Chapter 3: A Quest to Find “the Devil’s Punch Bowl:” A Most Extraordinary Occurrence, & Journey’s End?

8/4/2019 Chapter 3: A Quest to Find the Devils Punch Bowl: A Most Extraordinary Occurrence, & Journeys End?

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Chapter 3: A Most Extraordinary Occurrence, & Journeys End?Paul Hampton Crockett From http://www.growingintothemystery.net/

FOR the number of you that are undoubtedly perched on the very edge of yourseats (or more likely, thinking, "What in theHellis he writing about, again?"),you need wait no more.

My quest was successful. I found it, at last!

But I get ahead of myself. Lets backtrack just a little. As I mentioned, somethinghad told me from the start that mine wasnt likely to be an ordinary sort ofjourney. Yet it began simply enough. I tied up my kayak on my adventure-mobile,and parked just over the first bridge to Key Biscayne, to put in.

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http://www.growingintothemystery.net/http://www.growingintothemystery.net/


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So there I am, making good time going nowhere in particular, when an unusualcraft glides across my path, utterly silent. I think, What the-- Isnt that an oldcypress dugout canoe? But its already late afternoon, and that brilliant slantinglight of the suns final hours kind of hits me right in the eyes. I squint hard, tearsform in my eyes, but I just cant quitemake it out. Whoeverit might be sailingalong in their exotic craft, they seem to be making excellent time.

I lay the paddle down on my lap for a moment, just to pause, listen to thereassuring light chop of the bays waters. I let myself drift a little, allowing theBay to lead me on, and just look around. Im feeling a littleodd, like something ishappening and I cant quite put my finger on it. I cant say exactly what Imlooking for as I search the horizon on all sides; I guess more than anything else I

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just want to reassure myself that I haven't wound up in some episode ofTheTwilight Zone I'd somehow missed, or something.

My quick scan of the area reassures me that I am indeed definitely still in the Bay,making headway in my little kayak. The backdrop is the Miami that (for better

and for worse) I have always known.

So I'm cruising along, and pass many a wondrous sight. It surely is a beautifulday to be alive.

Wow! I'd never seen Miami's silver bluff from this perspective!

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Then, all of a sudden, another strange sight captures my eye. I can hear the windhitting the sails, the rope and metal clanking rhythmically. It glides quiet, but Imstill close enough to hear it cutting water. A good-looking young guy on boardwaves friendly greeting. I fumble to wave back without losing my paddle.Hmmm,I find myself thinking, Do they still make ships like that any more?"I

had thought not, yet here it was.

I close my eyes and rub them, for just a moment. When next I look, all of threeseconds later, it isnt there at all! No ship, no boy. "Better talk with my doc aboutthose new meds," I add to my sprawling mental list of projects. "Probablypriority, that one!"

Just a couple minutes later, I have arrived. My journey is near its end. I spy the

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Devils Punch Bowl at last, exactly as described well over a century ago! A littlestrange, I think, because Ive gone directly past this very place before, even onfoot, looking for the punch bowl. Yet I'm too excited to waste any more timethinking about it. I'm here! The experience is documented, in a few photos andvideo, at these locations:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/61933210@N07/sets/72157626893888773/

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XYF5qtxRxzk&feature=mfu_in_order&list=UL

OR I should say,part ofmy experience is documented. O.K., here's where thingsget a little strange. Call it my imagination, if you will, but its exactly whathappened. I'm just sitting there silently for a while, to kind of take a minute, and Istart to feel this presence. I can't exactly describe it, but it's there. Most definitely.And it's old, and its bigger by far than any of us. It's not unfriendly, or anythinglike that. I do get the sense that this... whatever... is aware of me, but it's of awelcoming spirit. It knows I have come for a reason. In guess in thatsense, it'sone up on me.

Maybe a better word to throw at it, ispresences. I know this sounds crazy, believeme. What am I, nuts? Alan says Im a fool for even talking about it. And God blessol' Alan, he always means well; I mean he's really looking out for me, in his way.And in this case he's probably right, because theres no way I can really put all ofthis into words, even if I was in top form and not exhausted after hours ofwriting, and even if I gave it everything I had. I guess I love a good challenge.

Yet, to be clear, its not like Im asking you to believe me, or anything. I almostcertainly wouldn't myself, if the experience had not been 100%, lock, stock, andbarrel, 'mine.' Im just sharing what happened, maybe in case some other freakout there gets what Im trying to describe, and can then maybe explain it allback to me.

