Next Stop: The Harmonic Convergence

This is an excerpt from the chapter "Into the New Age" from my forthcoming memoir, Touched By the Presence: From Blondie's Bowery and Rock and Roll to Magic and the Occult,due for release in November (US) and January (UK), and available for preorder now. In it, I find myself in one of the safest spots on the planet, during an event of cosmic importance.

The Bodhi Tree Bookshop, on Melrose Avenue, was just around the corner from my studio in West Hollywood. It was started in the early 70s by Stan and Fran Madson and Phil and Elsa Thompson. They story was that they were Buddhists working in aerodynamics who wanted to do something more meaningful with their lives. So they opened a metaphysical bookshop, one of many sprouting in different cities across the country following the “occult revival” of the 1960s. The shop was named after the tree – a Ficus Religiosa – that Gautama Buddha sat under when he gained enlightenment. I first visited it in 1977, during my first tenure in LA. There were two branches, one for new books, and a smaller second hand shop that also sold various herbs, spices and teas. 

Don't sit under the Bodhi Tree with anyone else but me.

On my visits then, I spent most of my time at the second hand shop. Their prices were very good and the shop itself was very cosy and inviting, with free herbal tea and Eastern music playing in the background. Statues of the Buddha, charts marking the positions of the chakras, and other spiritual bric-a-brac decorated the place. Both branches were very well stocked, with large sections on astrology, meditation, tarot, Buddhism, parapsychology, mysticism, the Fourth Way, Jung, and everything else you’d expect to see in a metaphysical bookshop. My interest then was in Crowley and the Golden Dawn, and although they had a decent section on magic and the occult in the new book shop as well as in the second hand branch, I tended to visit the new shop less.

One reason for this was the strong smell of incense that filled the place. I later discovered that the powerful scent wasn’t from any incense they were burning. It was the smell coming from their stock: they had so much of it that they didn’t need to burn any, and a book bought from the new shop invariably reeked of it. Another reason I tended to avoid the new shop was that, along with the incense, there was a certain air about the people working there.  They all seemed rather mild and gentle, but there was something a bit too nice about it; it was all a little too tranquil, a little too ‘Zen’, as we’d say today. In my Crowley phase I preferred something more lively. After all, I was still a rock and roller.

Ten years later I wasn’t, and I found myself working there.[1]

Out on a limb while going within

When I started working at the Bodhi Tree, it had become very popular. It had always had a steady, loyal clientele, but in 1983, it was put on the mainstream popular culture map. In her book, Out On a Limb, the actress Shirley MacLaine talked about her interest in reincarnation, meditation, UFOs and other aspects of what was becoming known as “New Age spirituality.” The book charts her journey in search of her “true self,” a quest that took her from Southern California to what she describes as a life-changing experience in the Andes. One spot on her spiritual itinerary was the Bodhi Tree, and she describes deciding to go there on a whim as one of the most important decisions of her life.

It certainly was an important decision for the shop. And what made an even greater impact was the television mini-series made of the book starring MacLaine, which aired in early 1987, the year I started working there. Their clientele, already large, doubled practically overnight, and now it included not only the usual mystical eccentrics that had been part of California for decades, but a good many of MacLaine’s fellow Hollywood stars.

Exactly when the New Age began is debatable. Some people put Marilyn Ferguson’s book, The Aquarian Conspiracy (1980), which I read and enjoyed, at the start. (I remember a girl I dated at the time asking if I was an “Aquarian conspirator.” )Others see the ‘channelled’ teachings – a new form of spirit communication – of David Spangler, a central figure at the Findhorn community in Scotland, as the beginning. I talk about it in The Secret Teachers of the Western World. Whatever may have got the New Age ball rolling, by the summer of 1987, it had certainly picked up speed and was heading toward what seemed a particularly propitious, if not apocalyptic, moment.

