it is more blessed to give than to receive, and other Key West of Weird charitable contributions …

Jesus with leper

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Received an email yesterday from Ken Morris,

Ken Douglass

who spoke recently in the Frederick Douglass Gymnasium in Bahama Village Key West of his blood ancestors Frederick Douglass and Booker T. Washington, and of his calling to follow in their footsteps, which is playing out in his opposing and speaking about child-sex slavery and work slavery. Ken replied to my report on his presentation, and to a long email I had sent to him, suggesting he might wish to accelerate his mission to opposing blacks fighting American foreign wars for rich white men. I had asked Ken to explain his financial remuneration, if any, from Keys Coalition of Key West.

Ken wrote, copied to Tim Gratz, of Keys Coalition, and Todd German, who had told me of Keys Coalition paying Ken an fee per day for his trip to Key West.


I appreciated the advice in your previous email and I’m giving it some thought. I am in Atlanta now and head to Washington DC this afternoon. Since leaving Miami late Wednesday night, my schedule has been very hectic, so please forgive my delay responding.

I am a full-time volunteer for my organization and have been so since we started in 2007. We have 2 other full-time volunteers. None of us have ever received a salary for the work we do.

The human trafficking prevention education curriculum we provide for secondary schools is free. Thus far, we have not received much funding to support this effort, so I spend a lot of my time on the road speaking to groups to help pay for it.

When an organization invites me to come to town to speak, we ask the sponsoring organization to pay for my travel and we ask for an honorarium to support our work. The money is not paid to me, it is donated directly to my organization. When the final accounting from this trip is complete, the amount contributed will be far less than $500 a day.

I appreciate the work Tim and Keys Coalition put forth to sponsor a very successful trip. While we didn’t reach our fundraising goal, we are happy with any amount of funds we receive because the contributions help to ensure that the schools never have to pay for the curriculum.

Your comment about my organization being my alter ego seems to infer that I have set up an organization so I can pay myself for this work. We are a 501(c)(3) and our tax returns are public. I invite you to check our financials on GuideStar and you can see exactly where the contributions are spent.


P.S. This email is private communication and should not be published.

I replied to Ken, copied to Tim and Todd:

Hi, Ken –

Outlook express buries emails in a chain in this email account underneath more recent emails in the chain, so I didn’t see either of yours until Todd told me you had replied, which I appreciate your doing.

You have answered my questions about the money; your mission sounds like a labor of love, blood, sweat and tears. I would like to publish yours so my readers will know what you told me, which will complete that part of what got started when I reported on your presentation at Frederick Douglass Gymnasium.

I think it might be really important for people like, say, Rick Boettger, and others who do charitable work, to see how you do it. I mean, if you are getting paid to do it, is it really charitable work?

I am a lawyer, non-practicing for a long time, but I still remember the general terrain. My alter ego remark simply meant that you and your non-profit seem to be basically one and the same. Without you, there would be no non-profit is another way of saying it.



Ken wrote to me, copied to Tim and Todd:


Thank you for clarifying the remark. Yes, please feel free to publish.


After a large amount of email back and forth with Tim Gratz over him and Keys Coalition, which I did not intend to publish because it did not seem to me to be newsworthy or relevant to Ken Morris and his mission, I received this from Tim, an ex-lawyer, like me, except I was not disbarred for using a client’s money without the client’s permission. I just quit, because practicing law did not suit me any longer.

Tim Gratz

I understand you have money. I caution you not to print any lies that are actionable. That is no threat but it is a warning that I am tired of the lies, Sloan.

I replied:

Chill, Tim – I do not view any of this as publishable, but what Ken wrote to me today and later gave me permission to publish.

Your reputation down here depends on who you ask, just like my reputation down here.

I have been threatened by [Key West Mayor] Morgan McPherson with a libel lawsuit, on behalf of his wife, whom did not libel, but simply asked out loud in a post, why come she seemed to be the only school official who’d had dealings with Monique Acevedo [wife of elected Superintendent of Schools Randy Acevedo, Morgan’s good friend], it was said Christina had given Monique access to a class where much of the the thievery resulted, who was not under investigation by the school district and the State Attorney?

