Dancing the Cosmic Dance
Although it appears that we have accomplished living with equality and security, the territory that we have conquered, which we feel unalterable, belongs to a world of continuous change and expansion. We do not live enclosed in a house, on a street, in a city, in a country: we evolve on a planet that participates in a cosmic dance. It carries us through space around the sun at 19 miles per second. The solar system is traveling around the center of the galaxy at 143 miles per second. The Milky Way Galaxy travels toward its neighbor, the Andromeda Galaxy, at 56 miles per second. The group composed of the Milky Way and the Andromeda Galaxies travels at 37 miles per second, attracted by the Virgo Supercluster and the Hydra and Centaurus Superclusters, which travel toward another huge agglomeration of tens of thousands of galaxies. And, little by little, we travel to the limits, where our universe is attracted by a universe even more complex and vast, which, in turn, rotates around another, forming a pluriverse.
In this immeasurable cosmic dance, everything is being born, dying, transforming. How then do we define this? To the extent that the individual evolves his or her consciousness, the links between the brain cells multiply. Accepting the unity of matter, we understand that all is related, and that the universe is a totality in which nothing acts separately. We can conceive that this mysterious energy that unites the neurons is also capable of uniting brains. We can call these collective unions egregores (from the Greek word egregoroi). The French occult magician and poet, Eliphas Levi (Alphonse Louis Constant, 1810–1875), defines them as “spirits of energy and action, princes of the soul.” We will have a familial egregore, a national egregore (symbolized by the animals: Russian bear, North American eagle, French rooster, Spanish bull, Chilean deer) and a planetary egregore created by all of humanity. The individual is ephemeral; the human race can be immortal. In order to go from “self ” to “us” and to participate in the cosmic project, the universe in evolution, where each atom will be a spirit, we have to manage to detach from mental moorings so that nothing subjective separates us from the creative energy. We give up “belonging to,” “identifying with,” and “defining ourselves” in order to arrive at union. We are a chalice that has ideas, but we are not these ideas, just like we are not our feelings or desires. We should take these thoughts-feelings-desires (inculcated by our family, society, and culture) as raw material and submit them to a process to mutate them—a process in which we should die to ourselves and return to be born, transfigured, no longer being a body that encircles a spirit but a spirit that navigates from body to body until the ends of creation. We don’t define ourselves as young or old, women or men, no diploma, no uniform, no name, no nationality to limit our impersonal endeavors. Under the individual mask, we enjoy the peace of anonymity; not having barriers between the human and the divine, we know the whole universe. We live many years like the universe; we turn into the consciousness of the universe; we create ourselves eternally. The fulfillment of the individual is impossible if this does not include the goal of comprising the whole human race.
Given the underdeveloped consciousness of our time, these aims can appear utopian. However, if we do not have a sublime end to life, it is difficult to achieve a necessary mental mutation. Machiavelli, in his book The Prince,recommends that archers who are afraid their arrows will not reach the mark aim further than this point. Moderating our personal desires, we intensify our social responsibilities: one cannot have only an individual healing; the illness of others is our illness. Eliminating fleeting things, we fight against the waste that infects consumer society. Together with the deep motto inscribed on the Temple of Apollo, “Know thyself,” is another, no less important, “Nothing too much.” To discard useless objects, parasitic relationships, and predatory activities is essential to the survival of humanity. Undoing ourselves from mental moorings, eliminating crazy ideas (transmitted by out-of-date religions), having feelings that are foreign to us (copied since childhood from the conflicted emotions of our parents), having desires implanted by industry (sexual dissatisfaction is the basis of unrestrained consumption), and having needs that have no aim other than to make the individual appear to be more than what he or she is (motivated by social neurosis). Instead of obeying the inertia of the past, which deals in “nothing ever changes,” we try to deliver the future, which causes both the constant expansion of the universe and the expansion of our own consciousness.
A person who has accomplished the inner work (healing emotional wounds, extolling tolerance, developing listening to others, not getting bamboozled by commercial propaganda or the media, planting positive ideas) and who has learned to be what he truly is and not what others want him to be (loving without discriminating, creating while developing receptivity, existing without self-destruction, feeling grateful for the lifetime granted by the cosmos) can stagnate in an atmosphere of happiness, which is a mistake. In a world where everything advances and expands, to remain immobile is to regress. Consciousness is unlimited; its development is incessant and endless. It is, therefore, recommended that a healthy person fulfill some psychomagic acts once in a while.
