"Panic and Vision" by Louis Gallo

Part 1: What happened

Unlike Thoreau who went to the woods to live “deliberately... to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived”—I went to the woods to heal myself of the ravages inflicted by a savage custody battle which, at the end, resulted in paralyzing panic attacks. I have described these attacks in another published work entitled “The Poetics of Panic.”

Traditional therapy and medication had failed, so I acquiesced to my friend Winston’s suggestion that I attempt what he called a “vision quest,” a shamanic healing technique which he, a student and professor of Native American history and culture, understood intimately. I had my doubts but was desperate for succor and relief—so I agreed to undergo the ancient ordeal.

Winston said I would have to "cry" for a vision, which meant pleading with "spirits" in the "other world" for advice. I found the idea rather ludicrous but held my tongue, for I planned to use the time alone for meditation and restoration. We talked about the general purpose of vision quests in native American tradition and certain rituals involved--I would, for example, have to tie about 400 sacs of tobacco onto long strands of twine the week before the quest. We did not discuss the nature of possible visions themselves, although I learned that traditionally one "sees" a native American spirit who, in effect, becomes a guide. I did not buy the native American business at all for I knew such a vision would be alien to my life. I know no living native Americans much less dead ones. Like I. B. Singer’s Gimpel the Fool, I nurtured the happy prospect that anything was possible.

One night I sat on my sofa in the back room equipped with a ball of natural twine, a package of tobacco, a scissors and four of my old shirts from which the pouches would be cut. Winston had instructed me to cut tiny swatches, drop in a pinch of tobacco as "offerings" to the spirits, then tie the swatches onto the twine.  The thought of so many pouches was disheartening but I went along with it. At first, I was all thumbs and could not get the blasted knots right, but by the time I had managed fifty or so packets, it became much easier. I also noticed that the mere mechanical motions of tying the pouches felt good. After a while, it became downright relaxing and induced a sense of genuine calm. I began to meditate over the pouches and dedicated as many as I could to people I loved, whether dead or alive. The ties themselves became occasions for reverence. When I finally finished I did indeed feel a sense of kinship with the homely string, punctuated by tobacco pouches, that I'd looped around a piece of wood to stop tangles. The purpose of this string, Winston explained, was to circumscribe a "sacred" area where the vision would occur as well as to ward off evil spirits.  No evil spirit would dare invade the sacred circle. Again, I took the notion of evil spirits with a grain of salt (tobacco?), but I reasoned that perhaps the energy I'd put into the string would drive out negative thoughts.

I am trying to account for what happened to me in the wilderness of Virginia one night in May, 1991, because try as I may, I cannot simply reason it away. Neither my past history nor any intellectual preparation I'd made for the occasion explains what I did in fact "see." But before I turn to the vision itself, let me say a little more about the rituals involved. The tradition calls for fasting one day before any quest. I admit I sneaked in a few crackers, maybe even a cookie, but in general I fasted, which for me is no big deal since I have never been much of an eater. Equipped with my tobacco pouches, and somewhat hungry, I drove out to Winston's house in Ironto, Virginia. He was ready to conduct a few more ceremonies when I arrived, said a prayer to the earth and lit some sage in a tortoise shell. He said the sage was for purification. We both waved its smoke onto our bodies. He lit a candle, which was left burning in the house, and we got into his truck and drove over to the land. I felt only slightly apprehensive and at this point looked forward to getting out into the bush. The woods near Ironto are peaceful and uncontaminated and the air is sweet to breathe.

We finally reached the gate to Winston's land, parked and began our trek to the site he had chosen, probably a mile or so up from the truck.  The site amounted to a plastic tarp draped atop some rods driven into the ground, a sleeping bag and nothing else. Winston strung the tobacco-pouched twine around some nearby trees and told me I should not move out of the circle he was creating; under no circumstances should I leave the site once the quest had begun. It was, I believe, early afternoon.

On a traditional vision quest one stays out in the woods for a maximum of three days, which I was fully prepared to do, especially since I knew Winston was intimate with the land and would be coming to check on me ever six or so hours. For the first few hours I enjoyed myself--the air was fragrant, the brook babbled gently, the sound of birds was resonant and soothing--, but I soon grew bored and restless and began to pace nervously within the inner confines of my circle. The ground became uncomfortable to sit upon. I wished I had never agreed to the ordeal. As my boredom intensified I began to sing songs and recite poetry I'd memorized--anything to pass the time. Then, as I thought about people I loved and my pet cat Toby who had been killed only weeks before, an intense wave of grief washed over me, leaving me somewhat numb. When it was over I felt as if I no longer existed, that I had somehow merged with the woods. Somewhere, dimly, in what was left of my rational mind, I realized I was no longer a separate entity from the trees, the land, the nearby brook, the insects and birds.

