Sander Roscoe Wolff

Just By Inches
by Sander R. Wolff
(inspired by P.K. Dick’s Valis)

Whispered in the passage of time:
Secrets of the ancients.
No dust has settled still.

The stone that could have saved me
rolled away in days.
So far we could have risen
had not we been so low,
but I was there to witness
what now are faded memories:
The lance that could have healed me
missed us just by inches.

I say to you this is no dream,
that things are not the way they seem,
that though in agony you scream,
the waiting now has ended.

The satellite is out tonight.
It moves so very quickly.
It sends a light that talks to me:
I’m blinded.

The coding of the matrices
unwinding through the sea of time
makes clear its meaning, shows to me:
Vision comes and visions rise.
That which I had sought to know
brings joyless crushing weight bear down.
I run in dread and wish I fled
the agony of knowing.

Its knowledge now or madness.

Road-Apple
by Sander Roscoe Wolff

its so silly to think what you’re doing when you’re just spinning your wheels and life whizzes by and you feel like a road-apple on the hiway of life but you pull yourself up by your bootstraps and carry on and on ’till your back is crunching like snow under foot and a searing red heat runs like lava down both legs and you stop to rest just for a moment and life whizzes by and you feel like a road-apple on the hiway of life but you rise up with strong will and sprint for a while until you realize there ain’t no end to the pavement so you could run and sprint ’till the cows come home and you’d be no closer to the end of it all so you stop and take stock to re-evaluate your goals and life whizzes by and you feel like a road-apple on the hiway of life and you laugh and laugh ’cause you’ve seen it all before and you don’t care if you’re a road-apple or a sprinter or a wise man or a fool ’cause there’s nothing funnier in the whole universe than a man who thinks he knows what the hell is really going on and then all of a sudden life stops right where you’re standing and offers you a ride to the next town so you hop in and lean back and you’re speeding toward your destination and riding in the lap of luxury ’till you realize the road is gone and the driver is missing and you’re moving so fast that

I volunteered to do some sound design work for a fledgling theater group’s 2nd annual 6 play festival. One of the plays took place in Heaven, Earth, and Hell. I created a soundscape for Heaven using trombone and voice, and one for

using audio from a live performance by sound artists SMGSAP. The director decided not to use the tracks I produced, but I rather liked the piece I created, so I thought I’d share it here:

I’ve received quite a few mixed reactions from folks who have listened to it. Most find it pleasing, but decidedly unheavenly. That’s ok. It feels reverential, peaceful, and heavenly to me.

Please feel free to leave comments.

Author, Playwright and Mystic
Talks about the Nature of Reality

by Sander R Wolff
The Union
Published 12/10/90

He’s written countless books, both fiction and nonfiction. Personal change, quantum physics, mysticism, conspiracy and James Joyce are reoccurring themes in many of his works. Robert Anton Wilson, armed with humor, soft-spoken enthusiasm and a keen mind, has carved out a place in literature that really didn’t exist before. His fiction doesn’t fit easily into any category.

Wilson’s first historical novel, Masks of the Illuminati, is set In England in the late 1800’s. It’s the tale of Sir John Babcock who demonstrates that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. By claiming to have an understanding of the occult information coded into Clouds Without Water, a privately printed book of sonnets, he unknowingly enters into an initiation process.

“Initiation is always the attempt, sometimes more successful sometimes less, but always an attempt to create a new Imprint,” Wilson said. “Primitive initiations, by and large, are more effective than the ones in the modern world because so-called primitives are willing to go a little bit further with those things. If you read up on the initiation rites of African tribes or native American tribes you’ll see the attempt is to create a powerful shock that will create a new imprint, to create the same chemical releasers in the brain that a near-death experience would create.”

In Masks, Babcock believes he is being initiated into a Grand Lodge of Free and Accepted Masons, an ancient fraternal organization. Little does he know that he’s being manipulated by The Beast, Master Therion, 666, the drug-crazed sex fiend Aleister Crowley. Wilson has studied Crowley’s work in depth and had a few observations.

