Part Three - 13 February 1951, 10:30 PM
I was making what seemed to be a strenuous effort to quiet
my thoughts . . . or was it feelings? I wanted to appear, and
indeed to be, very objective, very detached. If there was to be
an "experiment," as Ramar had said, then I could observe as a
scientist in his laboratory. The thought gave me for a moment a
sense of aloof superiority. "I am the objective witness; I am not
involved in whatever will happen . . . "
The thought melted soon into the feeling of anguish. What if
Emerald and Ron were to be hurt in some way! I had read, I
suppose, too many stories of space-travel and time-displacement
with fantastic endings not to be uncomfortably aware of dire
possibilities. Both my companions seemed so eager. Had the wine
they drank so happily already worked some magic? I dismissed the
thought. Ramar did not seem to be that kind of man. And yet?
Perhaps I too was being "conditioned," as our writers say in
their futuristic stories.
I heard Ramar ask Ron for his birthdate. April 5 was the
answer. Ramar nodded. "I knew you had a strong Martian rhythm.
You see, the time of birth is important in that the season of
your birth — and I am not referring to what has come to be known
popularly as "astrology" — establishes a fundamental contact
between your organism — your body, your soul, your particular
type of consciousness — and one of the planetary fields of
forces. There is no mystery in it at all; simply a matter of
resonance. Each season on earth has its own solar keynote of
life-energy. Each year is a complete cycle of life on earth;
first an outgoing, then an incoming tide of solar energy. This
solar energy is both differentiated and focused by the planetary
fields, and one of these fields is dominant each month. Your
life-rhythms reveals a Mars dominance; the young lady shows
clearly a Venus dominance."
"What does it mean, actually?" questioned Ron.
"Simply this, that you are basically in tune with the Mars
type of vibratory energy, the Mars "phase" of the solar cycle.
For this reason you can 'travel' — if you care to use this word
— along the tide of Mars energy. This energy is predominant in
your body. It animates particularly through your muscular system; it has
a strong focus in the adrenals, above the kidneys — also in the
generative organs. Likewise Venus is particularly strong in the
young lady — may I call her Emerald? It is an interesting
coincidence," he added.
I felt something grip me . . . a sense of fatality, of
impending events it was too late to stop. I struggled to
intervene, knowing well it was futile. I could only say, "Why
"Mars and Venus," Ramar went on, "are, as you know from
mythology, polarities — man and woman, you might say.
Astronomically, they are the nearest planets; Venus inside the
earth's orbit, Mars outside. It so happens, besides, that they
are today about to make a conjunction in the sky. You can see
them after sunset — very near each other. Conditions in the
solar system will make contact easier for our friends."
"Did you know it would be so?" Emerald asked, opening her
eyes still more widely.
"I suspected it might be."
"When?" I blurted.
"When I met Ron, this morning."
There was a silence. This morning . . . But that was long
before he had met Emerald, before I had known about him and my
dinner appointment had been unexpectedly canceled! Was this man
clairvoyant, or able to manipulate us and our lives? If so, what
was his purpose? What did the whole thing mean?
Ramar opened the drapery hanging against the wall. A narrow
glass case was revealed, and on its few shelves a great number of
objects of various shapes. The light was too dim for me to see
exactly what they were. Quickly Ramar picked up two small chains
of metal on which hung two oddly shaped pieces of apparently the
same substance. He asked my friends to put these around their
necks, explaining that one, for Emerald, was made of copper; the
other, for Ron, of iron.
"There is, as Paracelsus, Mesmer and many Greek and older
European thinkers knew, a special affinity between the planets'
electromagnetic fields and some metals on earth. The metals
became thus, easily, 'receiving sets' for planetary energies. If
properly magnetized at certain times of the year, pieces of metal
like these anchor, as it were, the planetary fields in the body,
activating the relationship between the planets and their
corresponding centers in the human organism. They draw the force
down, and thus the person's consciousness can more easily ascend
— you might say — along the path of that force to the planet
"And then?" I couldn't help asking, uneasily.
