August 13, 1986
Day Three

Sunset. My vigil is at the head of Silver Canyon, looking across at the Sierras and down on Bishop 6000
feet below. Opaque clouds, obscuring the translucent evening sky, scud across the moon. The rain has
passed, but it will be a long and cold night. I have never felt more alone in my life. God, am I tired. I
don’t really feel like doing this, but it is getting dark and I need to make my death circle. I will spend the
night awake within the confines of this circle. I build the circle carefully, six feet in diameter, located to
take advantage of an abandoned sign post to sit against. All done, all set. I walk around the circle three
times in each direction, murmuring an old Paiute cry: Great Mother, have mercy on me. I am starving
and have nothing to eat. My soul picks up the chant and imbues it with heartfelt meaning. Slowly, like
an old, arthritic man, I climb into my bag and lean back against the post.

The hours crawl by. The clouds move out, and a half-moon brilliantly illuminates the Owens Valley.
Bishop’s lights look inviting and comforting from up here. A chill breeze presses against my face.
Watching, watching, watching. Points of reference and the boundaries of my world tonight: The lights of
Tom’s Place to the north, Bishop and Big Pine below me, the looming bulk of the Sierras twenty miles
ahead, and the ever-present stars above. I am fighting off recurrent waves of sleepiness, each one
stronger than the previous. By the tone of my breathing, I can tell that my body has gone to sleep. So
many shooting stars tonight. Will I make it? The night seems so long, drawn out into an eternity of
blackness. This is so stupid, so ridiculous to expect some sort of earth-shattering revelation when I’m
struggling just to stay awake. I sense this vigil will be a waste. Just too tired. The moon sets over Mt.
Tom. Another wave of sleepiness hits. Get up and exercise. Maybe that will help. One, two, three, one,
one, two, three, two…. I breathe deeply a few times and settle down again.

I wake with a start and sit upright. Slept for how long — one hour, maybe two? The Milky Way has
advanced across the sky, and the Big Dipper has disappeared. I am confused and disoriented. Wish I
had a watch, but I can’t leave the circle until morning. I’m more alert now. Must have been a deep sleep,
short as it was. I lie down, sit up, and lie down again. Anything to pass the time. Now I find that I can
stay awake lying down. Look at those stars — so many, so cold, harsh, remote. I close my eyes and drift
silently for a while. Prodding now, pushing to do it right. Sit up again. It’s too easy this way.
Reluctantly, I obey.

Is this what death is like? Endless blackness, no light, no hope? There is absolutely nothing to keep me
going now. No stimulation. No motivation. My energy has been completely expended. I have gone as
far as I can go. I can do nothing now but wait. I have traveled to the threshold, but silence mocks me
from beyond the door. It is painful to think about these things; it is painful to think about anything.
Thinking traps me in this endless march of time. I don’t want to be in time. I want to be free of these
constraints, free of this pain. I am ready to give it up. There is nothing left to lose. The only relief for me
now is to let go, let it all go, and simply be in this timeless present. I relinquish my hold on these
thoughts, and an immortal eye watches the ego disappear.

Eons have passed, and something is being born. Am I dreaming? Or is the sky really lighter? I turn
around and look east, but I can see no difference. Still, it does not seem as black. A few minutes pass. I
look east again; this time, a band of deep blue hems the eastern night sky. Hallelujah!! I sit bolt upright,
excited and alert. I watch the stars in the north as the sky slowly changes from black to deep blue. So
gently they shine now. And then — I hear their faint melodies, so inexorably pure and clear, blessing the
world and all in it. Under this benevolent atmosphere, how can there be any evil? The stars whisper to
the righteous and the base alike. The cool desert atmosphere envelops one and all, making no
distinctions, showing no favoritism. We are all heirs to the blessings of the universe.
And the dawn crept on. It speaks to me personally. It says, Have you no faith that the Spirit will do its
part? Must your whole life be spent in frantic aspiration, giving no chance for your efforts to fruit? You
have worked to prepare yourself well. But learn then to be still, listen, and watch with no anticipation.
Patience. And I will light your world.

The Sierras are distinct now, and the ground around my birth circle is clearly visible. The lights of Bishop
slowly wink off. The eastern horizon is white, then red. A surge of joy washes over me. An explosion of
color descends on the Sierra crest, and fiery granite peaks burst into daylight. The shadows of early
morning slowly creep across my ridgeline. I stand, stretch, pack my bag, and scatter the stones of my
circle. It is time for a stroll to the top. I want to greet the fiery life-giver that has revived my soul.
Death no more. The torch of life has been rekindled.

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When you have discovered the mountain, the first miracle that will appear is this. A most vehement and very great wind, that will shake the mountain and shatter the rocks to pieces. You shall be encountered also by lions and dragons and other terrible beasts, but fear not any of these things. Be resolute and take heed that you return not, for . . . after all these things and near the daybreak there shall be a great calm, and you shall see the Day-Star arise and the dawning will appear, and you shall perceive a great treasure. The chiefest thing in it, and the most perfect, is a certain exalted tincture, with which the world might be tinged and turned into most pure gold.

Eugenius Philalethes
Lumen de Lumine, 1651