The objects with which we surround ourselves influence our lives in positive or negative ways. The unconscious gives symbolic significance to things. In our mind these things take on a life-form and act like keys that open old trauma, making them spill out repressed pain or release healing forces. Followers of black magic have used this in a superstitious way to make sinister spells or talismans. Every belonging lying around our homes is accompanied by a memory and occupies a place in our minds, absorbing or giving energy. Useless objects without deep significance—gifts we kept out of obligation, remnants of the past, adornments to fill empty spaces, outdated documents, books we won’t read again—absorb our vital energy and our capacity to concentrate, binding us to periods of our lives that we have surpassed. We can call this “spiritual garbage.” So that the development of your consciousness occurs without these obstacles, I recommend:
The consultant gets some adhesive labels and divides them into two groups: one is Yes! The other is No! At midnight on a Sunday, the consultant examines his/her living space and everything in it (furniture, paintings, books, CDs, DVDs, papers, clothes, crockery, trinkets, collections, photographs, diplomas, sheets, and so on). As night passes and dawn comes, the consultant dedicates herself to sticking the labels on everything she sees: Yes! (something useful), No! (something useless). She may have a useful object that comes from a time in which she lived with another partner or which was inherited, without conscious thought, from a dead parent or is a gift tied to the incestuous knot. In these cases, she must also put No! on the object.
At the end of this work, having made the necessary formalities with the corresponding authorities to have this stuff removed, she piles up everything with the No! label and puts it on the street. It makes no difference the value of these useless things; she should not attempt to sell them. If she sells them, the money received and the new objects bought will continue attaching her to this toxic past.
Regarding the remaining useful or essential objects, the Yes! labels, the consultant should say, “Thank you!” She gathers together these labels afterward and makes a ball, puts it in the bottom of a pot, and covers it with dirt and a beautiful flowering plant.
There is a Chinese proverb that says, “In any discussion, the loser is the first to anger.” A Hindu legend tells how Buddha’s inner peace was so great that the arrows and stones thrown at him by his enemies fell over his body and turned into flowers. The world is what it is, more than what we believe it is: our attitude transforms it. If the consultant must attend a meeting at which he will face adverse opinions that may unleash his anger, I recommend:
For a few minutes before the meeting, the consultant puts some honey on his ears and gums and rubs it in. This will mix the aggressive words heard with some sweetness, and the harsh words that the consultant wishes to say will soften. Additionally, in order to remember at every moment to proceed in the discussion with measured steps, the consultant should, beforehand, perfume with lavender essential oil the soles of his shoes.
“To reach the truth, it is necessary to discard the beliefs they have issued to us and rebuild, from the ground up, all of the systems of our knowledge,” wrote Descartes. Although we live, to some degree, peaceful in this world of turmoil, if we want to develop the most of our spirit, we must free ourselves from ideas, beliefs, superstitions, and judgments that the family and society have taught us since childhood. We do not claim that all of these ideas are harmful: some of them can be true. However, as just as these ideas may be, they should not impose onto our consciousness any threatening dogmas. The ideas that they have forced onto us cause behaviors, feelings, and desires that, not being genuinely ours, limit the development of our consciousness.
The consultant should sit naked at a desk and write on a piece of paper all the ideas that she has of the world and of herself. She mixes together definitions, religious perceptions, orders, political opinions, commonplace truths: “I must do . . .,” “I must not do . . .,” “I think therefore I exist,” “If I am not good, I will go to hell,” “I have no musical talent,” “My mother is never wrong,” “Men are immoral,” “Ghosts exist,” “A virgin woman gave birth to a child-God,” and so forth.
Once the consultant has exhausted the number of ideas and beliefs, she will burn these handwritten pages, then dissolve the ashes in condensed milk (an element of infancy and sticky). She must smear this paste on her head and face. The consultant remains seated this way with a fan blowing on her for a half hour. Then the consultant takes a shower, soaping and rinsing the head seven times in a row. The consultant will then go out for an hour wearing a new cap or hat, even though she is not used to wearing such garments. The consultant will then give this hat to a child.