Fireflies soon started to appear by the millions. I didn't know how many hours had passed but twilight had come so it must have been around nine o'clock. I paced some more--I must have paced the circle a thousand times--, then peered into what looked like a gargoyle's face in the trunk of an old tree. Fancifully, I hoped it would open its eyes, and, out of boredom more than anything, I tried to talk to it. The gargoyle refused to talk. "So," I recall saying, "no answers, eh?" I turned from the tree and tried to catch a passing firefly. As it ascended into the air, as my own eyes turned upward, I blinked in disbelief and could only stare at the incredible sight before me. I am guessing here, but I'd say that after about five minutes of merely staring, I lapsed into another state of consciousness altogether, a heighted mode which made me feel as if I floated in air rather than stood on solid earth. I will never forget that state of mind, for I felt more alive, more electric and healthier than probably ever before in my life. There is really no way to describe the sensation except that it seemed to involve rapt communion with another level of being in which time had ceased to exist. I felt wonderful.

Later, so I would not forget any details, I drew a picture of the "vision" (actually, there were several), which I'll describe now. The first was spectacular but rather static; a massive old work of architecture, what I recognized at the time as some sort of Roman temple. I had studied Roman history and culture at Tulane and was familiar with architectural styles of the period. The architecture was definitely classical and appeared as extremely well-preserved--and vacant—ruins. Of course, I doubted my eyes when I first saw the building and turned my head several times to see if it would disappear when I gazed back. It had no intention of disappearing, and I finally accepted the bizarre fact that I was seeing what I was seeing. I estimate now that I peered at the building for about fifteen minutes before anything "happened." (I say fifteen minutes, but during the vision I experienced no time whatever. I seemed to be floating in eternity.) I noticed now the door or window on the extreme left-hand side of the lowest portion, or first floor, of the structure. Suddenly, in this otherwise blackened window there appeared a very animated little figure made of fire. It was ceaseless in its movement and appeared to be dancing. It also stared at me, although I could distinguish no facial features such as eyes. The shape was only vaguely human but four limbs could, with some effort, be distinguished. Basically, though, the figure was protean and could take any shape at all. After a while I sensed that it was smirking in a friendly way, that it had begun to beckon me, summon me, that its movements were gestures demanding my attention. I felt no fear whatever and stood beholding with, I believe, my lower jaw dropped.
 
This mutual exchange, which I now believe also lasted for about fifteen or twenty minutes, ended when the figure began to project toward me. The original figure remained in the doorway, dancing, but its projection zoomed forth and stood towering above me right outside the sacred string. This huge figure was black and entirely transparent and definitely of human shape. The moment was a bit chilling but in the altered state of consciousness I'd entered, I knew no fear. For some reason I thought the shadowy giant might have something to do with my father. "Dad?" I asked, and it seemed to respond, but I am unsure about this since I also got the feeling that perhaps it was a mirror image of myself. I even tried to see if it would move when I moved--and it did. After a while it returned to the window or doorway and seemed reabsorbed by the original fiery figure, which, by the way, seemed neither good nor evil but merely aloof, yet anxious to display itself.  The only "message" I could discern at the time was that it wanted to make itself known to me. 

Enter next phase (the cumulative vision was composed of definite, discrete phases, although none of the prior visions faded with the appearance of new ones): with architecture and fiery figure in the background, there suddenly appeared midway in the sky, in the foreground, a curiously puzzling image. I had trouble discerning exactly what it was and can only describe now how it looked. It was a structure that consisted of three separate units connected by seamless seams, in the way game boards are folded at the middle. It was as if three rectangles had been connected to make one much longer rectangle. Each rectangle featured what at the time I registered as "slat-work," that is, bands or slats ran across the rectangles at right angles, as school paper is ruled. The bands themselves were dark orange, or maybe amber, and the lines separating them were black. It was not static and seemed to be undulating or unfolding in a way that made one or other of the three major rectangles bulge toward me. The undulations led me to believe at the time that the structure was organic. Again, words do no justice.