After I published that, and that I would ask for all of Morgan’s and Christana’s cell phone records in discovery, that seemed to be the end of that. Although I was clobbered by two very large gorillas on my right side in a dream, and then my back went out for about 2 months. So, I didn’t get clean away. I took the two large gorillas to be Morgan and Christina’s masculine. [Morgan is a giant of a man.] I don’t think I published that part. I had no grudge against her [Christina], and only heard good of her, and still have only heard good of her.

Can’t say the same about you, all of which would, as you know, be admissible on the issue of damage to your reputation.

Jim Hendrick threatened to sue me because I published that he had been convicted of bribing a county commissioner, when, in fact, he was convicted of conspiracy to do so; and I had published that he was possessed by Lucifer, and his buddy Pritam Singh, too. Jim turned tail, it seemed, when I said I would ask in discovery for his telephone records. Maybe he also considered the trial would be a circus, the convicted felon using Pritam, others, to prove he actually had a wonderful reputation in Key West and the Keys.

Okay, I had some fun above. This is not going to be fun. Even the threat of suing me, Tim, tramples everything Jesus stood for in the Gospels. Have you gone totally insane? Has Lucifer taken you over altogether?

What really scares me right now, Tim, is the angels will tell me to publish yours to me, threatening a libel lawsuit, and my reply. It scares me, not because I am worried about you suing me, but because I am worried about the awful spirit shit I will have to deal with if I publish this email.

Meanwhile, whoever told you I have money should first check that out with me, so I can tell him/her, who can tell you, so you can let your lawyer know how much I have before he/she agrees to sue me on a contingency, thinking, because you told him I have money, that s/he’s going to make a bundle …

You must not have read the post I put up a couple of months back about what I’m worth, Rick Boettger replied to it, even told me how much I had spent on me, given away, lost on the sale of my place on Little Torch – perhaps he can get your perspective adjusted …


Note: I had several dreams last night aiming me at publishing Tim’s and mine. He has told me, as a “born-again” Christian, he will die and go to heaven, as will all other “born-again” Christians. However, Christians who are not “born-again” will not die and go to heave. They, like all other people, will die and burn in hell forever. Tim also has told me, that what people do that is good has nothing to do with salvation by Jesus. I have told Tim that Lucifer (the father of lies) is delighted with Tim’s “theory”. All of which discussion I published several times at my websites.

Also, yesterday, something that was not entirely “theory” sailed in from way out yonder; it’s l-o-n-g, as is my reply.

night sailing

Hello again Sloan,

My name is Jason and we have met, in person. You watched me perform a couple songs, on different occasions at the poetry slam there at Sippin, sometime between ’04 and ’08. We have played between 25 to 35 chess games; all of them took place at Sippin. Initially I dominated you on the board, but at our last chess encounter(around ’08-09′) my unorthodox and out-of-practice style was no match for your Patrick-based tutelage and you trounced me every game. At the time of that trouncing I was in the midst of what you, and many others before you, have come to know as a “dark night of the soul”. I have had several such visitations/episodes, of varying degrees of intensity, since I was about 17 and twice ended up in the psych ward (once voluntarily in Depoo and the other involuntarily in Pennsylvania). If I live to see April 1st, I will be 36.

Tell Patrick I say hi, and peace be upon him, he may or may not remember me. Our last interaction was at his place, where he gave me a poetry anthology of all women poets. If he is still residing where I last left him, he will be doing so at the Porter Place complex, just behind an apt where my friend Dustin B—- used to live. Dustin is, amongst other things, a soul who has been through many trials as well, and an “outsider” artist of exacting qualities; he can also be seen in the Eimers video, riding his bike down the pier towards the camera itself. He gave me a small collection of his work but over the years I have given all but one away. There is a photo of that one work attached to this e-mail. Perhaps you have met him, he is not unike Patrick in many ways but is also quite different. He can and may tell you of his encounter(s) with various lesser gods and demiurges rooted in the Hindu culture, but being raised myself to be aware of Christ as The demiurge it seemed rather foreign and unrefined to me- Not any less real than anyone else’s experience mind you, only rather limited in its context, as I’m of the awareness that all organized religions have varying types and degrees of truth to them, but they usually contain a greater amount of myths and outright lies. Keeping in mind though, that myths are rooted in realities, just as the myths of dragons and cyclops came from the medieval discoveries of unidentifiable dinosaur bones and elephant skulls.