Many individuals have not found a goal toward which to direct their lives; they need to fill up their time. Thinking they are our best friends, they furnish the emptiness of their daily lives with us. They waste a lot of our time with their gossiping, comments on the news, praising themselves, complaining, inviting us to lunch or for drinks, but they are never able to be interested in who we are or what we deeply feel. They use us like mirrors of their own superficiality. Friendship is to create something positive together: not to kill the other’s time. For the consultant who feels socially trapped in this kind of relationship, I recommend:
On a photograph of one of these “friends,” the consultant tapes a strip of black plastic to his or her mouth then puts this photograph face down in the refrigerator. The consultant’s unconscious will understand the message, and little by little the consultant will see that, without a big effort, this relationship will go cold.
When Goddess the Mother was ousted from human culture and the reign of God the Father began, it changed the meaning of basic symbols. The female sun was turned into the male sun and the male moon was turned into the female moon. Before, the sky was female and Earth was male. Today, at the base of our unconsciousness, each time we think of the sky or air, we see the father. And, each time we think of Earth or water, we see the mother.
Some sensitive women who feel oppressed in our world, essentially favoring male values, sometimes have problems breathing: they struggle to breathe in air. Unconsciously, it seems dangerous to let air in the lungs because it, as a symbol of the father, the male, can, from inside the woman’s body, invade and enslave them. How are they to fight against a power established since they had use of reason? In order to breathe better, with happiness and trust, I advise the women who suffer from this symptom to carry out the following meditation:
The consultant lies on her back and bends her knees, placing her heels very close to her buttocks. She opens the knees as wide as possible and tries to breathe deeply, concentrating at the same time on the nose and the vagina. Using her imagination, the consultant should imagine herself inhaling and exhaling at the same time through both her nose and her vagina.
Little by little, she should let the sensation drop from the nose to the vagina as she imagines that she is breathing exclusively through her vagina.
This exercise will give the woman confidence in herself. She will feel proprietress of air, and she will be able to face men without any fear of being invaded or humiliated.
We mustn’t confuse things with the words used to name them. The North American psychologist and linguist of Polish origin, Alfred Korzybsky (1879–1950), creator of general semantics and non-Aristotelian logic, said, “The word dog does not bite,” and “The map is not the land.” Words, not being reality but rather a mirror tied to them, should not be confused with truth, which is ineffable and, for its infinite complexity, inconceivable. Names, definitions, and maps are only approximate guides. This disability—caused by articulate speech—has a way of being an exact reproduction of life in a conscious or unconscious way: affecting us and sowing doubts and anxieties. Everyone to some extent realizes that the truth is relative and that what is real is hidden under countless labels. In some way, we are all bitten by the word dog, and we all live on maps, never on true lands. The television and other media, in the hands of economic and political interests, doctor their presentation of events. It is one thing to look for the impossible truth, another thing to seek authenticity. The only way to find authenticity is to awaken the essential beauty in ourselves. The medieval alchemists called beauty “the splendor of truth.” The majority of illnesses that inflict us come from a lack of consciousness. There is no difference between consciousness and beauty.
To survive in a world that voluntarily keeps its citizens in a state of infancy, it is necessary to introduce beauty into our language, which will affect our feelings, desires, and daily actions. The best method for this is the practice of poetry. This has nothing to do with publishing books or aspiring for applause or prizes, but it has everything to do with writing in secret.
The consultant, for one year, writes a short poem every night. To accomplish this, you must get in the habit of lighting incense (always with the same aroma), listening to inspiring music (always the same music), using the same notebook and the same pencil, and perfuming the soles of the feet and the palms of the hands with the same essence. Nude and alone (without animal or human), the consultant encloses himself in a room, turns off the light, illuminates the page with a beeswax candle, and, imagining that the very last moment of his life has arrived, the consultant writes the most sublime feelings.
In China, long before Buddhism, the citizens were accustomed to writing a poem before the moment of death. In the fifth century, someone sentenced to death wrote:
when the naked blade nears my head
it will be like decapitating a spring breeze
A monk who died in the year 568, before dying, wrote:
Lightning’s light lasts not long.
Learning each night to die gently revives us the following day to bring beauty into our lives.
When we achieve a spiritual equilibrium and have overcome our suffering, we fall into the suffering of others. More than ever, we see the pain of others, the fleetingness of life. We lucidly know that everything we begin ends. This makes us want to comfort all of humanity, which, given its magnitude, is an impossible ideal. However, it is possible to carry out small, comforting gestures. There is a Zen proverb that says: “When a flower opens, it is spring all over the world.”
