Love poem to the infinite

I know you
you are in the rivulets
cascading down the side of the mountain:
adjoining in the streams under the patterned clouds
where filtered light falls upon the rushing waters
yes you are in the whispering stream
in it’s little pools teeming with life
and in the groaning river which finds it way to the sea
which falls into the deeps
where currents sway the strangely colored life
where mysteries lie in the darkness
where flash of scale and fin are barely seen
you rise up in the flickering beams of light
which penetrate the surface;
you are the torrent of sunlight
which falls upon the sea
you are the eyes within the sun
and the fiery angels leaping in it’s corona
and spangling stars in the darkness of space
I know, oh yes, if I could only say.




The Logos
According to Webster’s dictionary, “In Greek philosophy, (the Logos is) reason… the controlling principle of the universe, as being manifested by speech.” (Webster Unabridged).
According to S.E. Frost Jr., Philo, a Greek philosopher who lived about the time of Christ, said, “There was a God who was so pure and so far above everything in this world that He could not possibly come into contact with it… there were many powers which radiated from God as light might radiate from a lamp. One of these powers, which he called the “Logos”, was the creator of the world. This Logos, he taught, worked with matter and out of it created everything in the universe.” (Basic Teachings of the Great Philosophers).

Logos To Son
The Greek term Logos means word. In the New Testament it says that in the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God.
The Absolute God is inconceivable, unknowable. But there is a Divine Being, who is called the Word, who is with God. This Being is knowable and is intermediate between God and humanity. In the early Christian Church this Being became identified with Christ.
Thus the Greeks and the early Christians both proposed that there is a Being of some sort who was with God. This idea grew into various forms. In the Christian Church, the Absolute became known as the Father and Logos became known as the Son.

A New Church
In the Old Church the Father God became “Jehovah”, a kind of “man in the sky” god. A New Church would identify the Father as the Absolute and the Son as the Divine Being. But these are not two gods. The Absolute comes first and is properly called God. The Divine Being descends from that and is a fragment of that. There are those who believe that Jesus is the Divine Being (the Logos, the Celestial Christ itself), but the Divine Being existed before Jesus was born and still exists now as the Celestial Christ.


In Hinduism there is a similar concept, in which there is an Absolute, called Brahman, and a creator god, called Brahma. But in that system Brahma is a demigod, a replaceable being who rose to that position after millennium of effort.
Ramakrishna, however, presents a concept more similar to the idea of Celestial Christ, of a Divine Being who arises out of the Absolute. To him the Being is the Form of the Absolute, but it is a passing form, which dissolves into the Absolute at the end of the universe.
His idea is a little different from the Neo-Christian idea presented here, where the Divine Being is accorded even more respect. The Divine Being is Eternal. Jesus said, “There is no way to the Father but by me.” It was the Celestial Christ speaking through him, saying the only way we can truly approach the Absolute is by the grace of the Divine Being, the Celestial Christ.

Quotes; Ramakrishna

The idea of a Divine Being and an Absolute was spoken of by the Indian philosopher Ramakrishna (mid 19th century). He uses the terms Personal God and Impersonal God(Brahman).

“The Infinite transforms itself into the finite and appears before the worshiper as God with form. God reveals himself … as an embodied Person.” (Thus spake Sri Ramakrishna)
“Many are the names of God and infinite forms through which he may be approached.”
Ramakrishna’s Vision of Christ
“Rays of light corning from the (painting of) Mother and Child entered his heart and began to change radically the ideas stored there … His devotion to the gods and goddesses were chased into hiding and new thoughts were displacing them.” from Visions of Sri Ramakrishna

“God with form and God without form are not two different beings.” Teachings of Sri RK p.8
“God is formless and God is with form too, and He is that which transcends both form and formlessness. He alone can say what He is.” Teachings of Sri RK p.5
Ramakrishna’s books were published in India without publisher’s name, date, and sometimes page numbers. The books are available at the Vedanta monasteries in So. Calif.