But I have already digressed, for you yourself may or may not remember me. Most recently I commented on your post concerning Frisbee Dave, and noted I was not sympathetic(sharing the same views as he) but empathetic towards him. Even before he self-identified as a devil(which is a bit different than someone else claiming you are one because your speech or actions have displeased them) supporting him had not been without its discouragements, both from myself and my friends/coworkers at the Sugar Apple. Perhaps just an abridged back-story is necessary. I had arrived in Key West on the Day of the Dead 2003′, with little more than a backpack and a goal. Two days later I had two dead-end disposable jobs and was living out of the hostel. My plan was to get a job with my CDL, save up money for a sailboat, and then get the fuck out of this country and stay gone. Sysco gave me a driving job a month later, but It didn’t quite work out the way I had planned so I was about to go back to just sleeping in the rough(back to bushes, beaches, buildings etc; but stealthily so, and avoiding other “street people” and there clandestined behaviors). Instead I lucked across a job at the Sugar Apple, and shortly thereafter met Dave. The Sugar Apple family welcomed me with open arms, and if not for them all that followed would not have come to be. A couple years passed, and, with a private loan from my Sugar Apple friends, I got the sailboat I dreamed of. Three months later hurricane Wilma left it sitting 10 miles away in a foot of water off Big Coppitt. Strangely enough, Arnaud Girard was the salver that got that boat off the rocks, for a fee. At the time I was obviously a bit miffed and only saw him as an opportunist taking advantage of the situation- but he had kids to feed and his own dream to save up for(a house in Key West) so I won’t fault him for that, not to mention he’s good people and a saint compared to 99% of the rest of Key West. Needless to say, my earthly dream had become a millstone around my neck. There was $23,000 to pay back and I only got $6000 from Fema and another $5000 from selling the boat. The next few years passed in self-imposed indentured servitude, in “paradise” (Call me crazy, but paradise doesn’t have so many pavements, capitalists, or tourists asking if that little island off Mallory square is Cuba). During those years Dave would come by twice week to clean the floors at the Sugar Apple and take the garbage out. He became a source of great comic relief in my otherwise apathetic existence. But Dave had to be let go eventually due to his cyclically erratic behavior, usually brought on by the summer heat and lack of audience for his act. Unfortunately, my tenure there had to end as well- a problem customer, who had repeatedly shown herself to be antagonistic towards me, became combative over a trifle and I decided not to come in the following day. Overnight, I went from being like a son to the owners to being, in there eyes, an adversary. All because I did what I felt I had to do and quit without notice. My own loss of respect for them also had contributed to that decision. Shortly thereafter I was living in the mangroves behind the bridle path. And thanks to the cops rounding everyone else into the shelter, I had the place to myself. It seemed to be of my own volition as well, because instead of going to find another job or moving to another town I stocked up on camping supplies. With a mosquito netted hammock and a machete and my bike with pannier bags I found it very economical and even back to reality, compared to living on that almost completely manufactured landscape know as the “real Key West”. The only thing it lacked was a large tomcat to take care of all the tree rats. Dave had lived back there on and off for 25 years, though in his case it may have been devolutionary rather than progressive. The word “Homeless” is a pejorative that the “mainstreamers” most often use to shame those other humans that actually are often quite at home without the need of a house or superfluous belongings, which is why they’re despised almost as much as, if not more than, cockroaches.

A couple months passed, and with the help of G. W.’s tax stimulus refund, I purchased a ticket for Dominica. A few people had told me of an island that was barely developed and pristine, nearly as close to its’ natural state as anywhere on the planet at this time; but you weren’t one of them, and, as far as I can recall, our conversations almost never left the chess board and the couple times they did you handed me a chap-book of your poetry, or we argued whether Patrick had chosen, and continues to choose, what you refer to as his dis-ease. Toko Irie, Vicki Boguzewski, and a friend living on the hook had all told me about Dominica. And I had turned it into a mythological place where anyone might go and be transformed, back to a more ‘natural state’. So I went, and boy was I transformed. Too long a story for anything less than a book, and I lack the self-interest and worldly ambition it would now take to write that book. Not even counting Dominica I already had too many books to write.

