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For hours, even days at a time, one or both of them would be charged with the intelligent energy of a Process so intense and uncompromised that the walls would palpably crack, electrical equipment would fail or fuse, and thebody playing host to that primary degree of Intensity would rigidity to a fine prolonged tetany, a perfect paralysis where consciousness remained andindeed magnified, but through eyes that wouldn't — couldn't — move. MT would watch often in dismay, and in basic incomprehension that would only dissolve in time as AAA was suddenly reduced from normal animated vigor to virtual catatonia, seeming to enter a near—death state leaving her body even afterwards so weak as to be immobile, and lips so parched that only moisture imparted through a sponge could afford the most meager relief. Again, there were intervals in these high-intensity tides that her body would seem to be seized by impossible — but quite beautiful and harmonious — undulations, swelling, contracting, distorting the length of her torso, through arms, legs, feet and hands, changing her features with subtle dreamlike shifts all the while her eyes burned bright, fixed in fierce focus upon Infinity. As a veritable byproduct of such inpouring Grace, MT would occasionally be struck by just a wave of overspill sufficient to halt what he may nave been trying to minister in the way of help, persuading a lockin half—lotus right on the couch and the riveting of attention to a point ahead, e.g. the Lightswitch or nailhole in the wall — one particularly eventful early morning vigil, upon the starry reflection in the silver of a Christmas tree ornament... Alert with moveless posture in the livingroom (while some monumentally—more complete Power of the process surged in renovative tide of Cosmic change through AAA in the sanctuary of a prepared "temple" down the hall), intent without distraction on the Yuletide morningstar levitated, just at eyelevel, through dense suspension of an awareness abruptly coextensive with the space in which all formal objects floated, MT would be palpably emptied of any sense of the compressrve "centrism" regularly committing the ordinary force of identification to the contrastive coordinates and proprioceptive cues of an enclosed consciousness; and, aligned along the arrow of this latter-day "Bo", attentively congruent with the trunk of that meditative world-tree hung with stars, MT felt a definitive falling—away as if the floor was dropped from the sensibly—stabilized universe, supportive slats of frontal focus removed from the peripheral wings—of—vision like the walls of the proverbial magician's box torn away to reveal a vanished content, where but a moment before the charming assistant should have been coiled with blades fixed front and back...— voila’ ! the mystic trick accomplished, the perennially coveted object of all spiritual aspirationas some incidental byproduct of what was taking place through AAA in the "other" room! complete subject—dematerialization with Naught remaining as the leftover signature of Presence save the Cheshire smile of Consciousness. All these occurrences, taking place off and on for a period of three and a half years — most intensely experienced the first six months of the process, in intervals scarcely allowing for a breath though certainty rare enough in terms of the reported range of experience for this "sphere" were still identifiable; they could be located with respect to a real spiritual heritage, and while not easily paralleled in handy reference guides they were nonetheless compatible — if research enough was done with things previously reported from Jayrambati or Dakshineswar, the annals of alchemical recordkeeping in some Persian chancery or even the occasional embarrassment of quite Western "Christian mysticism" etc.; yet from time to time, these marginally identifiable processes were punctuated by quite discontinuous events, seemingly without preface or afterword yet very emphatic and "consistent" after their own fashion, within the range of comparative internal contents. 166 T-Bird_Vs_The_Flying_saucers.htm When Christmas Is Really X—mas Over the Rainbow—bridge