Meditation on Mount Shasta

Soon after starting work at the Bodhi Tree, I became aware of an event of global, even cosmic importance, that was on its way, and would, in fact, arrive very soon, at least according to the people who told me about it. This sudden shift in the “collective planetary karma” – as one person described the coming occasion – was known as the Harmonic Convergence. What was that? It was, I discovered, an idea that emerged from an interpretation of the ancient Mayan Calendar by the New Age philosopher José Argüelles in his book The Mayan Factor: Path Beyond Technology (1987). This was augmented by the “timewave” theory of the then head psychedelic guru Terrence McKenna, presented in his book The Invisible Landscape (1975).[2] 

According to Argüelles, 1987 would mark the end of a long 1144 year cycle, charted by the Mayans, which is itself divided into different “heavenly” and “hellish” sub-cycles. The current “hell” cycle would close that year, and mark the start of a new “heaven” cycle, which, again according to Argüelles, would reach its climax twenty-five years later, in 2012. That year would see the “return of Quetzalcoatl,” the ancient Aztec creator god, and would mark the end of what Argüelles called “the Long Count,” and thus initiate the end of history.

Mckenna’s “timewave” theory posited an unprecedented explosion of “novelty” – a term borrowed from Alfred North Whitehead – in 2012 as well, leading to what he called the “singularity,” an event that will change, not only human life, but the very fabric of being, initiating a new ontology. As the singularities we think we know of include the Big Bang and what happens inside a black hole – if, indeed, black holes have insides – this is certainly something to look forward to.

The Feathered Serpent

Alas, as anyone who was around at the time knows, 2012 didn’t quite meet the expectations of those who were around for the Harmonic Convergence. There was a great deal of millenarian hoopla about it, much of it coming from the then head doyen of the new psychedelic cult, Daniel Pinchbeck, whom I met in 2003, after reviewing his first book for the Guardian. Pinchbeck believed that he had spoken with Quetzalcoatl himself, in the Brazilian rainforest in 2004, facilitated, he admits, by a dose of the powerful hallucinogen ayahuasca. Quetzalcoatl might not have showed in person in 2012 – unless you had some ayahuasca - but he certainly turned up in the avalanche of books, seminars, workshops, DVDs and other essential items his proponents assured the expectant many were needed to prepare for his arrival.

Whew! Got through it that time...

Yet this was in the future, and for the people crowding into the shop in the days leading up to the main event that summer, there was little doubt that something of fundamental significance was approaching. They took it very seriously. Wanting to ensure a safe and harmonious conversion to the new times, on August 15-16, the crucial days, many people gathered in various “power spots” around the planet, and engaged in group meditation. Two very popular places in the states were Sedona, Arizona, which had already become a site of pilgrimage for the many people convinced of the beneficent powers of crystals – in which the shop did a brisk trade - and Mount Shasta in California, which had been a location of interest to UFO devotees for decades. In the UK, as one might expect, Stonehenge and Glastonbury drew crowds, and there were similar gatherings in other places. If nothing else, the gatherings marked the start of what we can call ‘esotourism’, ‘sacred travel’ and the metaphysical holiday industry.

When I asked a Harmonic Converger, who was planning on spending the crisis point meditating on the beach, why people needed to help the event along, given it was predicted long ago and had the cosmos behind it, she informed me that these sorts of transitions are very delicate, sensitive periods, and that if we weren’t careful, the energies released might go “in the wrong direction.” “It is a dangerous time,” she said. When I expressed concern she hastened to assure me that I had nothing to worry about. Here, at the shop, I was in one of the safest places on the planet. It was protected; its aura would repel any negative vibrations. As I lived practically around the corner, I wondered just how far the protection reached.