Now all of this is not too strange a tale, but merely a chain of events that occurred in a small town where many other chains of events have and are now unfolding- but most of those involve booze, weed, crack, money, whores(business-owners that actually can’t stand tourists but salivate at the thought of their money, politicians, and just your run-of-the-mill-world’s-oldest-profession-types) and various other physical sensations rooted in the seven deadlies. Having done my share of abusing substances from age 15 to 21, beautiful women were then my one stumbling stone left, and much to my dismay Key West offered me plenty of temptation. But then even all the self-proclaimed “artists” and “authors”, supposedly the most transcendent of our race, are giving in to the temptation of Pride that they love so much, even as they bump and grind and suck off each others egos they are no better or worse than you or I, or the next drunk you may come across. Like us they are human, and, ultimately, Key West has far too many temptations to offer for anyone other than an actual saint- pick your poison, it’s there and it will corrode you, unless you have given up all worldly things, beyond what maintenance would require, to follow and serve Christ (and if you have done that, then Key West is the perfect place for you to do your work). Incidentally, I feel I should mention that P&T no longer view themselves as my friends because in so many words I told them it was not a wise thing to own too many million dollar houses in a world where there are people going without a roof, and, worse, starving to death. I did all I felt I could, which was to warn them, but they failed to see it as anything more than a judgment, to which Phil responded “I won’t defend myself for being fruitful”. I am not the Judge, merely one of the accused; I am not the Director of the asylum, merely a patient. I suppose I am a zealot in their eyes, or a hypocrite because I still myself have a roof over my head at the moment- though I would prefer not to, I’m simply tolerating it.

Besides all of this and that, there is the very strange tie that binds my consciousness and experience to yours. Before now I had only viewed your blog a handful of times, to catch up on Key West goings on. But of late it seems there are far too many similarities between our separate experiences to ignore. The Key West experience, followed by the Dominica experience (which in many ways are polar opposites) was a catalyst for, and precursor to, what I can only describe as a revelation. It can only be described, by me, as an inner experience of direct contact by and with the Absolute. Other than that very vague description there is no way anyone will ever know what I’m talking about unless it happens to them. And I mean this in the most mystical way in relation to myself. Because although I had had some various inexplicable mystical experiences since my early childhood and a lifelong dialogue with my own conscience or I knew not what, by the time of this most transcendent experience I had given up on believing in a God as anything distinct from, or personal to, people. It seemed to me, before the revelation, that God was only a very noble aspiration or hope of the human psyche too often transmuted into selfish, child-like belief-systems by the overwhelming majority of people, no matter what cultural contexts it was filtered through(Buddhist, Abrahamic, Hindu, Shinto, etc.) Following my revelation I have no doubts of Divine truth, peace, and justice, of the Origin or absolute governance of all and everything in existence inside and outside of time(s) both linear and spatial; nor am I able to do anything with only myself in mind. I have become a fool, completely and hopelessly, in the eyes of the world of mankind- but since my birthday is on April fool’s day, I’d always viewed myself as such anyway. So what have I lost?

But this is not where our synchronicity ends. After living in the jungles and Carib reserve of Dominica for the summer of ’08 and deciding to come back, only to be given a Frances of Assisi style revelation and then be committed, my weakness in the flesh eventually led to my now being in a family situation, with parental responsibilities. In the interim I also was at home without a house on Maui, on little beach and in the western forest preserve, and ate good meals thanks to the Catholic church in Kihei. We’ve also spent time in many of the same Greyhound stations, and there was that week spent, when I was 7, at my maternal aunt’s place… in Quincy, Illinois (just upriver from Granite City where I was born). But again, these are all just the kind of coincidences that happen on a small planet that is ever growing smaller, right?

Well, my little family and I are going to the Oregon dunes for MLK weekend, so I’ve got to go pack for that. But I often ask myself, ‘did I miss the call?’. Did I have a chance to be off this mortal coil for good when the time came, and to be free of these pesky physical drives that I so loathe my bio-mechanical monkeysuit for keeping me chained to, in weakness and slavery. Was my final temptation much like that of William Defoe’s character in “The Last Temptation of Christ”, to have a family and be at home here in the world? If so, did I fall prey to it because, while it is fraught with its own troubling and burdensome aspects, it is familiar and still not as narrow and steep a way as was suggested to me? How can I rationalize it any better but to say to myself ‘oh I’m sure I’m doing more good here and now, by being in my daughters life rather than scarring her for life and leaving her for the sake of what may just be a delusion, a momentary lack of reason’? Yeah, that’s it, I’m sure that’ll go over well when the Boss asks me why I shirked the duties that were given me. And would it have been better for you in the long-view to have given all you had inherited to St Mary’s soup kitchen, rather than to have spent much of it on house, restaurants, movies, websites, publishing, self-promotion, and some here and there to whomever struck your fancy?