"Then," answered Ramar, "the Mars force in the body and the
Mars force in the planet's orbit vibrate in unison, the
consciousness of the person can know and experience Martian
existence, not only in his earth-body where it has become
immediately more active in a subtle electromagnetic sense, but as
it is on the planet itself, where it is primarily effective."
I still could not believe. Not that the whole idea of itself
was really any more fantastic than traveling at a speed greater
than light to Sirius in a rocketship, or moving about in time
while sitting upon some strange mechanical contraption; but this
was not science fiction, and not the kind of scientific thinking
I was used to. I was there, awake, real. Emerald, the girl I
loved, Ron, my assistant, were before me. They were real too. It
was no fantasy, no dream. I could feel my heart beating
nervously, as my friends hung the thin metal chains around their
necks, the pendants reaching down to their hearts. I had to sit
down. They too were sitting now, Ramar standing a few feet in
front of them.
Silence — deadly silence, I thought. Then it started. The
crystal on the table was brilliantly glowing; two rays of light,
coming seemingly from nowhere, were pulsating through it: one was
red, the other green — green! — emerald green. I looked at
Ramar. A golden sheen seemed to envelop him. From the side, I
could see a golden light condensing around his chest — his heart,
it must have been.
I turned my glance to Emerald. She and Ron had closed their
eyes. They seemed immensely at peace. And then I saw their bodies
change slightly. Not the shapes, but an indefinable something
happened inside of the bodies themselves. They filled with
vibrations, with colored whirls. Ron's body was glowing with
reddish light; Emerald's with an unearthly vibrant green like no
green I have ever seen. The light was ebbing and flowing through
their bodies, while at the same time it seemed to be condensed in
slowly moving eddies of almost solid color at definite points. I
noticed especially a strong concentration around Emerald's neck.
As I think of it now, it may have been centered in the
thyroid gland. Other condensations were distinguishable in the
abdominal region — perhaps in the location of the ovaries.
Between these three centers paths of lights suggested the outline
of a triangle. I watched the moving light with a fascination
mixed with fear. What was happening? Would the body stand the
strain — whatever it was? I wanted to ask questions, but I could
not. I felt almost paralyzed, yet extraordinarily alive mentally.
I wondered for an instant if I too was showing such a change. But
as I tried to look down at my body, Ron's voice came out, very
weak, yet distinct — from very far, it seemed.
"Wonderful . . . so wonderful . . . Oh, I feel so strong, so
vast . . . great forms moving . . . everything is so intense, so
clear — all moving, big waves of motion . . . heaving, like the
sea. But it is not the sea — it is power, waves of power. Some
are dark, falling back; some like flames . . . no, not flames
. . . pure energy. Oh, I understand now. Waves of desire, yes,
desire! Everything is pure desire, pure motion. Everything
surges with desire . . ."
Ron's voice grew stronger, more excited. "Everything is
struggle, conflict of desire. And all these are beings! Some
reach up in great brilliant spirals. Others are caught short,
break down. What makes them break down? Oh, I see; it is fear.
Fear enters. The surging light collapses. Fear . . . Oh, my God!"
He breathed heavily, slumped a little. Ramar moved quickly to
him, touched him on the forehead. Ron became calm again.
Emerald too had stirred. A peculiar kind of hum seemed to
rise from her whole body. Her lips were closed. It was not voice.
It was like a breeze in tall pines; the needles quiver, they sing
to the wind.
I managed to say "Emerald." I don't think she heard me.
Ramar turned to me quickly, his finger on his lips silencing me.
Then he looked at me intently. He asked, "Do you want
to get a glimpse of what Ron feels? It won't be as real; only the
shadow of his experience upon your brain centers."
Almost before I assented, I felt his hand touching the back
of my head. Something suddenly seemed to snap inside of my brain.
The pit of my stomach ached as if it had caved in. Shivers ran up
my spine. I was aware of heat, of a tremor through my entire
body. I was forced to close my eyes. And suddenly, in front of
them there was something like a huge T.V. screen. On it whirls of
color were dancing — not really dancing, but surging on, as if
deliberately striving, deliberately seeking some goal.