The Bodhi Tree in its last incarnation

I enjoyed working at the Bodhi Tree. It took a while to get used to the incense, as well as to some of the clientele and, I must admit, some of my colleagues, but soon enough I felt at home there. The clientele could be broken up into different categories. There was a small number of serious students of, say, the Bhagavad Gita or Sufism, Buddhism, or other traditional teachings, who could find literature on their subject here that would be difficult to locate anywhere else. This was well before the online economy made it so practically anything could be had whenever you needed it. But there were not enough of these serious seekers to keep the place going on their own, and the owners had to cater to a wide range of tastes. Whatever one might have thought about the quality of the more popular items we stocked, it was clear that it was only by providing these that the more serious material could be also be available. If the shop depended on the number of Sanskrit dictionaries it sold, it would never have seen the Harmonic Convergence.[3]

Another group were the curious ones who, having seen Shirley MacLaine’s mini-series or read her book, wanted to see what it was all about. They may have bought a crystal or two, perhaps some incense, and a book about past lives or the aura. These might come back once or twice more before their interest waned and they stopped trying to meditate or find their true selves.

Then there were the very earnest New Agers, people who embraced its beliefs wholeheartedly and organised their lives around it. These made up the bulk of the customers and there were many of them. Exactly what constitutes ‘New Age spirituality’ is debatable, and much has been written about it, but it certainly included ideas about past lives, reincarnation, the aura, meditation, “being positive,” chakras – esoteric power points within the body – yoga, health food (forerunners of today’s vegans), out-of-the-body experiences, dreams, ideas about Atlantis and ancient, prehistoric civilizations, and about Egypt and the pyramids, UFOs, nature worship and an assortment of other notions and practices that were not necessarily related to each other but which found a space under the generic New Age umbrella.

Rescue Remedy anyone?

Much of it was no doubt dubious, little more than spiritual consumerism. But many people embracing these ideas did so from a genuine desire to understand their lives and have some experience of their inner worlds. For these folk, the New Age was a “life style choice,” as we say today. Fashions and fads came and went. This week rose quartz or hematite was the rage; next it would be burning sage or having your mercury fillings removed. (One co-worker I knew spent a considerable sum on doing this.) Tibetan bells and singing bowls, Reiki therapy (a kind of Japanese “laying on of hands”), a new form of “breath work” (perhaps Stanislav Grof’s “holotropic” therapy), or Neuro-Linguistic Programming, would follow past-life regression, Jungian “shadow work”, or “guided meditations”, in quick succession as the latest thing. One outgrowth of “esotourism” were the “vision quests” that had many people heading to the rain forests – or more locally, the desert - to partake of native entheogens (the new term for psychedelics) in hope of having a transformative experience. Many did.

One of the most popular fashions at the time was “channelling,” which I mentioned earlier. This was a late 80s refit of nineteenth century spiritualism. In channelling, though, it wasn’t the spirits of the dead that were speaking through mediums, but entities from other dimensions, other times, other planets, other worlds. Ramtha, channelled through J Z Knight, was from Lemuria, an ancient continent, like Atlantis, that sank some 35,000 years ago. Seth, an “energy personality essence no longer focused in physical matter,” spoke through the novelist and poet Jane Roberts. Sanaya Roman was the channel for Orin, a “spirit guide” and “timeless being of love and light.”

Ramtha speaks!

Other similar entities communicated various vague but generally positive cosmic messages about love, spirituality, evolution, and consciousness, not that different in tone and character from the spirit messages of a century before. (It is interesting that as in spiritualism, women seemed to predominate channelling.) And like spiritualism, channelling became a kind of pastime, with people trying it for themselves. They did this by making themselves available to entities that were known as “walk ins,” meaning that they “walk in” and take up residency in a person when his or her own soul is temporarily absent. Predictably, this led to jokes about the best channelers being people who were mindless to begin with.

For a time one of the people working at the shop held gatherings during which he made space for a “walk in” and allowed it to communicate through him. He had quite a following among the employees and some customers, although I never attended a session.