Perhaps we’ll live long enough, you and I, to find out, JWH

I replied:

Hi, Jason –

I confess, right now you are drawing a blank in my mind’s eye, but the name Jason connected with Sippin’ sounds familiar.

Yours is an interesting tale indeed, on Dominica I had many experiences with what a human mind cannot be wrapped around – as I was leaving following my first visit, the island’s spirit came to me and enveloped me and I nearly burst into tears in the little airport just north of Roseau. The second, and only other physical visit, was the following year, and then I was put to work to attempt to stop two major developments, one of the Atlantic Coast, the other on the Caribbean side.

In 2001, in Sippin’, Vicki B. told me that the development on the Caribbean Coast had gotten washed away in a flood during a hurricane. I had met the two lawyers representing the Dominican government, and we’d had several conversations about the development, and I had tried to warn them that it might not go as they hoped. In 2006, the son of the white Dominican who was trying to sell to the Atlantic-side developer told me that one had not worked out. In 1996, I had stayed a month on their property, had met the developer, and had told the landowner not to sign anything without getting paid in full at the same time. So, it does not surprise me that you had your experience on Dominica.

Might be, you are doing with your family precisely what you are supposed to be doing. Getting married, having and raising children, is part of living on this world for most people. Maybe you need to experience that to round you out. I experienced some of that with children of my own, but not enough, probably, truncated by divorce and them moving an hour’s drive away, then me moving to New Mexico, then this and that, and then total estrangement, perhaps all rooted in my not really being there for my children when they were young, for a variety of reasons, most not pretty on my part.

I did with the inheritance I received from my father on Valentine’s Day, 2006, what I was directed to do with it, starting with moving to Little Torch Key and buying the trailer and one acre next to a wildlife refuge, paying far too much for it, as I later would discover. I almost right a way after that, wanted to give the trailer and land to an environmental organization of some kind, which would look out for and preserve it from developers, but several opportunities to do that fell though due to the various organizations dropping the ball on their side. Also, during that time I wanted to return to Dominica, and was told in dreams not to do that. I was told to run for the county commission, which I didn’t want to do, as I still hated politics. But I ran using the mantra, NO MORE NEW DEVELOPMENT, PERIOD, THE END, THE KEYS ALREADY ARE WAY OVER-DEVELOPED AND THERE IS NOT A PERSON LIVING IN THE KEYS WHO CAN STAND BEFORE A MIRROR AND HONESTLY ARGUE OTHERWISE.

Hi again, Jason –

I thought mine back to you had vaporized during a glitch in my laptop, but it looks like it came through, as my copy of it is in my sent box.

Re your last sentence:

“And would it have been better for you in the long-view to have given all you had inherited to St Mary’s soup kitchen, rather than to have spent much of it on house, restaurants, movies, websites, publishing, self-promotion, and some here and there to whomever struck your fancy?”

About all that struck my fancy was restaurants and movies, the rest was pushed along by the Boss.

Back in early 2000, at the Boss’ instigation, I legally renounced the inheritance I was to receive from my father and changed by name to Sloan Young. Young had been my middle name since birth. The lady I was running with did the same thing.

We then were sent round the world on credit cards and finally ended up on Maui, where the card issues stopped playing along and I soon was homeless.

The very worse part of the trip before Maui had to do with India, the spirit-internal was foul. It nearly killed my companion, who once had a yogi [from India] for a guru. As we wrote the taxi in from the Mumbai airport to the waterfront, where we hoped to find a reasonably-priced hotel, we passed what looked like an big city of paupers, almost naked, lying or sitting almost next to each other, on flattened cardboard boxes, or on mud, as far as we could see perpendicular to the road we were traveling. My companion said all she could see in the air were serpents. She had spirit vision, hearing. I said, not the kind of nice serpents on the Saturday morning cartoons? No, not those kind of serpents, she grunted.