By using minimal amounts of medicine dissolved in a lot of water, healing is accomplished in homeopathy. I recommend:
The altruistic consultant, each time she sees a person (known or unknown) burdened by problems or, conversely, bragging about something, gives the person a small card, upon which the following sentence is printed:
This too shall pass.
According to Freud, happiness consists of fulfilling childhood dreams. Children often say, “When I grow up, I will be this or that. I will do this or that.” These plans remain registered in the unconscious and harass us all of our lives, transformed into desires to do something extraordinary and impossible. Immersed in the mass of citizens, we yearn to be different, to be someone other than the adult we have become. I recommend:
The consultant prints business cards with his name on it and a made-up job title that translates to a childhood ideal. The Chilean poet Vicente Huidobro (1893–1948) called himself: “Anti-Poet and Magician.” Following this advice, a psychotherapist described himself as “Shadow Cleaner.” Other consultants, as their official, imaginary job titles, have claimed to be “Professor of Invisibility,” “Rock Hypnotist,” “Moral Lifter,” “Dreams Diver,” “Bonsai Liberator,” “Falling Upward Apprentice.”
The mysterious occultist Count Alessandro di Cagliostro (1743–1795) was very successful in the court of Louis XVI. He boasted about, among many other things, an ability to make gold, thicken pearls, and increase the size of diamonds. He also boasted about knowing of an elixir used to lengthen a lifetime and resuscitate the dead. He declared that he had spent more than 3,400 years on this planet. To defend himself against accusations that he was a liar, a charlatan, and a hypnotist, he wrote these words, which reveal his high level of consciousness:
I am not from any era. I am not from anywhere. Outside of time and space, my spiritual being lives an eternal existence. If I sink into my thoughts, tracing the course of ages, if my spirit tends toward a mode of existence away from that which you perceive, I will become what I desire. Don’t worry about my nationality, my rank, or my religion.
Something similar is said in the Bible with regard to the high priest, the king of Salem, Melchizedek. A motherless, fatherless king of peace, a king with no genealogy, is described in Hebrews 7:2–3: “King of Salem, which is, king of peace; without father, without mother, without descent, having neither beginning of days nor end of life; but made unto the Son of God.”
In some way, Cagliostro and Melchizedek show the road to disidentification from the personal “I.” The brain, probably the most complex object in the universe, contains thousands of millions of neurons equipped with a core that functions as a miniature receiver-transmitter apparatus. These cells unite with others, creating circuits that transmit information. A network is gradually woven in contact with our relatives and acquaintances and gives us knowledge. We inherit experiences. However, these experiences, being limited, produce a mental world that covers very few connections: a prison from which we can hardly escape. A baby is born with the ability to speak every language in existence. In the cradle, they make the child into a monolingual being, imprisoning the child in a web of less than one hundred neurons. However, the mysterious energy that circulates through the hundreds of thousands of millions of other neurons intends to create, in our brains, a structure formed by the totality of its cells, the magnificent mind of future man; this is how it tries to connect all consciousness inhabiting the planet. This consciousness, through successive mutations, makes us its instrument of action confronting the familial-social-cultural will, which, in the majority of cases, through the accumulation of inherited ideas, feeling, desires, and needs, opposes the spiritual project and submerges us into low levels of consciousness.
The French theosophist Louis Claude de Saint-Martin (1743–1803) wrote,
It came to pass, Mighty God, when you ordered light to shine on human beings, the rule of life was in inertia. Light fell upon them but they did not feel it, they were like children sleeping in broad daylight.
In the mother’s belly, the fetus already receives orders to imitate the model bequeathed by its ancestors. The family does not accept pure and simple creation as something coming from “nothing” with no exterior model. Instead they limit their children, forcing them to submerge themselves in plans, in slogans (“You will be this or that,” “You remind me of such and so,” “Obey and propagate our ideas and beliefs”). The main obstacle that we must master in order to go to a higher level of consciousness is the personal “I,” an illusion created by the family, society, culture. The authentic essential self fights with this “I” like the angel fought with Jacob (Genesis 32:24–28). From this fight, if left “to dislocate” or lose some of its boundaries, the personal “I” emerges transfigured, free of plans, destiny, projections, or repetitions. Expelling parasitic ideas from the mind, the genius is illuminated; eliminating discrimination, the saint finds emotional peace; mastering the fear of dying, the hero is fulfilled; indulging in strict discipline, the champion wins. When one no longer imitates one’s parents and ancestors, recognizing divine consciousness in the mind, emotions and desires, organs and viscera, and living as Cagliostro lived, in eternity and infinity, nothing is mechanical, nothing automatic. Unchanging ideas do not drive this human who is able to stop the internal dialogue, to see each success with the candor and surprise of a child, to open her heart to let sublime feelings bloom, to blow away the ashes of all traditions with quickening breath. The body, impregnated with the soul, after a luminous life, returns the energy it was lent back to the cosmos; the impersonal essence survives individual death.
