Readers,

I may have to retract my previous statements about Lemuria.

This report is recently in from a "remote viewer" and "astral traveler" of impressive ability. My thanks to this anonymous soul for his bravery and expertise, in undertaking such a perilous journey. He seems to have gotten to the bottom of the Mt. Shasta mystery!

--Wm. Michael Mott


Last night I had a most interesting experience.

In the interest of fair-play I decided to do something which I haven't done for years, which is experiment with TM and astral projection.

Understand that all astrally-received knowledge is of equivalent value, all simply being a reflection of the greater reality which exists beyond the five senses, in the totality of the eternal Id which floats like a lotus on the sea of imagination. So I feel that my experience was a genuine and valid one, equal to all others of similar type, and represents a valuable piece of evidence for use in the investigation of unknown phenomena.

Opening a web-browser, I positioned myself in such a way that the only thing in my line of sight was an image of Mt. Shasta on the screen. This was the last image my eyes captured before I closed them and began my inward journey.

Clearing my mind of all residual stuff, all conscious, purposeful thought, I slowly drifted into that "void" that first greets one upon meditation. After an indeterminate length of time, this void became a grey emptiness, then the outline of Shasta took shape. Still not thinking consciously but only observing, I found myself suddenly INSIDE the mountain, passing through various strata of rock, pockets of greater and lesser density which must have been hot and cold layers, until I entered an enormous concavity in the center of the mountain, approximate with the ancient volcanic depths which had once held magma.

At this point I became aware of myself, and my out-of-body state. I looked around with interest. I was hovering about fifty feet above a broken basalt floor, littered with jagged pieces of obsidian, the remains of ancient lava flows. Empty bottles and other refuse were strewn about as well. Along the great, curving walls of the inverted cone-shaped cavern I was in, tiers of shelves were carved out of the solid rock, spiraling 'round and 'round, their topmost levels lost in dimness. On these shelves were bottles of incredible variety, most apparently of great age, covered in dust and cobwebs for the most part.

A shuffling sound caught my attention, and I looked down. On the floor of the cavern was a strange figure, a wizened little man about four feet tall, with a skullcap made out of what looked like a broken rubber hot water bottle, which was fastened about his head with old string. This looked to be an unstable head-covering, as his high forehead was twice as high as that of normal surface human being. His eyes protruded from his skull like those of a pekingnese dog. He wore a strange garb of rags which consisted of burlap sacks, discarded hiker's back-packs, bandanas, and a large tie-dyed sheet covered in faded peace-signs and floral designs. For shoes he wore a tattered pair of Keds, circa 1968. His features were pinched, his squint myopic.

He puttered about amidst the refuse, picking up bottles and holding them up to a thin beam of light which was penetrating from far above. "Yes, yes!" He muttered with a squeak, until his arms were full. Then he proceeded to a nearby hole of blackness, a tunnel, and entered it. Curiosity aroused, I followed.

The tunnel inclined sharply and wound like a corkscrew, apparently some sort of ancient vent for hot gases. Downward, ever downward it went, to at last terminate before a door which was apparently made from the hood of an old El Camino wagon. Inserting his foot at the jamb and wrenching it back, the bottle-gnome opened it with a metallic scream of resistance. Drifting along behind him, I followed along.

He must have sensed my presence because he stopped and looked back nervously over his shoulder. I flattened myself against the rocky ceiling, though, and he didn't see me. Pursing his lips and quivering with silent laughter at his own jumpiness, he continued until he came to a large chamber. Steam filled the air of the tunnel and the chamber as well.

As I neared the chamber, my eyes met a scene of pure horror! Great vats of steaming water were all around, pipes from the walls feeding them constantly with geothermally-heated steam! The laundry bearing the insignia of local hotels and motels were in these vats, along with a tremendous amount of less-pleasant material from a local diaper service. I was glad that I was in my astral form, otherwise the stench would have surely been overwhelming! I hung back in the tunnel, watching.

Around the vats stood similar beings to the one I had followed, all held in place by a short chain and shackle bolted to the floor. Their ears were pointed, but their teeth were rotted out from malnutrition and poor hygiene. Thin-shanked, emaciated, with protruding malnourished bellies, these wretches were all naked except for a type of smock or large apron on each, which bore a large embroidered letter "L". By virtue of the instantaneous enlightenment which comes with an OBE, I knew that these poor slobs were the last remnants of the once-mighty and proud Lemurian race.