We did find a $50 a night place in a hotel about a quarter mile from the Tajmahal Hotel, where we learned a double room was $1,500 US a night. We were delighted to leave India and get back to USA before the credit card companies cut us off. We were not delighted to become homeless on Maui.

It was on Maui that my dreams first started nudging me toward becoming Sloan Young Bashinsky, Jr. again. However, I did not understand those dreams, or later dreams indicating the same reversal, until 2003, when I was nearly dead from MRSA, and then I saw loud and clear what I was being asked to do. I fought it a while, then surrendered. I really liked Sloan Young, the name and the man. He was the truest, toughest man I had ever met, in the soul sense, not in the physical sense. Physically, I was not in all that good of shape.

I unrenounced the renouncement of the inheritance, also as indicated in dreams. Then, I waffled back and forth and back and forth. I didn’t want the inheritance for two reasons: (1) my father wanted nothing to do with me; (2) I wanted to make my own way in the money world, I certainly had plenty of skills to do that, writing, counseling, consulting, but I was spirit-blocked. Finally, I surrendered to accepting an inheritance from my father, and not long afterward he died.

I imagine I would have died not long afterward, without the inheritance, because physically was pretty much disabled, while the work I could do with my mind and spirit guidance was spirit-blocked in the money-making arena – still the case. I would have ended up homeless again, if the spirit-block was not removed. I probably would have given up, done myself in, which would have seriously screwed a woman I by then was supporting financially, and my second wife, close to a pauper herself, who stood to receive part of my estate on my death, or part of my interest in a trust my father had set up, which I was to receive from after he died and his wife died. His wife is still living, I have seen nothing from that trust, nor will my second wife, if I die before my stepmother dies. And if I die, the woman I am supporting also will be up shit creek, for she is spirit disabled, too.

This all would make more sense if you lived in my skin, but since you don’t, I am trying to respond to your last sentence, which came across sort of odd, not sure if it was a jab, or sincere. Doesn’t matter, if I had given that inheritance away, it would not have been to St. Mary’s. It would have been to my second wife and the woman I was looking out for. Then, what happened to me, probably not pretty, would not impact them so severely. Maybe I would have survived on Social Security monthly checks and showering and sleeping nights at KOTS and eating in the soup kitchen. Maybe something else would have come along.

Looks to me the Boss had me promote myself via websites, daily ravings, email blasts, running for office, because the Boss knew I would say and write things nobody else was going to say and write, and the Boss wanted me to have a bigger audience than a few pigeons in front of a park bench and a few drunk and/or drugged up homeless people nearby. Maybe if I had given the inheritance away the Boss would have made me wish I had never heard of the Boss.

I am terrified of the Boss, in the sense of not doing what I am given to do, or not doing it in the way the Boss wants me to do it. That’s why I don’t take advice well from other people. I listen to them, and if it feels to me they are correct, feels, as in I feel it in my soul and bones, I go along with it. Otherwise, I wait for the Boss to chime in favor, before I go along with it. And if the Boss don’t chime in favor, I don’t go along with it.

I once spent a couple of nights in Winchester Inlet on the Oregon coast, a river came in there, people were salmon fishing, probably late June. The Coast Card had a rescue cutter there which was weighted in the bottom so that it could roll back up if it tipped over in the pass, which was treacherous. I heard the CC had a few other boats like that stationed elsewhere. Not far down the coast road was a big sand dune as I recall, perhaps the one you mentioned in your email.

There was a big sand dune like that on the western side of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, above Alamosa, Colorado, on US 285, as I recall the highway number. Near Crestone, Colorado [where there is a Carmelite monastery]. I drove that highway quite a few times, between Golden, Colorado area and Taos, New Mexico, when I lived in Santa Fe and later in Boulder. Beautiful country along 285, after you got away from Denver. As is the Oregon coast beautiful.

It was when I was living in Santa Fe that the angels first came calling, but it happened 50 miles across the desert in Los Alamos. It was in Boulder that the angels then descended in swarms. Nothing was ever the same as before after that, and I only met one person since then who actually seemed as weird as me: the lady who went around the world on credit cards, who stayed on Maui when the angels transported me, without any money, to Key West, mid-December 2000, to live on the street there, instead of on Maui.