A “normal” person (someone who lives in accordance with the limitations of the era, as happens with most people) will have enormous difficulties in freeing himself from that which he believes is his individuality. It is possible that some kind of failure, a serious illness, political disillusionment, financial ruin, or the loss of a loved one will submerge the individual in intense suffering in which the personal “I” seems like a mirror broken into a thousand pieces, and so everything loses its meaning; what was thought vanishes. He faces, very reluctantly, the dilemma of death or of rebuilding himself. Various sects re-create this critical state for their followers: some Masonic lodges require the suitor be enclosed in a coffin that contains a sprig of acacia (symbol of eternity), symbolizing death: death to what has been. After some time, when he has come out of the coffin, the individual will be reborn, turned into a new being.
The personal “I” with which we identify has beliefs, intentions, desires, and so forth that imitate those of the family and society but that are not truly authentic: we continuously see the world through the eyes of others. Cagliostro, appearing under this pseudonym, did not identify with a name or a last name nor with an age nor with a sexual definition (he doesn’t declare he is a “man” but rather a “being”) nor with a religious or political belief nor with a fixed career. It was impossible to define him. The people of that era called him magician. The truth is, from one day to the next, we cannot achieve this state of freedom, but we can start becoming aware of our boundaries. To do this, it is necessary to see from a different point of view, different from “normal.”
Above all, if one wishes to bring about a change in the brain, one must develop one’s attention span: in reality, we don’t completely see, hear, or feel what we perceive internally or externally. The personal “I” acts like deforming glasses: the world it lets us see is, to a large degree, the world they taught us was the world. Below, to evolve our attention spans so that we gradually (but surely) cut ties with the impoverished definitions we have of ourselves, I recommend various psychomagic exercises and acts:
The consultant draws, on a wall in the house, a black circle the size of a quarter. (It is necessary that this be on a wall and not on a chalkboard or something similar. Symbolically, the house—not a piece of furniture—is the mirror of the whole of the personal “I.”) In the middle of this circle, there will be a nearly indiscernible white dot. Every day, as early as possible, the consultant will sit immobile in front of this circle for fifteen minutes, looking at it fixedly and trying to resist allowing any word into the mind. Little by little, if the consultant diligently concentrates, he will see the white dot more and more clearly. When silence is made in the consultant’s mind, and the white dot looks big, the consultant will have taken a big step toward becoming his essential being. Each morning, after this short meditation, the consultant goes out for a walk around the block three times, concentrating on an ambulatory prayer, mentally repeating sentences divided into three parts, and each part corresponding to one of the consultant’s steps: “I—am—of—you. I—trust—in—you. You—are—my—wellness.”
After fulfilling this exercise for a reasonable time frame, the consultant (in order to initiate disidentification), one Friday upon waking up, puts on a mask made with a photograph of his own face and hangs a poster from the neck through which the consultant renounces his name: “I am not Johnny LeValley.” Dressed this way, the consultant goes to as many places he frequents as possible—bar, coffee shop, restaurant, bookstore, commercial center, cinema, house of relatives or friends, and so forth—to walk and to observe himself. At 6 p.m., the consultant shuts himself in the house, puts the mask and the poster in a set place, undresses, closes the windows and curtains, disconnects the telephone, turns off the television and computer, and stays there, doing nothing and not listening to music or TV or the radio, completely incommunicable to the outside world. The consultant must not clean or repair anything or rearrange the furniture. It is also prohibited to speak aloud to himself; the consultant must maintain a strict silence. He will eat very little and only raw food: nothing heated up, cooked, or sugary. The consultant will not drink coffee, tea, colas, or liquor or do drugs. This way, without any activity, the consultant will be obligated to see himself.
