help me find a group that would allow me to participate in their peyote ceremony. Ken promised to explore this issue with John Mitchell, a well-known Potawatomi “road chief,” or leader of sacred ceremonies, who was his close friend. Several days later, Ken called me on the phone and had some good news. John Mitchell had not only invited me as a guest to his peyote ceremony, but offered that I could bring along several other people from our staff.

  The following weekend, five of us flew from Baltimore to Topeka. The group consisted of our music therapist Helen Bonny, her sister, psychedelic therapist Bob Leihy, professor of religion Walter Houston Clark, and me. We rented a car at the Topeka airport and drove from there deep into the Kansas prairie. There, in the middle of nowhere, stood several teepees, the site of the sacred ceremony. The sun was setting, and the ritual was about to begin. But before we could join the ceremony, we had to be accepted by the other participants, all of whom were Native Americans. We had to go through a difficult process that resembled a dramatic encounter group.

  With intense emotions, the native people brought up the painful history of the invasion and conquest of North America by white intruders—the genocide of American Indians and rapes of their women, the expropriation of their land, the senseless slaughter of the buffalo, and many other atrocities. After a couple of hours of dramatic exchange, the emotions quieted down and, one after the other, the Indians accepted us into their ceremony. Finally, there was only one person who had remained violently opposed to our presence—a tall, dark, and sullen man. His hatred toward white people was enormous.

  It took a long time and much persuading from his peers, who were unhappy about further delays of the ceremony, before he finally and reluctantly agreed that we could join the group. Finally, everything was settled, at least on the surface, and we all gathered in a large teepee. The fire was started and the sacred ritual began. We ingested the peyote buttons and passed the staff and the drum. According to the Native American custom, whoever had the staff could sing a song or make a personal statement; there was also the option to pass.

  The sullen man, who was so reluctant to accept us, sat directly across from me, leaning on a pole of the teepee. He radiated anger and hostility, and it was obvious to everybody that he was sulking. While all other participants whole heartedly participated in the ceremony, he remained detached and aloof. Every time the staff and the drum made the circle and came to him, he very angrily passed them on. My perception of the environment was extremely sensitized by the influence of peyote. This man became a sore point in my world, and I found looking at him increasingly painful. His hatred seemed to radiate from his eyes like bright laser beams that were consuming me and filling the entire teepee. He managed to maintain this recalcitrant attitude throughout the ceremony.

  The morning came, and, shortly before sunrise, we were passing the staff and the drum for the last time. It was an opportunity for everybody to say a few final words about their experiences and impressions from the night. Walter Houston Clark’s speech was exceptionally long and very emotional. He expressed his deep appreciation for the generosity of our Native American friends, who had shared with us their beautiful ceremony. Walter specifically stressed the fact that they had accepted us in spite of everything we had done to them—invaded and stolen their land, killed their people, raped their women, and slaughtered the buffalo. At one point of his speech, he referred to me—I do not remember exactly in what context—as “Stan, who is so far from his homeland, his native Czechoslovakia.”

  As soon as Walter uttered the word Czechoslovakia, the man who had resented our presence all through the night suddenly became strangely disturbed. He got up, ran across the teepee, and threw himself on the ground in front of me. He hid his head in my lap, crying and sobbing loudly. After about twenty minutes, he quieted down, returned to his place, and was able to talk. He explained that the evening before the ceremony he had seen us all as “pale faces” and thus automatically enemies of Native Americans. After hearing Walter’s remark, he realized that, being of Czechoslovakian origin, I had nothing to do with the tragedy of his people. The Czechs certainly were not notorious as raiders of the Wild West. He thus hated me through the sacred ceremony without justification.

  The man seemed heartbroken and desolate. After his initial statement came a long silence, during which he was going through an intense inner struggle. It was clear that there was more to come. Finally, he was able to share with us the rest of his story. During World War II, he had been drafted into the American Air Force, and several days before the end of the war he personally participated in a rather capricious and unnecessary American air raid on the Czech city Pilsen, known for its world-famous beer and the Skoda automobile factory. Not only had his hatred toward me been unjustified, but our roles were actually reversed; he was the perpetrator, and I was the victim. He invaded my country and killed my people. This was more than he could bear. He came back to me and kept embracing me, begging my forgiveness.

  After I had reassured him that I did not harbor any hostile feelings toward him, something extraordinary happened. He went to my Baltimore friends, who all were Americans, apologized for his behavior before and during the ceremony, embraced them, and asked them for forgiveness. He said that this episode had taught him that there would be no hope for the world if we all continued to carry in us hatred for the deeds committed by our ancestors. And he realized that it was wrong to make generalized judgments about racial, national, and cultural groups. We should judge people on the basis of who they are, not as members of the group to which they belong.

  His speech was a worthy sequel to the famous letter attributed to Chief Seattle, in which he addresses European colonizers. He closed it with these words: “You are not my enemies; You are my brothers and sisters. You did not do anything to me or my people. All that happened a long time ago in the lives of our ancestors. And, at that time, I might actually have been on the other side. We are all children of the Great Spirit; we all belong to Mother Earth. Our planet is in great trouble, and if we keep carrying old grudges and do not work together, we will all die.”

  By this time, most people in the group were in tears. We all felt a sense of deep connection and belonging to the human family. As the sun was slowly rising in the sky, we partook in a ceremonial breakfast. We ate the food that throughout the night had been placed in the center of the teepee and was consecrated by the ritual. Then we all shared long hugs, reluctantly parted, and headed back home. We carried with us the m
emory of this invaluable les son in interracial and international conflict resolution that will undoubtedly remain vivid in our minds for the rest of our lives. For me, this extraordinary synchronicity experienced in a non-ordinary state of consciousness foments feelings of hope that, sometime in the future, a similar healing could happen in the world on a large scale.

  PART 2: TRAILING CLOUDS OF GLORY: Remembering Birth and Prenatal Life

  Among the most frequent experiences occurring in holotropic states of consciousness of different origin are episodes of psychological regression to birth, during which one relives with extraordinary intensity all the emotions, physical sensations, body postures, and other aspects of this process. The strong representation of birth in our unconscious psyche comes as a great surprise for mainstream psychologists, psychiatrists, and neurophysiologists because it challenges their deeply ingrained assumptions about the limits of human memory. However, closer examination reveals that these assumptions are unfounded beliefs that are in sharp conflict with scientific facts.