Maybe that happened because Key West is the weirdest place in America, where I least likely would be locked up for being weirder than anyone else I knew. Or thought I knew. I met Vicki B. with days after my arrival in Key West. We were both surprised to learn that someone else in America knew about Dominica. I encouraged her to go back there, she had left a fellow there she really cared about. The money didn’t seem to be there for it, though. Now she seems to be doing other things here, maybe that’s all past.



Later P.S.

It was in Boulder that I first learned of the dark night of the soul, by reading a book about St. John of the Cross, after a friend, who had heard some of my strange stories, suggested that I read up on that fellow. I went to the Pearl Street Bookstore and found a sole copy of St. John of the Cross: Alchemist of the Soul, by Antonio T. di Nicolas, and in were Juan de la Cruz’s commentaries on the dark night, which he said he had only written at the request of a mother superior in his monastical order, which was the Carmelites.

He described two dark nights, the first he called “the cleansing of the soul”, the second “the cleansing of the spirit”. He said the first dark night was rough, but doable, and once a person passed through it, he/she was quite different afterward. For some people who had the first dark night, that was the end of it. For others, however, the second dark night would come, and it was far, far more difficult, and woe be unto anyone it befell who was not in a protected environment being looked after by people who knew what was going on, and even then only the luckiest survived it.

Well, I wanted nothing to do with any of that. Like what I wanted mattered. about six months after reading di Nicolas’ book, in my sleep on night, I heard, “With respect to St. John of the Cross you haven’t seen anything yet.” Then, I was enveloped in pure, raw, vile, repulsive, black evil. I struggled to escape it, but could not. I awoke trying to escape, gagging. My ego was inflated beyond belief, my soul was terrified beyond belief. A few months passed, I was feeling better than I had in years, then very quickly the first dark night descended and I was in it four years, and it lifted almost as quickly as it had descended, when I was on Jamaica, a week before I was to fly from there to Dominica the first time.

I did not feel when I left Dominica the first time that I was finished there. I flew back to Boulder, and very soon after that, my wife there said she wanted us to be apart, and that threw me into a commotion at all levels. Not a dark night, a commotion [a great deal of which had to do with I had given her the power to decide what I would receive out of our joint assets, all of which had come from me originally, and she had given me about 13 percent and had taken the rest for herself and her son – she got about $900,000]. By and by, after a trip to Nepal, then to Australia, then New Zealand, I ended up back in Birmingham, Alabama, where I was born and grew up. This and that happened, and I was on Tortola, B.V.I., and then on Dominica. And then I was back in Birmingham.

A few months later, the second dark night descended, and it was so much worse than the first one, which was horrible, that the first one seemed like paradise. The second dark night was so bad that I didn’t know what it was until after it lifted about 16 months after it arrived. It felt like half my mind had died, or half my soul. Throughout, I prayed to die and feared I would not. Starting around 7 a.m. each morning, I plotted my suicide, which I would commit the next day. Each plotting took about 4 hours to arrive at the method. Each plotting ended up at the same method. Slitting my wrists with my Swiss Army knife. Arriving at the method gave me a sense of peace, allowed me to live out the rest of the day knowing it was my last. I never told anyone about that while the dark night was still in play.

However, neither dark night produced the results Juan de la Cruz had said would ensue from the dark nights. I was not different afterward, and coming out of the second dark night was horrible, took months, perhaps due to my having been captured by psychiatry and being addicted to anti-depressants and anti-psychotics, which only made me feel worse because of their awful side effects, and, they were addictive, I learned, because the three times I tried to wean from them during the killer dark night, I came to call it after it was over, I went into horrible withdrawal like what I had read happens to heroin addicts when they stop using heroin.

Whatever, from there I would experience even more dark nights, none nearly as horrible as the second, one as bad as the first and much scarier, because I felt I was being taken over by Evil and losing my mind at the same time – fortunately, I suppose, that lasted only a few months, before the angels stepped in and steered me through it.

All in all, though, I probably went through the worst part, or worst parts, of Evil in the dark nights, although the first dark night was filled with beautiful phenomena, which encouraged me to think something wonderful was unfolding and I needed to hang in there. The second dark night was, as Juan de la Cruz had said it would be, a black night, no light. During that ordeal, I had only three dreams, which were specific to me, clearly, and which gave me some hope, temporarily, but the ordeal destroyed any hope shortly after those dreams.