At the time, of course, I did not bother trying to figure out what any of it meant. I stood transfixed and received whatever there was to receive, as it came, without judgment or fear. The slat work did not remain the focus of attention for as long as the architecture, and soon, off to the left but higher in the sky, appeared two undeniably human figures, a man and woman dressed in formal, courtly, aristocratic attire. Their costumes looked eighteenth-century. The two figures also wore grandiose wigs and appeared dressed for a royal ball of some kind, since they too, like the original fiery figure, were dancing. Their dance was, however, extremely formal, perhaps a minuet. They were very conscious of each other--and of me watching them. These dancers were much more playful than the first figure, contained somewhat sadly within its architectural prison; they would lean over and fart, gesture obscenely, make puckering expressions with their lips, laugh, trip over their feet as they pirouetted and so on. My main impression was great merriment and levity; they were having a delicious time breaking the rigid decorum of eighteenth-century formality. I probably gazed at these dancers for another twenty minutes or so.

I began to sense a gradual diminution of my heightened state as well as growing trepidation. I sat down under the tarp, even as the visions continued, and looked elsewhere about the woods, which were by this time utterly black. There was no moon to illuminate anything. Next I saw dozens of fiery figures, like the original shape, frolicking about the trees. They swarmed all over the place, dancing as usual, and I had the distinct feeling they were trying to tell me something--or to at least make their existence known to me. In a way they were like fireflies but much larger and more active. They were extraordinarily jubilant, with no touch of misery or remorse, and couldn't care less about the world I was in; it was dull, boring and passe and they wanted nothing to do with it. They were also feisty and mischievous, took nothing solemnly and enjoyed flitting about at their will. I watched these creatures, or spirits, cavort for quite a while. Then one of them took the form of my cat Toby and literally walked up to me and sniffed. This Toby, however, was made of a soft, satiny fire that would not burn. I remember calling out to him but he merely sniffed, turned around, walked away and disappeared. (Perhaps it is relevant that Toby was a stray cat Chloe had found on one of her few trips to Virginia after the divorce. She had been kind to him and he kept coming around and was pretty soon living with Fiona and me.) My last vision was of a series of concentric circles, again made of fire or light, contained within themselves as ripples in a pool. The outermost circles were massive and occupied most of the night sky. They signaled somehow the termination of the vision.

The rest of the story is far less lustrous. I began to feel enormously "heavy," that is, corporeal again, and somewhat desolate. Mostly, though, I was terrified and actually began to tremble. I huddled under the sleeping bag and dared not open my eyes again. I heard a number of wild animals passing, which was not at the time what I wanted to hear at all, and grew intensely cold and uncomfortable. I could not wait for Winston to return. I also felt somewhat threatened that if I ventured out of the sacred circle, I would be harmed.  So I waited for what seemed like forever and finally heard Winston call from a distance. When I saw the flashlight beam, I almost rejoiced. 

As we walked down the path to his truck--Winston wanted me to stay out longer and see more, but I refused--I sensed the woods were majestically alive, not with merely trees and animals, but indeed with spirits of some kind, thousands, perhaps millions of them. The heightened awareness returned a bit and I felt a diminished repetition of the original surge of elevation. I knew at that moment that nothing ever died, that there was another world far more festive and spectacular than this one. Winston claims he felt intense "energy" surrounding us on the walk back, and I felt it as well.   

 

I slept at Winston's house and drove home the next day. When I reached the city limits my town itself looked dreary and dull, dusty, unfriendly, unhealthy. People on sidewalks looked like the sidewalks, gray and inert; they seemed woeful and harried, rushed about their business, distracted, filled with anxiety and concern.  My first impulse was to turn around, drive back to the woods and commune again with whatever was out there, which seemed so much more alive and wondrous. But I was so exhausted I pulled into our driveway, walked into the house, trudged up the stairs and collapsed into bed. I slept the entire day.

You will recall, however, that the purpose of a vision quest is to receive answers to disturbing questions.  My one regret about the experience was that I had not been enlightened about my custody situation in any way. In fact, I had no idea what the visions meant. It seemed preposterous to behold such sublime but irrelevant sights. Almost immediately I embarked upon in-depth research into the history and meaning of symbols and archetypes, since surely the images I saw meant something, whether related to custody or not.  And surely, as visual images, they functioned on a symbolic/archetypal level rather than a rational, discursive and propositional level. I hardly knew where to begin and feasted upon any source I could get my hands on, which, it turns out, were not many--at first--beyond popular manuals on dream interpretation. I associated the visions with dream images because they too have symbolic and archetypal dimensions. My visions, however, were not dreams, for I was not asleep but standing on my two feet during their duration; nor were they daydreams since I rarely have daydreams--and if I do, they take the form of verbal meandering.

Part 2. What it meant