Another popular trend was “goddess worship,” and the variety of books on “women’s spirituality” it produced. Part of this included the revival of the idea, promoted in the nineteenth century by the Swiss historian Johann Bachofen, that a “matriarchal” form of society preceded that of the “patriarchy,” a theme then advanced by Maria Gimbutas. Marian Woodman, Starhawk, Riane Eisler, Margot Adler were some of the most popular authors in the “goddess movement.” Predictably, this led to a counter “men’s movement,” headed by Robert Bly, whose book, Iron John, led to quite a bit of male bonding at sweat lodges. Another popular author then was James Hillman, whose revisioning of Jungian psychology as a form of “soul making,” led to a score of books on the subject, like Thomas More’s bestseller, Care of the Soul (1992).[4] And around the same time, Joseph Campbell told us about the power of myth and, as mentioned earlier, advised us to “follow our bliss.”

You said it, brother

Some of the individuals coming to the shop could be fairly demanding and just as fussy and tiresome as any customer at any shop. I came to encounter more than one impatient Buddhist. On one occasion a regular, who always came accompanied by his parrot, which perched on his shoulder and cared nothing for hygiene, wasn’t happy with my service. In the middle of trying to help him he stopped, shook his head, and told me that he didn’t like my aura. It was a blow but I kept my aplomb and asked to be excused, while I found a colleague whose aura he might like.

On another occasion, I had to help a woman who was just learning about crystals. She wanted one that would “dispel all negativity,” but was unhappy because she had been told it had to be green. (Clearly she didn’t realise that if it worked, she wouldn’t have minded what colour it was.) Some exchanges were charming. I remember showing a woman of mature years how to consult the I Ching, using the three coin method (I had myself been consulting it since 1978). On another occasion, one individual asked me if he had a soul. I replied honestly that I didn’t know.[5]

"Hmm, I wonder: do you have Venus in your chart?"

Some regulars made their appearance only in the evening. As the new branch was open until eleven p.m., it attracted a good share of lonely people looking for company. The free herbal tea we provided helped. I was made a manager fairly soon into my time there, and worked both day and evening shifts, so I got to see the full range of customers. One type of customer – I use the term loosely, as they rarely bought anything – were the men who haunted the astrology section, targeting likely women and chatting them up. “I knew you were a Pisces the minute I saw you,” or, “You have Aries written all over you,” were some of the lines thrown out. Often the bait worked. Sometimes it didn’t, and on more than one occasion I had to tactfully ask the offender to leave.

Other evening regulars were harmless enough. One fellow, a Jamaican, very polite and quiet, was making his way through the work of Alice Bailey, convinced that it held the clue to – exactly what, I’m not sure, but it was of great importance, certainly to him. He never bought a thing and carried a sheaf of notes with him all the time, which he added to as he sat and read each evening until closing.

Watch out for the valerian root

The second hand branch had its own regulars. I worked there on the weekends, usually with the same people, and we became a good team.[6] I have fond memories of that time and have written about some of my odd experiences there in Dreaming Ahead of Time.[7] What I enjoyed most was pricing the books that people brought in to sell. A good deal of my library here in London came from my time as a buyer back then. Professional book scouts would bring in several boxes and I’d hole up in the office and spend a few hours pricing the new arrivals. We had first pick of anything that came in, plus a staff discount, and I made very good use of this.

Occasionally a rare item would arrive. Once it was an original edition of Crowley’s occult magazine, The Equinox. I myself found a 1910 first edition of J B Baillie’s translation of Hegel’s Phenomenology of Mind. Some books we couldn’t buy. I felt sorry for the ex-Scientologists who would bring in boxes of books by L Ron Hubbard. We had to turn them away. One of the rules of Scientology was that members could buy only new editions of the literature; second hand copies were outlawed. Since only Scientologists would be interested in the books and they wouldn’t be able to buy them, they were of no use to us.

(Touched by the Presence is available for pre-order at Barnes and Noble, Books a Million, Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk and anywhere else you buy books.)