What developed for me from the ordeals was I knew God, or, if you wish, the angels assigned to me could do anything they wished with me, anytime they wished to do it. That’s how it came about that I became terrified of not doing what I was given to do in the way I was trained to do it, and in the way I was advised to treat each engagement on this world, which the angels had arranged for me to engage. Everything was arranged, every person I met was arranged, I was in a grand production in which I seemed to be the only person who understand it was a grand production. It’s still that way, although some people I engage today seem somewhat aware that things are being arranged, coincidences are not coincidences.

I tell you all of this because of a dream I had in my nap this afternoon, which I awoke feeling might be about you. Perhaps not. In any event, this kind of discourse is not common fare today, and people who have written about the dark night process, including di Nicolas, whom I came to know, did not themselves have the experiences Juan de la Cruz had, nor the experiences I had, so their writings, although helpful perhaps in a bare road map way, were not nearly as helpful as, say, Juan de la Cruz’ commentaries, which very well might have saved my life. Yet, they promised only two dark nights, and, alas, there were more for me.

I concluded the dark night, which psychiatry knows not and misdiagnoses and mistreats, as does religion, is a very deep accelerated spirit passage designed to move a soul from here to somewhere without the person in it having to do anything but hang on for the ride. Conscious soul development, soul alchemy, is not in play. It is done to the person, whose soul agreed to it, even though the person did not agree to it. Although, in Juan de la Cruz’s commentaries, he said he, and others, did agree to it; they had a sacred ritual they used, which was known to provoke the dark night process, and they used it because spiritual acceleration was their only desire.

I was given the ritual during the middle of the first dark night, but did not realize for many years that it was the same ritual described almost verbatim in Juan de la Cruz’s commentaries. I used the ritual for something else altogether, to invoke the phenomena which Juan de la Crus said would surely come and should be turned away from without exception, because there was no way to discern for sure that Lucifer was not hiding in the phenomena. Keep turning back into the darkness, Juan de la Cruz said. Keep turning back into it, keep doing that, and eventually a singularity would occur, fusion of the soul with God, in the first dark night; fusion of the spirit with God in the second. Then, the dark night would be complete, relief on the way.

Nada, nada, nada, was Juan de la Cruz’s dark transit, until nothing was left but God. I was taken the opposite direction, I was shown in various ways that the phenomena were parts of me I did not know existed, or had fled, or were thrown away, or I had rejected, in this life, in other times, coming back to me, or I was going back to them, although it seemed they were coming back to me. Expansion, expansion, expansion, was my transit; perhaps that’s why there were more than two dark nights for me. And, perhaps I blew some opportunities, which led to my needing more dark nights.

Also, I came to see karma was involved, and dark nights were a way to burn it quickly, as opposed to enduring it the rest of my natural life. Karma, I learned, is very real, and it can be rooted in past transactions in this life, and in past life experiences, on this planet, elsewhere; but mostly on this planet is what I consciously came to see.

Well, that’s a whole lot, but perhaps it’s something somebody might find “useful” some day, if it seems the sky has fallen and the earth has opened up and there is no bottom and there is no light and volcanoes and earthquakes are going off and lightning and thunder are everywhere and all hope is lost and terror and bewilderment are king and chaos is queen.

Darn, I sure hope I did not write that for me.


Krishnamurti 2Carl Jung

There is a different post today at, which you should be able to reach by clicking on that link today, and on this link anytime:

Will the Monroe County Commissioners, Florida Keys Aqueduct Authority, Florida Department of Environmental Protection and Governor Rick Scott be remembered as The Gang of Shit for covering maybe as many as 1,000 lower Florida Keys property owners with human excrement

The dark night of the soul can take many forms not all recognized by theological “purists”.

Sloan Bashinsky

Sloan in collar

About Sloan

Darn, that would take a while. Try the autobiographical pages in the header. Ditto for header menu pages at Hatched and raised there, eventually I ran away from home. Here's a short list: Born 1942; male; spoken for; accused of all sorts of imaginable and unimaginable things, perhaps some true. Live on Key West of Weird asteroid. Publish something most days at, been at that since July 2007. That's heaps of catch-up reading, probably not recommended.
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