For the “Path to Light” series, Michael McIntyre conducts an interview for the Community Communique with a speaker who wishes to remain anonymous. This interview was conducted in February of 2014. You are reading Part 3 of 3.
< PART 3 >
MM: All right. Thanks. So what happened next? You’re right, I’m not very good at this.
XX: I’ll interview you next time.
Yeah, we’ll call it the “Sominex Chronicles”!
Ha, ha. I’ll just take the ball and run with it. At one point Kindche started throwing all these books at me; most of it was Oriental and Eastern stuff. At one time he had lent me five or six different books on different types of yoga: hatha, kundalini, bhakti, raja, and the Gita. He would ask me what I thought and then make little remarks to steer me. Most of the time he would simply call things to your attention or inquire if you had noticed this or that. It was all on a very friendly basis. It wasn’t “teacher/student”; he was quite unassuming, inconspicuous to most people. Often he just observed and would make these short “hum” sounds, knowing if he spoke it would require too much or go over people’s heads anyway. Give you an example: One day I asked him, “So you’ve introduced me to all these different types of yogas; what kind of yoga do you practice?”
“You wouldn’t know what it is.”
“Well, I understand all this other stuff. I employ it. I do have some understanding.”
“Yeah, so what? You still wouldn’t understand.”
“Come on Kindche, I mean . . .
“All right. It’s kriya yoga.”
“What’s that?”
“See, I told you you wouldn’t understand and you won’t find any books on it anywhere. And you won’t find anyone that’ll show it to you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I already told you, you wouldn’t understand.”
Ok, so here’s the set up. Just follow me here. Kindche had an alarm clock in his bedroom hooked up to an optical sensor. It woke him up at first light, before sunrise, everyday. Once he remarked, as we were traveling on the highway, “I don’t know why people flicker their brights so other drivers will dim their lights. I mean, I can stare into the landing lights of an airplane and read the wattage stamping.” I didn’t know at the time, but kriya means “light.” It wasn’t until shortly after I joined the Community [that] I put this all together, and it struck me: Kindche was solar. And he never let anyone know; not even me, his closest friend. Looking back, he was obviously under some vow. He was also very keen to only give people what they could handle.
Come to think of it, he lessoned me on this vow thing once—only once. We were putting something together—can’t remember what, but I remember the words quite clearly. I asked him this question: “Why is it I never hear you talking with other people about consciousness and other esoteric things that you and I discuss?”
“What!! Look around you! Pollution in the sky. Pollution in the water. Garbage all over the place. Christ, even public schools pollute kids with nonsense. And so, what? You want me to open the doors to these other worlds so people can pollute that, too? Geez, I thought you were smarter than that.”
That was probably the only time I ever saw him the slightest bit upset. He was so far ahead of the game in any situation [that] nothing surprised him. At seventeen, still in high school, he had a six-bay auto shop in an affluent area, repairing only imports like Mazarati, Mercedes. The bays were almost always full. During the five years we knew each other a lot of things happened.
He calls up one afternoon, “Come on XX, you’ve got to meet this fellow. It isn’t often you run into people like this.” We get to this place, 30 miles out of town, tucked away in a mountain town that is littered with evergreens and these really obscure rock formations. There’s a really famous pie shop there. And we are waiting in this fellow’s living room, waiting for him to come out, for an hour and half.
“Kindche, we’ve been waiting over an hour! Is this guy even here?”
“He’s here. Just be patient. He’s going to see us.”
Finally, this tall blond fellow shows himself in the room, and he is just glowing. You could see this bubble around him. And his face . . . I’ve never since seen a face that was so brilliant. This guy was a goliath, floating on air. We spent ten minutes with him. He was very pleasant but didn’t have much to say. After making our way back to the car, Kindche, in his typical fashion, gives a big smile and says, “So what did you think?”
“The guy is incredible.”
“Yes he is! You know why? Because he spends ten to twelve hours a day alone in a room meditating. And you know what? Anybody can hide themselves away on some mountaintop, do what he is doing, and get to the state he is in. Anybody can do that. But try doing that in the muck and sludge where everybody else is: That takes balls, spiritual fortitude.”
Those are the kinds of episodes you would have with Kindche if he endeared you.
So what happened next? You joined the Community?
Not for another five or six years, which was sort of like an incubation period. A year before joining the Community there were a series of, uh, lets say “ultra dimensional experiences.” These were not just imaginations. I’m not going to go into details, but here’s an example: I wake up one morning after one of these episodes from the night before and for some reason had a curiosity to look at my hands. What comes next really surprised me and has not happened since. My palms were riddled with new markings—over twenty [of them].
Triangles the size of nickles, an angelfish, several stars, rings, and sprouts at the end of lines like branches of a tree. These were all very distinct and new; all etched overnight, a result that coincided with the episode from the previous evening. You can still see them today. After that incident, I was actively looking around for a group of people that could understand these sorts of things, and about six months later there was an invitation to visit Saturday Chapel.
What was that like? What were your impressions?
I was blown away! Just after arriving there, this fellow about 5’ 6” walks up to me and says, “Hi, I’m Gene Savoy.” We’re chatting, looking each other straight in the eyes, but I can’t see his eyes. There’s no iris, no pupil, no white, nothing; and this went on for several minutes. “How does this guy do this? You can’t see his eyes. What’s going on here? What is he doing?” Never had I seen this (or not seen this) before. Later I figured out that if you dart your eyes around real quickly, at close range others cannot see your “eyes.” He was reading me. Anyway, a few other polite introductions, and we filed in for Chapel.
Things start up, and the music floored me! I was the lead singer in a rock band for about a year and half as a teenager, did all the transcriptions for the band, and knew a little bit about music. This stuff this guy was playing on this keyboard or synthesizer, this was good stuff. All the while Gene Savoy, the guy with no eyes, is up there reading what sounded like gnostic writings, and I loved that kind of thing. The whole thing was very captivating and comfortable. It felt like home. A few weeks later they gave me a written test, which I barely passed, but they took me in anyway. I was a good dresser!
So that’s how you got here!
Yes. But that’s just the beginning of the story. The rest is much more interesting.