Celestial Christ is another name for the Divine Being.
The Divine Being is a fragment of the Absolute God. The Divine Being is between humanity and the Absolute.
The Absolute God is unknowable and unattainable.
The Absolute is not a being.
The Celestial Christ is the Eternal Form of the Absolute.
The Absolute cannot properly be called formless or void, it is called inconceivable.
The Divine Being is the Source and Creator of all universes.
The Divine Being is the source of all human souls. No person can surpass the Divine Being.
Anyone who thinks they have surpassed the Divine Being is in illusion by Intermediate Beings.
The Divine Being is twelve-dimensional and cannot be conceived of by the three-dimensional mind.
The universe with its Forms can enter a resting state, but it will always return, and we will return with it.
The true meaning of Christianity is acceptance of the Divine Being, the Celestial Christ.
All gods by any name are all parts of the Divine Being.
The Christian “Father” and “Son” may also be taken as symbols for the Absolute and the Divine Being.
“There is no way to the Father but by me” means there is no way to the Absolute except by the Celestial Christ.
Any description of the Divine Being is inadequate and sectarian.

What is God like? This is one of the greatest dilemmas for the spiritual student. Which description is correct? Is God a personal being that cares about us, as Christianity says, or is God an impersonal, formless void, as some mysticism says? Well, why not literally accept both? This is not meant to be vaguely open minded. It is possible to have a deep realization that there is a divine being, rising up out of an inconceivable absolute background. This solution answers the question in a very specific way.
Some philosophies have hinted at this system, but they usually do not have enough regard for the Divine Being, who has sometimes been presented as an inferior demiurge or demigod. But there is a perfect Divine Being that is the face and form of the Absolute.
The Logos
According to Webster’s dictionary, “In Greek philosophy, (the Logos is) reason… the controlling principle of the universe, as being manifested by speech.” (Webster Unabridged).
According to S.E. Frost Jr., Philo, a Greek philosopher who lived about the time of Christ, said, “There was a God who was so pure and so far above everything in this world that He could not possibly come into contact with it… there were many powers which radiated from God as light might radiate from a lamp. One of these powers, which he called the “Logos”, was the creator of the world. This Logos, he taught, worked with matter and out of it created everything in the universe.” (Basic Teachings of the Great Philosophers).

Christina Andrea Nelson


ETHERIC DOUBLES In Boulder Colorado


I was living in Ann’s house in Boulder, Colorado. She was in a group called Eckankar, or ECK. I never joined the group but I had the opportunity to study a lot of the literature in her house. The group concentrates on astral or spiritual traveling. Some very interesting things happened in that house. One afternoon as I was walking down the hall I thought I saw a woman with long blonde hair sitting in the hallway out of the comer my eye, but when I looked again, there was only a backpack. Well, I hesitated a little to tell Ann, she was a very busy schoolteacher, and I was housekeeper and nanny to her toddler. But since she was in Eck, and spiritually inclined, I decided to tell her about it. And she replied, “Well I’m glad you decided to tell me about that, since something happened to me too. I woke up early one morning, and I saw a woman with long blonde hair walk past my bedroom door and into the bathroom. Naturally I thought it was you. I waited a long time but she never came out again. So I got up and looked in your room, and you were still asleep.”

A few days later I woke up early, went past Ann’s door, noticed she was still in bed asleep, and went into the bathroom. A moment later I came out and the room was empty, the bed was made, and there was no one in the house. She couldn’t have possibly gotten out that fast. A few weeks later, Ann and a friend went out on a rainy night to the grocery store. I heard the car drive up as they returned. I was in my bedroom at the end of the hall, but I heard the front door open, I heard the girls chattering and laughing and the rustle of the grocery bags. Then there was a long profound silence. For ten min-utes I lay there wondering what was going on. Not a single sound. Curious, I got up and went out to look. Just as I reached the living room, the front door opened and in they came, with the grocery bags. “What’s going on?” I asked them, “I thought I heard you drive up ten minutes ago.” “Well,” they said, “we did but we’ve been sitting in the car waiting for the rain to let up.”




