It was back in the middle of the 1970's. I was young and dumb and traveling cross country. I ran out of money in a town in Nevada called Battle Mountain. I was able to procure a job in the silver mine just on the outskirts of town. The pay wasn't great but they fed you three meals a day and gave you a place to sleep. So I figured after a couple weeks I would have enough cash to move a mile or two further on down the line.
The mine itself ran straight into the side of a mountain. They had these little electric go-carts we rode to the job site in that sat very low to the ground as the tunnel was only about 4 feet high at the entry point. As you moved into the mine the tunnel gradually opened up since that's where the actual digging and blasting was done. My first day was tough. As we rode deeper and deeper into the mine I felt a vague sense of panic begin to rise within me. I had never been claustrophic before but I now began to viserally know the meaning of the word. I wanted to tell the driver of the vehicle that I had changed my mind and to please turn this thing around and get me the hell out of there. But I didn't want to be a Sally either. So I held my tongue. The deeper we went the colder it got. I wasn't dressed for it and began to shiver. And it was dark! This big Indian seemed to materialize in the seat next to me. Apparently noticing my discomfort he handed me a half pint bottle of brandy that he produced out of his inner jacket pocket. Without a word I took a pull off the bottle. I handed it back but he motioned for me to take another drink. So I did. I could feel the warmth exploding in my belly and moving out to my extremities. I began to feel like I might be able to do this job after all. When we reached the job site they put a shovel in my hands and told me my job was to shovel up the ore that the loader couldn't scoop up. It was a thankless, dusty, back-breaking job. The only comparable job I can remember having was shoveling 350 degree asphalt off the back of a truck in the middle of an Arkansas summer. Every so often an alarm would sound signaling a detonation was imminent. This was followed shortly by an earth shaking explosion and a rush of dust and soot sifting down from the ceiling. At the end of the shift I was walking to the bunkhouse when a whirlwind blew a cloud of dust into my eyes bringing tears. I blinked the sandy grit away and when I was able to open my eyes again the big Indian who gave me the brandy pulled up beside me driving an old gray Impala. He motioned for me to get in but the door wouldn't open. So I climbed in through the window. We rode around the desert drinking ice cold beer from a cooler in the back seat and telling each other lies about where we came from and where we were going. The next morning I was hung over but I got up anyway, had breakfast, and went back to work. The ritual of going to the mine and then out riding in the desert and getting blasted with the big Indian repeated itself over the next couple weeks until we got to be pretty good friends. Finally pay day rolled around. After my shift I went in to tell the boss I was quitting. He wasn't surprised. I asked if he knew the whereabouts of the big Indian and he looked at me funny. He said, who? Now, I had never actually asked the big Indian his name, nor he mine. We just called each other buddy or my friend. So I described his appearance to the boss. He looked at me funny again and told me there was no one working at the mine of that description but there had been an old boy years ago fitting that bill who'd been killed in a cave-in and who's body was never recovered. I figured the boss was just joshing me on account of his being pissed at my quitting without giving notice. It was either that or believing that I had just spent the last 2 weeks driving around the desert getting drunk with the ghost of a long dead Indian. Or had I imagined it all? I never saw the big Indian again as I moved on down the road shortly afterwards but I think about him from time to time and hope he is doing well no matter where or what he is. > Date: Thu, 20 Dec 2007 11:38:19 -0500 > To: [EMAIL PROTECTED] > From: [EMAIL PROTECTED] > Subject: Re: [MD] mystical experiences > > > Greetings, > > I don't talk about these experiences often, but I'm feeling > particularly brave. I call them strange experiences of the third > kind. And I've had a bunch, all different. Nothing > earth-shattering, just very strange. I'm going to tell you about one > so you might consider your won reaction to what I'm describing. > > I had had absolutely no drugs. In 1999, I was at a full-moon drum > circle during a three-day spring rites festival. I knew only about 8 > people at this event. There were about 150 people at the drum > circle. I had noticed this strange woman prior to the > experience. She was dark like a gypsy and dressed weirdly. She > seemed different than anybody else, like a brujo. > > Well anyway, prior to the experience I was feeling totally normal > (not zoning out). She was kind of across from me when I saw her. As > I was glancing at her, she looked at me and her forehead opened up a > third eye. I absolutely saw it clearly. For less then a minute I > was totally fixed on that third eye. It then disappeared. And I > returned to feeling normal, but flabbergasted. I looked to see if > anybody else had seen this, but didn't see anyone who seemed aware of it. > > I've never told anyone about this experience. I am writing about it > now, so that you might experience your own reaction to hearing of > it. I bet you're thinking "She nuts!" > > > > > Moq_Discuss mailing list > Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. > http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org > Archives: > http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ > http://moq.org.uk/pipermail/moq_discuss_archive/ Moq_Discuss mailing list Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org Archives: http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ http://moq.org.uk/pipermail/moq_discuss_archive/