“There are essays and letters by Aleister Crowley that make it quite clear that he was trying to come up with a technique of initiation that would be a lot stronger than what Freemasons were currently using, and one of the things that Crowley wrote about was [that] it’s hard, in the modern world, because the candidate is pretty clear in his head that you’re not going to murder him, whereas in primitive conditions they think, ‘Jesus, maybe they are going to kill me. ’”

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by Sander Roscoe Wolff
12:00 AM 01-10-03

This day began like any other:
Woke up to the blade and lather,
Burned a stick, and drank a cup,
And drove me to my nine to fiver.

In this endless dance, I wondered
“Can I feel a deeper meaning?
Can I have an understanding
Far beyond these things I know?”

Still, the ritual continued,
Daily till the years drew closer,
Closer than the scent of lovers
Lingering on dampened pillows.

Closer, till the air around me
Did not fit my tired body.
Closer, so my skin cried out
For any kind of brief respite.

Then, I saw with eyes unbounded,
Past these passing moments spinning
Something I cannot describe
In words that pass as fragile flame.

In this moment, knowing only
That my life was spread before me,
Still, for once, no doubt or question.
Not an answer but this: _____.

Knowing, as I did, that instant
Spreading out to fill each void,
Echoes of my endless being
Endless in the briefest time.

Boundless, now, unbidden go.
Truth is not to seek, or know.
As above, it is below.

Now, this next day comes so quickly.
Do I rise to fall again?
Do I act to change these patterns
Or do I simply hold the course?

Do I act to change these patterns
Or do I simply hold my course?

This song, called

, was written a few years back when I was recording songs as birthday gifts for my friends. At a local farmer’s market, I found a small stone heart that was carved from some sort of crystal. It looked rather dull and gray until the sun hit it. When it was illuminated directly, it sparkled and shined, refracting the light from within. This became a lyrical metaphor for me, and sparked the song. My singing, especially at the beginning, is a bit ragged. The harmonies are all staggered and informal. This was all planned. The guitar solo is perhaps one of the best I’ve ever recorded, not for its technical skill, but because to me it is filled with feeling. As the solo progresses, the rest of the music fades away. To me, this was also a metaphor for being couragous in letting one’s heart shine… At the end, my vocal is softer, warmer, and more intimate…. Almost a whisper.

To me, this is a very special song. I don’t know if anyone else likes it much, as I understand that aspects of it can be challenging. Still, for me, I felt like I reached a place in the creation of it that was emotional and personally profound.

Having said that, I absolutely welcome and encourage any and all feedback and impressions you care to share, positive or negative.

Here are the lyrics:

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Forged
By Sander Roscoe Wolff
March 22, 2006 9:05 PM

Made inside this fire
Hammered, forged
Glowing from within
Beaten.

Coal and billows blows
Burning brightly
Nestled in the embers
So cold.

Any old iron
Melts into something new
What I was
Is gone.

When I allow myself to really see, not just with my eyes, but with my mind and heart, the world becomes so bright that I can no longer see. Everything becomes one, everything connected by the light. You and I disappear and become unity. This clarity, this perception, is rare and often painful because we cannot contain such beauty or truth, or sustain it for long. We see, we know, then return to this drab and mundane world, clinging to those moments of understanding. We feel their loss, ache for their return yet, even in their absence, we are sustained by them.

Create(!), a local instrumental electric free improv christian group, has been pushing the envelope for ages, both in performance and on record. Just when you think they can’t go anywhere, they reinvent themselves in some new and wonderful way. I received an email from them that announced a remix contest. They posted the individual tracks that, together, make Six Dreams Divided from their upcoming album, A Prospect of Freedom. Listen to the album version of

.

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I’ve been working on my 2nd painting for a while and finished it last weekend. I actually started it once but, due to some unfortunate events, that first version turned out badly. So, I started it again on a fresh canvas and am, overall, pleased with the result. I had a fairly clear idea of what elements I wanted, but creating them was a real process of discovery for me.

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