The little overseer stamped his foot in a quick fit of tyranny. He spoke in a shrill, grating voice, and I understood his Lemurian tongue by virtue of the telepathy which comes with astral projection. As he ranted he distributed the bottles among the wretches.

"Lunch-time! Lunch-time! Drink your stew, then wash these bottles and prepare for the next wave of visitors! Hurry, hurry, I expect them any moment! Finish this batch and then you can return to your cells!"

Wearily, the workers took the bottles and dipped them into the scalding water without flinching. A stercoraceous, dull liquid filled the old bottles, and they all gulped this brew greedily. After several repetitions of this, the bottles were a bit less grimy than before, and the overseer gathered them up again. Then, going to a nearby desk, he took out a pair of thick-lensed spectacles which appeared to be made from layered bottle-bottoms of different colors. He then lined the bottles up on the desktop and stood with arms folded, as if waiting.

He did not have long to wait. A glittering silver thread flitted down from above, to coalesce into a floating, full-sized human form. This fellow looked about with amazement and joy, and the overseer, apparently able to see him through the special glasses, grinned a gap-toothed grin.

Soon another astral traveler appeared, then another. Within a few minutes, the room was filled with them! They floated about so thickly that they jostled one another with their astral elbows and knees, but they didn't seem to mind. They looked about with wonder and joy in their discarnate eyes. I could hear their thoughts as clearly as a spoken word.

"Wonderous! What beauty!"

"What technology! Look, a mag-lev! And there's the Dome of Wisdom I told you about!"

"So this is the Lemurian city! The marble baths are beautiful!"

"The people are incredible! What a superior race! And look at all this leisure!"

"There! The earth-diva giantess Shitinka! What a glorious beauty! Someday we will be together!" This latter individual was pointing to a particularly stunted, twisted, and hideous little hag among the workers.

They continued babbling in this manner, and the little Lemurian went about his business. Producing a large syringe with a bulb at one end, he approached the hovering forms one by one, inserting the syringe into a spot directly below the lowest chakra point. As he slowly released the bulb the syringe filled with a clear glittering substance, and the victimized astral traveler would fade in intensity, yet not notice the intrusion. Then the little rascal would insert the syringe into one of the recently washed bottles, fill it, and cork it firmly. Then, picking up a larger bottle which was labeled in the Lemurian script, he refilled his syringe and injected something into the astral explorers, using the same port of entry as before. Soon he had completed his task; the astral forms drifted about, still in rapt ecstasy, and eventually faded away as they returned to their distant mortal forms.

The overseer, ignoring the pleadings of his workers, took off his spectacles, gathered up his bottles and returned the way he had come. I followed as before, and watched as he returned to the main chamber and began to stock the crowded shelves along the walls with his new batch of...Whatever he had taken from the voyagers.

Next, he pulled a pad of labels and a pen from beneath his hodge-podge garb, and began to write and apply labels to the bottles. I followed closely behind him, reading these as quickly as he produced him, my astral mind instantly translating the strange Lemurian alphabet and words. The labels said a variety of things:

Critical Judgement, 80 proof,
Powers of Deduction, 40 proof,
Common Sense, 20 proof,
Reasoning Ability, 50 proof,

...and so on. Then the little fellow leapt down from a ledge and headed back toward the room below, with me following close by. Re-entering the room, he puttered around with a ring of keys and released the workers, who all scurried away to a low, nearby tunnel where their emaciated forms disappeared into the darkness.

Next he went to tidy up his desk, and picking up the large bottle which he had used to inject the astral travelers, he placed it back into its niche....

At this point I felt the pull of my own far-away physical form, and the reality beneath Mt. Shasta began to fade. The last things I saw were these: The gnome whistled, and a huge Sasquatch squirmed through the low tunnel and into the room wearing a french maid's outfit and carrying a feather-duster; and the words on the label, which burned themselves into my mind:

"GULLIBILITY-DELUSION COMPLEX, 100 PROOF."

And with that, I snapped back into my body with a powerful surge of fear and delight!