But I suddenlyknow that these "presences" have all been flesh and blood once,just like you and me. Some much, much longer ago than others, I knew thatmuch. There were so many different kinds, some I could maybe put a name to,and others--forget about it. But none of that mattered anymore. None of thedistinctions that they had gladly fought and died for, back when dyingmeantsomething to themmattered at all. Not in the least.

Sounds completely nuts, I know, but they showed me things. They were like, Weare all one, but it was so obvious even to me that I felt like saying, Hey! Give mesome credit here, already! To the heart of the matter: they had all known keenthirst and neededto drink; each had loved, and grieved, they'd held and tickledtheir grandchildren and taken up weapons to engage in bloody battle at suchtimes as the call had come. They had all enjoyed sweet interludes here, I meanhere at the punch bowl by the bay, and to each, in his or her way, the gift of the

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http://www.flickr.com/photos/61933210@N07/sets/72157626893888773/http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XYF5qtxRxzk&feature=mfu_in_order&list=ULhttp://www.flickr.com/photos/61933210@N07/sets/72157626893888773/http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XYF5qtxRxzk&feature=mfu_in_order&list=UL


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cool sweet water had felt like a great gift, an answer to the only prayer that hadthen seemed to matter.

In a sense, this extraordinary spot on the bay had been only a way station, true.Yet at the same time, it had also meant something to them much, much more.

They had all at last finally gone on to their rest. Thats right; they were dead. Butnot really. It hit me that, with only a small handful of exceptions, no one wouldever again remember their names.

What difference did it really make, now or ever, what clothes they had worn, orlanguage spoken, or what theyd believed about this or that? The punch bowl wasstill here (and by the way sure didnt look to me like it had gone dry, as assertedby Kleinberg and otherwise generally assumed). It was here, just as it always hadbeen, and that simple fact alone seemed some kind of sacred promise.

Looking directly down into the spring. On the bottom right is what appears to be a

step carved elegantly out of the rock, leading downwards.

I allow my mind to wander. It had been a little intense, so I get up to stretch alittle and just walk for a bit. Then I hear this sound behind me. Nothing allspooky or anything, just one of the many sorts of natural noise one will hear outin the woods by the bay. Maybe an unusually playful breeze hitting the forest

canopy, or the lurching creak of a huge tree-branch far above. Honestly, I don'texactly remember. I do remember wondering "Is that smoke, I'm smelling?"

So I just casually turn around, and am stopped suddenly short.

I am not alone!

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(Hey, I warnedyou things were going to get a bit..."unusual," right?) "They looksurprised to see me, too," I thought. Strange. My first thought. "What mustIlooklike to them?" I was not afraid; and I could see also that neither were they. I wasbeing extended an invitation, of sorts, and though I could not know much elseabout it, it had everything to do withLove. Where love is, fear shrinks away asshadow.

And these were family people. I could see that the grandmother, who was mostproper, had been having serious conversation with the little girl, and the men had

been gently tossing up and down the little ones, to make them laugh. For themoment, they all just kind of took an "out breath," to assess. I felt like saying"Hey, me too!, and laughing out loud, even if they'd think that I might be a ravinglunatic. Because it was looking to me pretty much like I alreadywas one, anyway!

Forgive me if I sound flip, but you must realize that I had entered a realm wherepart of me could not and would not let myself forget that I was walking a path inwhich the only real danger might arise from my trying to hang on to, or fighting,

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anything in particular. Any of that would just wear me out, and keep me fromsome greater experience that was being offered to me. "Only in Hollywood doesthe postman always ring twice,"I thought, nonsensically. "A moment comes,and then it's 'Goodbye, Charlie.' Moment gone."

"ShutUP

, Paul! For Christs sake!" I earnestly chided myself as I resolved tosilence my inner chatter and walk over and meet these people. The terrain waskind of funky, and the bay's mucky bottom had claimed one of my flip-flops forgood, so I looked down forjust a second, I swear, to check my footing beforetaking my first eager step. My heart pounded with the strangeness and thrill of itall, but I was so excited! I exhaled and strode forward in great anticipation.

And this I what I saw:

Oh, no!I blurted out. Where had they gone?What had I done wrong? Had Ioffended them somehow? Think what you will, I have to tell you what happenednext, anyway. I all but crumpled to the ground, just about fell right on my ass,weighted down with a sorrow beyond my understanding. I looked, and looked

again, and quietly gasped.

I pulled my knees to my chest, hung my head, and wept. I just cried and cried. Icouldn't stop. "They werejust here!I babbled incoherently, as if someone werethere to hear. Theywere.In that moment I realized that my entire life I hadlonged for some experience I could not name, that I felt might complete me.Maybe I had long since given up hope, for how could I even begin to voice unto

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any other this mysterious stirring so deep within my heart, when I knew it not,myself?