Some of these dynamic forms moved forward; they were red-
orange mostly, but with many added hues. Others seemed greenish-
blue — perhaps the complementary color of the first ones — and
gave the impression of falling or sliding. I watched, amazed; for
these whirls seemed alive, sentiment — perhaps intelligent,
aware of each other, no doubt.
I watched — becoming more accustomed to the incredible
scene beyond all human dreaming. I sensed that the whirls were
far more definite than I had noticed at first. Were they "bodies"
of a totally different kind from ours? In some cases, the shape
suggested a funnel-like tornado moving capriciously across the
plains of Kansas, moving with non-human will. As the scene
shifted, I saw what looked almost like Northern Lights
shimmering, not in the sky, but on what now seemed to me as
"soil" — if one could compare to our soil what appeared to be
rather a dead level of effort, a plane of motion.
And then these iridescent lights condensed. They looked like
an army on march; an army of intensely alive mist-forms. I tried
to follow their movements. Then I realized that underneath the
seemingly erratic motions there were geometrical patterns of
great precision — tides of energy-in-motion, reaching center and
radiating out. The blue-green forms seemed to follow particularly
clear patterns in their downward (or was it inward?) motion. The
red-orange whirls were freer, bolder, spreading widely, sometimes
in mass formations which spread over much of the scene I could
see. I felt they spread far and wide in a space which did not
appear curved, as ours.
Suddenly, there was stillness. A gathering of effort, will,
or whatever it was, among a group of reddish shapes slowly
circling around an empty space. One of these light-forms
condensed heavily, glittering with many sub-colors. The whole
wide vista was sucked down into it. It shot out of space, as if
toward my vision, I started, opened my eyes, my body quivering.
Ramar was still near me, at my side now — but I could hardly see
his face. From the region of his heart a globe of golden light
was pulsating, immense. I felt almost enveloped in its radiance.
Ramar spoke, softly, "Look ahead." From the body of Ron a
flame-like substance radiated, larger than his body, pervading,
yet somehow behind his body. I recognized the form. I was what I
had just seen with my eyes closed. Many colors vibrated through
it. The form changed; it reached up. It reached . . . Oh, God!
From Emerald's body a more geometrical, softer shape of light was
joined with the other. Both shapes stood, shimmering. A burst of
light seemed to spread from the crystal to my right. Somewhere
there was a tone vibrating, deep, gong-like. A deep sigh, almost
a cry, made me tremble from head to foot. One thought raced
through my dazed mind: Emerald! I must save Emerald. I must take
I tried to move. The lights faded out. I cried aloud,
"Emerald! Come! Let's go!" I think I cried aloud . . . perhaps I
didn't. In such a state one doesn't know really. What is real?
What is dream? What is joy? What is pain?
It must have been pain that gripped my heart. I stumbled
over a chair, would have fallen probably, if Ramar hadn't caught
me with a steel-like hand. I heard him say, "You must not disturb
them. Be calm. There is no danger." I tried to be calm; but my
thoughts were in a vast brawl. It became dark, very dark —
How long we hung in the silence, I could not tell. Emerald's
voice called me back to awareness. "Ron, are you here?"
"Emerald!" His voice was trembling, as one who wakes up at
long last from an incomprehensible shock.
I looked at them. The brilliant light-shapes were gone.
Everything was as before. Everything? Ha! What a joke! Ron and
Emerald were staring at each other — bewilderment, ecstasy,
tragedy; I could not know. But as long as I live I shall never
forget that look.
It is there now in front of me — a year later. It is burnt
into the whole of me. Nothing can ever be the same, since I have
seen that look — that look in the girl I loved . . .
I managed to shake myself and get up. Ramar was standing
near Emerald, looking at her steadily. Ron slowly rose from his
chair. He seemed dazed. He was frowning, as if desperately trying
to keep hold of something which was slipping away.
