Reflecting, I see that I have spent most of my life ln Bardol/Meditative states and in practicing Sadhanas--conscientiously and assiduously, but usually unaware of the their formal, Yogic significance

I began life, as I have said elsewhere, aware, not of myself as such, but of my parents' need to conceive me, as is natural in the Sidpa Bardo, or Bardo of (re)Birth.  As a conscious being, drawn to the erotic energy of these two, slightly hysterical but very pretty and quite nice young people that my parents were, I first flooded the room with blue/white light (visible perhaps only to the Inner Sight), then hovered above my them like a a star (and not unlike Tinkerbell), and at the height of their orgasm descended into my mother's womb, I was conscious of bringing them peace and  joy, and of allaying their fears (and indeed, in the late afternoon of December 7th, 1941, "a date that will live in infamy," they were sore afraid)--and I was strangely, matter-of-factly aware at the same time both of their fears and of their material circumstances, and knew that I would be born, nurtured and cared for in my first years in the midst of great ease and abundance.  Two and a half decades later, in a dark room in an abandoned house,  one summer evening in Portland, Oregon, in the arms of an ecdysiast whose professional name, funnily enough, was Barbara Buxom, I observed and experienced a similar descent into my partner's womb of a blue/white, star-like, male entity, who--had his fetus not been aborted a few weeks after--would have been my son.

I do distinctly recall, as well, from my first experience (knowledge?  seeing?) of the Sida Bardo that I felt no hatred or aversion for my father, as is said to be customary for reincarnating male entities, but rather an amused, playful sort of pity for both him and my mother--such as one feels for children  whose fears one knows to be exaggerated.  Of course, many parts of the world on the eve of my conception were absolute hell--and in fact, throughout my earliest childhood, I recall a recurring vision, not exactly a nightmare, but more like a disquieting peripheral awareness, of people--just people, men, women and children--being thrown into a burning pit, which (though I knew it not) corresponded with the contemporary reality of Eastern Europe and the South Pacific under the Axis Powers in the 1940's.  But for us favored children growing up on wheat ranches in the endlessly fertile, utterly peaceful rolling hills of the Palouse, the 1940's brought a life of abundance probably unequalled in the history of the world.  We were rich without knowing we were rich, and we took our prosperity for granted, thinking that we had earned it--or that our grandfathers had.