POLK STREET: 1976 After the opening of the Chakras- The primary series of visions took place in a San Francisco hotel on Polk Street and lasted for nine months. The hotel was cheap; I was almost penniless. The room was plagued with mice and roaches, and there was pandemonium in the halls. But I was completely engaged in the visionary experience, and it went on day and night. Most of the visions I had were topical, progressive revelations of the metaphysical structure of the universe. There were about five kinds of visions. The daily fare was a dim waking vision. I would be awake in a quiet room, looking inward toward inner space, with my eyes open and focused on a wall or ceiling, and seeing figures or diagrams of a struc-ture, generally becoming forgetful but not entirely unaware of my surroundings. More rare was the deep trance, where I would fall into deep unconsciousness and have full scale brilliantly colored visions. Then there is the full waking vision, where, wide-awake and sitting up, I would see a supernatural figure standing there. There are light sleep dream visions and deep sleep dream visions, and some experiences which would count as genuine astral traveling to higher planes.
On Polk Street there was the Dawn Horse bookstore, owned by the guru Bubba Free John. A film was showing there about the Tibetan guru Chogyam Trungpa. After the film was over there was the usual rustling of seats and people leaving. The door to my left was opened and the light from the hall came flooding into the still darkened room.
I could see the light out of the comer of my eye. The light started getting brighter and brighter but I didn’t turn my head to look at it. It became so bright that I began to realize that something unusual was going on. Then, out of the side of my head, I could see the doorway quite clearly. It was full of brilliant white light and there was a figure standing in it. It filled the whole doorway, wearing a flowing, glowing, white robe, and had long white hair and a beard, with a small round pink face in the middle of it. I was really quite amazed. The vision faded, and I left the bookstore without saying anything to anyone.
Returning from the market once I went up the stairs and down the hall to my room. The simple-minded caretaker was kneeling on the hall rug ripping the bottom of a large easy chair with a knife. Finding this unusual, I stopped to observe. In the cotton stuffing, lying on the floor, were twenty or thirty newborn mice. Cotton balls were squirming and turning into mice, and mice were turning into cotton balls. It was remarkable. I returned to my room.


The author Christine, 1964

The author Christine, 1964

We took our irresponsibility seriously and made a full time job of it. I lived in the commune several months and never once went shopping, cooked, washed clothes or cleaned house – I slept on a pile of second hand clothes in the middle bedroom. On waking up in the morning, I chose today’s ridiculous outfit from the old clothes and joined the others in the living room where we decided what we would do today – go to the park? The waterfront? North Beach? Nobody had a watch or an agenda – Drugs or alcohol were not allowed in this particular commune, and it was really pretty idyllic – all we did was play spontaneously.
Tom the cartoonist was the clown of the bunch. He made up an endless improvised poem, The Elf on the Shelf – and a couple of times a week he would surprise us by starting to recite from some ridiculous position, curled up high on a shelf, or on top of a door.
We were a philosophy commune. Once a week Hal and Carol dutifully rounded us all up and marched us off to listen to a philosopher in North Beach, who read to us from Kalil Gibran. Our philosopher had a gray beard and had two wives. He explained to us that he was already married when he fell in love with another woman. Rather than break the heart of his first wife by divorcing her, he simply moved the second woman in. “Well, it’s fme with us,” they said. “We’re all happy.” But I imagined that under the surface it was rather tragic, I thought I could perceive a faint haunted look in the first wife. To miss the weekley visit was to risk the frowns of the otherwise very receding commune leaders. But it was in North Beach I first met George the Beast, who was spoken of in the commune in hushed tones – he was a good friend of Tom’s. George got his name from his loud voice, obstreperous manner and his affection for Aleister Crowley – a writer of somewhat demonic reputation. George was not allowed to come into the commune because he used drugs.
Patti and I stayed behind in North Beach after a session with the philosopher. I could hear George’s loud voice a block away and Patti and I ran down and introduced ourselves to him. George and I hit it off right away and started an animated conversation. I met him every day after that in North Beach, and one day came back to the commune with him, where we were greeted by a stem Carol who informed me that George was not welcome here. If I was friends with him I would have to leave – so I packed up a few pathetic garments and books and moved in with George.