"How about a drink of water?" Ramar asked; and reaching out
to the side of the table, he poured water into glasses. Ron and
Emerald drank, as men who have crossed deserts through torrid
heat. I hesitated. But my throat felt parched — a strange
feverishness forced me to drink. Plain water, apparently. It was
cold. It soothed my tense body. I breathed deeply.
I had to say something. The silence had become unbearable to
me. I forced myself — I forced so hard I supposed my words must
have exploded. Exploded! Yes, I wanted to shatter something. I
wanted to talk loud, to say crazy things. I wanted to rage, to
explode. What had been done to us? What had been done to Emerald,
to Ron? Oh, that look, that look between them!
"Most interesting, indeed. But what happened, really? Will
you explain to us? What did you make me see? What were those
forms?" My voice was undoubtedly raspy, tense. I knew that what I
said was stupid, meaningless. I knew. But I simply couldn't help
it. I had to say something. I had to shatter something.
Something. What, exactly? I was not sure. But I felt hollow,
deprived. I felt immensely lonely.
Ramar's voice was calm and gentle. He turned to me. I sensed
compassion. It hurt me. Why should anyone pity me? "There are
experiences, my friend, which cannot bear being explained. What
you have seen through Ron's mind — what he and Emerald have
experienced — yes, it was real. Some day, perhaps tomorrow,
perhaps many years hence, you will understand. They understand
. . . or at least they have felt."
"Felt what?" I cried out anxiously, my eyes searching
Emerald's. But she avoided me; she was looking self-consciously
at the pendant she was still wearing, fingering it.
"Life, power — beyond the narrow limits of their earth-
bound egos. An aspect of their total beings, as it exists in true
cosmic status; yes, the soul."
"As soul?" I exclaimed. "This is insane. Why, do we have our
souls on other planets? What an idea! Who could believe this?"
"I believe." Ron's voice was firm, very quiet, very vibrant.
I had never felt him so still, so seemingly in control of
himself. Ramar smiled.
"But, look," I said pleadingly, my head bursting, "We came
here to find out about space-travel, going to planets, new angles
for stories . . . What is this all about? Hypnotism, black
"Oh, Dick, Dick!" Now Emerald looked at me. She seemed ready
to cry. She sat down. Her head bent. She held it tight. "Please.
Can't you understand? If only you could feel what I have seen,
what I know . . ."
Ramar turned to me. "Mr. Probeck, I realize that this is
disconcerting to you. You were curious — intellectually curious.
Your mind has been accustomed to think of the universe in a
certain way; let's say the modern way. It is a very worthwhile
way. It pays huge dividends, in physical comfort, in technical
skill, in concrete material achievements. I do not criticize or
question your beliefs, your attitude. They are those of your
time. There are, however," he paused awhile, "a few, a very few
who are unwilling to be bound to their time, and their time's
philosophy. Something in them calls for vaster knowledge, deeper
feelings, love . . . shall I say, more 'cosmic'? And, my friend,
did not our great Teacher, Christ, tell us, 'Ask and you shall
receive.' No one who calls sincerely, utterly, goes unanswered."
Obstinately I clung to my question. "What has it to do with
traveling to planets?"
"The planets you study through your telescopes are not the
whole planets. You are not merely your flesh and bones, either.
Will you concede this?"
I grumbled my acquiescence.
"If this is true here on earth which is the most material
planet of the whole system, how much more true of beings on Mars,
Venus, or Mercury! These planets are material, of course, but
mostly to your eyes and your intellectual understanding. The
stuff they are made of, essentially, is quite different. You
interpret what you observe and measure astronomically, as if this
stuff were as material as the rocks on earth. Why should it be?
You have had a glimpse of how different life, motion, form is on
"And so I have traveled to Mars, have I." I snapped back.
Ramar shook his head. "Ron has. You only watched the
pictures on his brain-consciousness."
"But how can I know it was not a hallucination?" I cried.
Ron had been walking restlessly to and fro. He stopped.
"Dick! I know it was real. There never was, in my life, anything
more real, more vivid. I know it. I know it in my body, in my
mind, in . . ."