And yet: I knew that part of me had always awaited this very moment. As Ivesaid, it is all far beyond explanation. The best I might hope for is some

sympathetic echo within your own personal experience of the sacred. It isdifferent for everybody, I realize, and yet it is my faith that each individualsexperience is worth the sharing. We each hold a piece of the great puzzle, Ibelieve, and none of us can ever really know which unlikely encounter might bethe next to lead us to the one who is holding the key that might set us free, at last.We tend to move through our days feeling and acting as if are truly alone,weighted down with the unbearable knowledge that we would always bemisunderstood and held at bay, because we are the only ones. Yet we never are.

What I suddenly knew in that moment was that I had never wanted anyexperience more than to sit down and take a meal with the ancient innocentpeople. To experience and witness them, and they, me. I had always known that Ididn't really belong here, somehow.Not like everybody else.

Yet they were all gone now, every last one of them. Call it crazy, but I knew in thesearing pain of that moment that I was the last of my tribe. I had been somehowleft behind. And there was no one left to hear my cry, or ever to sing to me againany of the old songs as lullabies, by the still-warm glow of the dying camp-fire,under the vast open starry sky.

Although I knew that I have my people, who I love most deeply and am loved by,in return, the specter of ravenous AIDS arose in my awareness, and I realized thatthe more ancient pain that had knocked the very wind out of me, was not really sovery ancient, at all. I remembered the one I had most loved of anyone on Earth,and how hed one day just slipped through my arms. Id tried so hard to hold him,to keep him with me, but had failed. Like sand between my fingers. "And he wasjusthere." I saw the passing faces of the many, too many by far, that had beenlost to me too soon.

And then I saw the faces of my American brothers and sisters armed in militarygarb in hot desert places, or upon icy mountain passes, far away. They were lostand confused and scared out of their wits in foreign lands, because its a cruel

thing to subject a soldier to death or serious injury, without letting them in onwhat the mission is. They surely loved their country, but had never been given anhonest answer to the questions most fundamental to them: "Why are we here?"or "These people that we are killing; what did they do to us, again?"

I saw the faces of young Iraqi people, beautiful and fine, who loved their countryas we love ours. Although innocent of any crime, they were being made to pay a

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truly terrible price. And yet much more than two different "sides," I sawonepeople, bonded in inhuman anguish, suffering, and loss.

And there sat the punch bowl. A single white cloud floated serenely by, highabove.

"WHEN WILL IT STOP?" I cried out from my gut, as if someone were listening. Ifinally began to calm down inside, and my labored breathing slowed. I looked outupon a bay so serene, so beautiful and blue, it seemed emblematic of beauty itself,and promising of forever. I shall never forget the moment. And all I could feelwas:

nothing. And I wept.

At length, I knew that my time at this forgotten, sacred place in a world grown far

too profane, was done. It was only hard rock, on some fat cat's appropriated"private property," steamrolled (like everything else) away from the people bysufficient quantities of cash. And this friggin' hole in the ground? BIG DEAL! Iwas grateful that my grandparents, at least, had lived in less mean and cynicaland proprietary times. I was glad that they had enjoyed one another, and youngbeauty, and kissed here.

I willed myself to stand, and take the heavy steps back to my kayak, and return tothose waiting upon me for dinner. So I embarked, pushed out, and headed backout into the blue. Who really cared?

And for some reason, I allowed myself just one last glance backwards. I could notknow why. Here is what I saw.

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The boyknew me, though I could not remember him, at all. Even from a distance,I could feel the stillness and focus in his eyes of deep brown. He understood. Heactuallyunderstood! He certainly knew sorrow, even desolation, yet somehowradiated quiet compassion. He needed no words to speak, yet here is what he saidto me:

Remember: we meet again.Always. I could no longer speak his language, so hebravely persevered in the one now mine. Without hesitation.

Same spirit, always. For all, together. Everybody.Everybody." "Do what youmust do, for now. Only for now. Always.

Every day, new. Every moon, sacred.Remember!

We see you.

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I laughed out loud, and waved my cap at the little guy with the big soul and thebrown eyes. I gave him a big thumbs up, and smiled. I felt him receive the smileas a gift, yet the expression on his face betrayed no emotion. He stood still, finally

lifting his arm to wave just a little, as if shy.Always, my Brother!I shoutedback. I never looked back after that, didnt have to. A terrible weight had beenlifted from my shoulders.

Always,"I repeated softly to myself as I paddled back, grinning like an idiot.And the Bay had never seemed so sweet.

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Chapter 3: A Quest to Find “the Devil’s Punch Bowl:” A Most Extraordinary Occurrence, & Journey’s End?