George was only a few years older than me – early twenties – but seemed so much older. He was very tall, 6 foot 4, with a shaggy mane of light brown hair. But for all his fierce reputation he was a quiet spoken at home, intellectual, and sometimes he read all day. He was a bit abrupt and unsentimental but a peaceable and sharing partner – we were definitely flower children. He had been to New York and because of his gregarious nature, intellect and wild man act had been easily accepted by the lower East Village crowd that circulated around Allen Ginsberg. He came back to San Francisco with wild tales of the mysterious magicians, which so intrigued me I eventually went to N.Y. to see for myself.

THE GOLDEN ASS pursuing the Beatniks

image1962 HIGH SCHOOL-Golden Ass and the Beatniks
Lyndia was my very best friend at that time, at Narbonne high school. She was petite and smart mouthed, with a pixie mop of red hair. My family lived in the exclusive Portuguese Bend Club on the shore of the Palos Verdes peninsula, and her family lived in a poor neighborhood in Torrance, but it didn’t matter to us what our parents had, we were in high school and having fun. We would both lie to our parents about where we were, and stay out all night driving around, going to surfer parties in Hermosa and Redondo Beach.

1959 – At that time my mother had showed me an article in a newspaper about Beatniks in San Francisco. “Just look at that!” she said scornfully rapping on the news photo. ‘They’re just not clean. They don’t use any elbow grease, that’s their problem. They don’t work! What bums!” I looked at the photo. And I saw the most wonderful people I had ever seen. The women had long, long hair; everyone was dressed in black, and was sitting on the floor of an artist’s studio, listening to a poet read his work.
Paradise! I couldn’t imagine anything more exciting, but I was only fifteen. My whole fantasy became somehow escaping my neighborhood and family and making my way to San Francisco. Maybe I could hike on the Northern California beach to San Francisco. Maybe I could save up money for bus fare – wear a disguise, get a wig and makeup – look old, anything! But I was a meek child, school and family held on to me for several years.

1962 – Lyndia came up with a mysterious silver roll of pills wrapped in foil, like lifesavers candy. “Pep pills,” she said, “from Tijuana.” We had no idea at the time what these were, but lots of kids used them, and it was fun to stay awake all night. We also occasionally drank wine. We drove down to San Pedro, the small waterfront town, where the back street liquor stores would sell wine to alcoholics, to kids, to anyone. We were cruising a narrow street, lined with dingy shops, mostly closed, when Lyndia started pounding me on the shoulder and hollering, “Look at that sign! It says The Golden Ass! I can’t believe it!” “No,” I said, “they can’t say that!” “Yes they can! Look! Look!” And indeed a small sign on a hinge stood out from a wall, with a little painting of a yellow donkey and arty hand lettering – The Golden Ass. We parked and walked over to the shop and pressed our faces against a grimy window. “It’s a coffeehouse,” we agreed. “Beatniks!” It was the first time either of us had seen such a thing. Suddenly a man with gray hair, in a blue work shirt and jeans popped out. “We’re closed now, but if you’d like to come back tonight we’re open at eight.” He had a most friendly manner and smile that attracted us immediately. Lyndia and I thanked him and we ran away twittering. “Real beatniks, he said we could come! Yeah! Let’s go tonight!”
Lyndia and I arrived at The Golden Ass that evening a little after eight. The coffeehouse was located in a storefront, which was long and narrow from front to back. Little had been done to it. A rough wood floor, aging white plaster wall, a crude wooden stage at the end, a few chairs and tables. That was alL We sat eagerly on benches and were greeted in a friendly manner by several other patrons. Glen rushed over and enthusiastically welcomed us and introduced us around. His name was Glen Bye, and he had three big redheaded sons. Then there was Sylvia, the quiet intense beatnik woman, with the long dark brown hair and black sweater and pants. She was the girlfriend of the oldest Bye brother, who we never got to know very well, as he was older and quite withdrawn. There was an assortment of poets and artists, and Lyndia and I began to go there frequently. The entertainment consisted of performances by the regular patrons, and whoever was passing through town.
Glen was sometimes absent because he was also the founder of a communal farm in Mexico. Lyndia and I were both still in high school, and we were both enrolled in the Modern Dance course instead of Gym for several years. I remember how limber I was then, and had dancers muscles in my legs. I could touch the floor with my elbows, leaning forward. The instructor of the course was Mrs. Richardson, but all the girls called her Teach, and she was the most warm-hearted and adored teacher on campus. She was a stocky older woman, with short, curly white hair, combed back on the sides. She always wore her white gym shirt and shorts and white tennis shoes, but the girls wore black tights and leotards. We worked out hard daily, stretching, leaping, and bounding barefoot around the polished wooden floor of the gym.
In the coffeehouse there were some very strange performances indeed, including one man who pushed needles through his cheeks and arms. Lyndia and I decided to use our modem dance skills to present a dance on stage, and chose the popular jazz piece, Peter Gunn. We worked for weeks on the choreography, included all our best stretches and bends, limited by the tiny stage. But it went over well, and we were much applauded. At the age of seventeen, we were the youngest people there, except for Glen’s youngest redheaded son, probably fifteen. Everybody else was in their twenties or thirties.We brought another friend of ours, an intellectual and plain girl, and surprisingly she got involved with an older artist, who was dour and attractive. I felt uncomfortable about him. Robin seemed too nice and bright for him, but she was lonely and never had a serious boyfriend before. She was surprised that such a romantic character would be interested in her.