"Your soul, I suppose?" I felt angry, bitter, alone. They
all "knew," it seemed; I didn't. I was the doubter, the man of
the crowd unwilling to become free from the thoughts of the time;
the failure, no doubt! Irritation seemed to mount within me. I
walked out into the studio. The fire had died down in the
fireplace. But the sun-symbol above the mantelpiece was
particularly luminous. I drew away from it. I turned and Emerald
was facing me. She stretched her hand toward me. I took it. "Oh
Emerald! Emerald! What have they done to you? I loved you."
I stopped, stunned. Why had I said "I loved you?" Why the
Tears had come to her eyes. She said nothing, but her hand
was warm, feverish.
Ramar was showing Ron some of the objects behind the curtain
of the alcove.
"Emerald! Emerald . . .!" I didn't know what to say.
Something had happened. What had happened? What were those great
forms of light, reddish and green, which had appeared behind Ron
and her, which had become joined, it seemed, incomprehensibly?
In my mind, words formed themselves. "Their soul-essences
. . . Each human being is a vast chord of energies . . . each
planet is a tone . . . every man a solar system." I thought that
I heard Ramar's voice again as he had answered Emerald earlier
that evening. "You are Venus." I seemed to know suddenly what he
had meant. "You, the essential You, the You that is power, the
cosmic You is centered in Venus. There is its home; here, only an
outpost in earth-matter." She had found it perhaps, the cosmic
self of power, this soul-essence . . . her Venus-being.
How long I stood holding Emerald's hand I have no idea now.
I had no idea, then. I am not even sure I thought these thoughts.
Now I feel I must have, though many weeks and months afterwards I
certainly would have denied it, if anyone had told me. I fought
so hard, afterwards. Oh, how bitterly I have fought! I can't
fight any longer.
Ron and Ramar joined us. I let go of Emerald's hand. She
turned, looked at her wrist-watch. "Oh, how late it is! We must
go." It was past one o'clock.
There was nothing to say — nothing I, at least, could say
to our host. He helped us with our coats. His hands reached to
ours, gently, firmly.
Ron's voice sounded eager, pleading. "Will we see you again?
Soon? There is so much . . ."
"Will we?" echoed Emerald.
Ramar smiled. "It is for you to say — but, not now . . ."
The door closed. We went mechanically to the elevator. We
reached the street. Called a taxi. The sky was still clear. It
was cold. I could feel Emerald shivering in her coat. I took her
arm. Ron was staring at the sky through the taxi window as we
sped south along the Hudson Parkway.
My mind whirled with questions beating at my brain. What had
they felt? What had they seen? Did they notice the luminous forms
around them? How could they be sure they had not dreamt an
But I could not form any words. I was desperately angry at
myself for not having pressed Ramar, forced him to explain — at
least for not having arranged, right then and there, another
meeting. I felt hollow, empty, acutely frustrated.
The taxi stopped in front of Emerald's building on East
10th Street. I could only say, "Will you be all right? Do you
want us to stay with you?"
She laughed. "All right? Why, of course! I bet I'll reach
the office in the morning before you do."
I accompanied her up the outside steps, slippery with thin
ice. Ron had remained standing on the sidewalk. Before she went
through the door which I held open, I watched her eyes seek Ron's
glance, below us. What I felt, I can't explain. Every strand of
me, every particle of my brain seemed to know no power on earth
could undo what had been sealed. The irrevocable: the fact that
will remain fact for all eternity — that not even God could
erase . . .
But it is man's nature, it seems, to fight and to beat his
ego-will against the unalterable. It is man's nature to make a
fool of himself, to slug himself or drug himself into un-remembering. And the wheel turns and turns — the tragic, hopeless turning of the wheel. Even pain feels good, after a
while, when happiness has so long been gone.
Copyright © 2001 by Leyla Rudhyar Hill.
All Rights Reserved.
Illustation ("Magnet of Love" by Dane Rudhyar, 1952)
Copyright © 2001 by Leyla Rudhyar Hill.
All Rights Reserved.
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