[1] One thing I remember from this time was attending the famous “The Spiritual in Art” exhibition put on at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art (LACMA) in 1986, the first major exhibition to acknowledge the influence of mystical, magical, and esoteric ideas on modern art. The exhibition featured artists well known for their spiritual pursuits, people like Kandinsky and Mondrian, who were both theosophists. But there were others less known. One of the surprises of the exhibition was the then little-known Hilma af Klint, a Swedish woman whose remarkable paintings, based on theosophical, anthroposophical and spiritualist ideas, have in recent years been the focus of many major exhibitions around the world, several of which I have spoken at. She is thought to have predated Kandinsky and produced “abstract” painting before him. Today this is a popular debate, but then it was virgin territory. Oddly enough, it was at around the same time as the exhibition that an academic interest in esotericism started up. Today, both the arts and academia display a lively interest in the esoteric; back then it was a radical, even dangerous area of study and most artists and academics steered clear of it.

[2] There was around this time the beginning of a renewed interest in psychedelics, a kind of return to the acid philosophy of the 1960s. Although I knew people involved in the 80s ‘rave’ scene in LA, I didn’t partake. I did see Terrence McKenna speak once. I wasn’t convinced by his arguments, but he had certainly kissed the Blarney Stone.

[3] Not to mention 2012, which it didn’t. The shop closed on New Years Eve 2011, although it continued an online presence.

[4] [4] I have to say that I read quite a bit of Hillman at the time, and knew people who attended the Pacifica Graduate Institute along the coast, where his “archetypal psychology” was taught. I never came away having a clear idea exactly what he was saying. He mentioned many interesting people and seemed to be getting to something, but at the end, I really couldn’t say exactly what that was. I remember having a conversation with one colleague who was studying Hillman, and being told that my dissatisfaction with him not being clearer was a sign that I was too rational, one of the few times when I have been accused of that. I also believe that Hillman misunderstood Maslow, whom he accused of ignoring life’s “vales,” in his search for its “peaks” – the peak experience. Maslow never saw peak experiences as something one pursued. They came of themselves and often involve rather everyday things. With his obsession with depression and melancholia, Hillman simply couldn’t see this.

[5] Occasionally a celebrity would show up. One evening William Shatner of Star Trek came to the shop. On another, Barabara Steele, who had been in many of the horror films I watched growing up, was there. I don’t remember what they purchased. Other celebrity visitors were closer to home. Some time in 1989, Chris Stein and Debbie Harry turned up. Debbie was recording her solo album Def, Dumb & Blonde and invited me to the studio to sing backup on the track “Bike Boy.” On another occasion, Tom Verlaine walked into the used branch on an afternoon while I was there. I was surprised to see him and said hello. As I say in New York Rocker, he “looked at me as if I had uncovered the fact that he three arms and walked away.”

[6] I became close friends for a time with one of my workmates, N, a Jew who had converted to Russian Orthodox Christianity and who was a reader of Kierkegaard, Schopenhauer , C. S. Lewis and the Traditionalist philosopher Frithjof Schuon. We spent many evenings in philosophical discussion. We also attended the lectures that Stephan Hoeller, a Gnostic thinker with a Jungian background and author of many books, presented at the Gnostic Church on Hollywood Boulevard. Now in his nineties, Hoeller, Bishop of the Gnostic Church, still performs a Gnostic Mass regularly at the Annie Besant Lodge of the Theosophical Society in Los Angeles.

[7]  In that book I also tell the story of a precognitive dream involving one of my workmates. Several of the people working there were followers of Tibetan Buddhism. One night, I had a dream in which I was with a group of Tibetan Buddhists. We stood in a circle and were tossing a ball of yarn back and forth to each other. The ball opened up into the kind of net that used to be used to catch someone jumping from a burning building. We held on to it and began to dance around in a circle; as we did it opened further into a beautiful mandala. That morning, when I got to the shop, one of my colleagues, a devotee of Tibetan Buddhism, told me that he had found a picture of me in my past life. Remembering the dream I asked if it was in Tibet. He said, yes, it was, and produced a photo from Alexandra David Neel’s book Initiates and Initiation in Tibet, showing herself and a round faced, bespectacled Tibetan monk, who my colleague said, looked rather like me.