1964 Our ON THE ROAD, trip to New York

The author Christine, 1964

The author Christine, 1964

Crash in the desert, blowing up the kitchen
Actually it all started with my first old man in San Francisco, George The Beast. He was the first person to tell me about the Magicians in New York. He told me wild tales of the speed addicted tricksters and their powers of teleportation. That’s when I first met Christopher (not my ex-husband Christopher). He was a friend of George’s – he said he was driving to New York and invited me along. I accepted and George was pissed. The plan was we would drive to Austin first and pick up the Texas Couple, a man and his wife who were friends of his. We were traveling with a young Indian guy who was also on speed – he was driving the car through the Utah desert. I was lying on the back seat coming down with hepatitis. I fell asleep and awoke when the car tumbled into a ravine, I looked out, groggy and puzzled, at the blazing desert seemingly at a strange angle to the car. The three of us crawled out of the car unharmed and took shelter from the burning sun under the shade of a large overhanging rock, like lizards. There was no one anywhere, no cars, no traffic. After what seemed like a long time an old farmer with a battered truck happened by and towed the car out of the ravine and we continued on our way. We arrived at the Texas Couple’s apartment in Austin, and the Indian guy split. The Couple said they knew an old Indian woman who sold peyote we drove to the countryside and she sold us a cloth sackful for ten dollars. At this point I still had yellow eyes and a fever from the hep.

The Couple wanted to process peyote into mescaline and had trays of chemicals sitting in the kitchen – mainly ether. We cut the peyote into cubes and swallowed it with coca-cola. It was so bitter it burned the mouth and stomach and caused nausea. We took turns sitting in each other’s stomachs to prevent throwing it up.
The next day we drove to a remote swimming hole in the hills – a beautiful natural deep pond with large overhanging boulders high enough to dive fifteen feet into the water. We took more peyote and splashed and dove in the beautiful wilderness waterhole for hours. As we left the waterhole I felt excellent and the next day the hep was absolutely and entirely gone – cured.
Back in Austin the first batch of mescaline was ready and Christopher and I went out on a rollicking walk on quiet Austin streets at night, high on ether and mescaline, gawking at the Moonlight Towers – those strange metal towers hundreds of feet high with a ring of huge blue-white floodlights at the top, meant to illuminate Austin with moonlike light, keeping the streets safe and free of drug addicts.
As we started back to the apartment we heard sirens coming toward us. There was a big red fire truck parked in front of the apartment, and a couple of squad cars. The couple was milling around with the curious bystanders trying to look innocent. They explained to us that something had sparked off the trays of ether and blew up the kitchen.
The lady downstairs was hollering that water from the fIfe hoses had leaked down through the ceiling and soaked her kitchen. The fIfe chief was storming around hollering, “Does anybody know what happened here?” Christopher, the couple and I piled into the old car which was parked in the street and went to New York.