My lady Lydia was a Hawkins of the ancestry of the great privateer 'Black Jack' just as thousands of miles away in Ottawa (We met in Las Vegas.) a cousin of my sister-in-law who was about to come work for my family's company was living. They looked like twins and that was a powerful co-incidence of synchronous energy in itself. When I saw him I asked him if he was related to the privateer and he was amazed that I knew this. Our meeting was a 'trip' of grandiose proportions that makes another book I have written seem so weird it would only be regarded as fiction (that book is called 'The Nos Feratu'). In this meeting with Lydia, I was able to exhibit some control that later was almost non-existent and nearly rendered my soul. Rendered has many meanings and when applied to the butcher and his trade, it is close to what kind of lard or jelly (fish) my heart was 'feeling' after a few months that were wild beyond my own vivid dreams. The setting of the story began at the 'Shark Club' in Las Vegas one night just before I turned forty, about eleven years ago. I was in the process of buying a home in Las Vegas after moving from Los Angeles where I had been involved with a basic and ordinary woman (totally honest, and without my having even talked about an 'US') who had another amazing 'gift'. Her special talent was total sensory recall of the physical body. Yes, my life has been a myriad maze of the paranormal and sexual interplay of what most people would call 'fantasy'. In the relationship with Lydia she was honest and totally in control with no reason for me to even grasp at the smallest of straws to think there could ever be an 'US'.

Truly this is going to be HARD to do, and at the same time if one connected the components already covered they would be well on their way to understanding what might have happened or what Lydia could do. On the first night we met she told me she could de-materialize and that some day she would not return. The major reason for continuing to exist in this realm was her hopes to have a child with her husband. I had read 'Cosmic Consciousness' by Richard Maurice Bucke; the noted turn-of-the-century psychiatrist who along with Walt Whitman was instrumental in ending the use of strait-jackets in asylums, when I was just a teenager. In fact a friend's older brother used to call me 'The Cosmic Kid'. In this book he recounts how a person de-materialized 29 times before all the skeptics, police and scientists of the early 20th century at McGill in Montreal. That person eventually didn't re-appear in the other room as he had always done. In the pursuit of understanding these things I had read or talked with numerous people about the Indian