The consultant lies down to go to sleep at noon, and with the help of an alarm clock, he gets up at 4 a.m. to have breakfast: an infusion and a fruit. This deep experience (facing alone one’s limited, personal “I”) should end on Monday at 6 p.m.
The morning after, dressed in new clothes, the consultant goes out to the places he visited while carrying the poster and wearing the mask, walking and observing himself until 7 p.m., when he returns home and burns the poster and the mask. The consultant gathers the ashes in an envelope, which he carries in the left inside pocket of his jacket each time he has an important meeting.
To continue defeating his identification with the personal “I,” the consultant decides (preferably once per week: for a man, on Tuesday; a woman, Friday) not to pronounce the word I. He will carry a fountain pen with red ink in a pocket, and every time the consultant says “I,” he will trace a red line on his face.
If the consultant is a very well-known, important person, in order to overcome the danger of taking everything too seriously, once every three months, the consultant should dress like a clown, sit in a public place, and, with a plastic frog or toad, flatter all the small children who get close, telling the boys, “This frog is an enchanted princess,” or the girls, “This frog is an enchanted prince.”
BECOMING AN ADULT
It is written in the Bible in Genesis 2:24: “Therefore a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and they shall become one flesh.” In the Gospel of Matthew 10:37: “He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me: and he that loveth son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me.”
The psychological significance of these sentences makes reference to the need to take the plunge that will carry us from childhood to adulthood. The esoteric philosopher G. I. Gurdjieff affirmed that human beings are not born with a whole soul but rather with a seed of the soul for which they must care and which must grow throughout their lives. This requires hard, spiritual work. He said, “Whomever does not carry out this work lives like a pig and dies like a dog.”
Birth, with a sublime but foreign element embedded in our bodies, like an olive in a martini, is difficult for us to accept. It seems less spooky to think that we were born with a small consciousness we must develop—increasingly demolishing its boundaries, until it and reality have an identical expanse. Leaving out the pigs and dogs, it is better to say: “Whoever doesn’t do this work will live childishly and will die unfulfilled.”
This is precisely the purpose of psychomagic: remove the consultant from the psychological prison into which the family has shoved her so that, in this way, she will not repeat the ills that limit her predecessors. This is extremely difficult work because the defects that have been bequeathed to us constitute our “individuality,” our personal ego, which we confuse with our essential being. This individuality is basically made out of an infantile point of view toward ourselves and toward the exterior world, an infantilism that persists into old age by the rigid custom of calling our parents, not by their first names, but by the words mama and dada. The majority of mothers plant these sounds in their children when they give them an order or advice. They never say, “I command you” or “I advise you” but “Mama says” or “Dada says.” It is normal for young ones, until the onset of puberty, to have need for powerful archetypes for which it is absolutely necessary to call their parents “Mama” and “Dada.” If this didn’t occur, they would feel incomplete, without protection. But, at the age of thirteen (the age at which primitive tribes subject the children to rites of passage through which they shed their progenitors in order to then turn into adults), this way of being led by the parents should be abandoned. If it doesn’t stop, the individual will never feel like an adult. Psychomagic proposes the following ceremony for the consultant:
On the child’s thirteenth birthday, she will be celebrated at a family reunion at which the mother will offer a rectangle of marzipan on which the word mama is written in sugar and the father will offer the same thing with the word dada written on it in sugar. The child should eat it, then the parents will tell her, “You have entered into our world of adults. From now on, without losing respect, you should try to treat us not like gigantic symbols but like beings similar to you. You should call us by our names.” Then the mother will give the child a nice gift and ask the child to thank her, using the new method, saying: “Thank you, [the mother’s first name].” The father gives the child another gift and makes the same request, and the child agrees, saying: “Thank you, [the father’s first name].” The parents will reply, “From now on, if you call us ‘Mama’ or ‘Dada,’ we won’t answer you. If you call us by our first names, we will be entirely at your disposal.”
If it is an adult who wants to free himself from these two, infantilizing words, deeply embedded in the mind:
The consultant will write “mama” and “dada” on a rock that weighs at least three pounds and go down a dirt road (if possible) a little way out of town. He will move forward by throwing the rock as far in front of him as possible, then picking it up and taking three steps and throwing it again as far as possible. This should be continued for three miles. Then he buries the rock after covering it with honey.