My Realizations The Autobiography of Julian Lee  /  COPYRIGHT 2009 JULIAN LEE
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Feb. 2018: After finally having the freedom, at 60, to choose a location for my own needs rather than accounting for a family of six, I'm enjoying my new life in Missoula, Montana very much. I can't say enough about the delight I feel each day.

The "chart" is much more sociable and I have many friends who care about me here. Old communities that are ethnically cohesive are far superior to the new kosher "multi-cultural" dystopias. I am convinced they should be protected. The trust level is high, it is easy to make friends, the women still smile fondly at babies and old men of their tribe, there is an abundance of charitable activity, and if you leave your umbrella somewhere the likelihood is high that it's still there when you go back for it -- or it's safely in the "Lost and Found." The truths laid out in the book "Bowling Alone" are very much in evidence here. I love the many old American types, rugged types, masculine archetypes that are now disappearing in "multicultural" dystopias, and I love how the women are largely unaffected and wear their hair long.

I am around people constantly now and it gives me great comfort, a human kind of comfort as contrasted to the yogi's comfort from Aum.



An upgraded "family" story began to be seen already on my first morning here. (The photo above was from that morning.) One year and 4 months later I feel very welcomed and appreciated in the town. In human terms, the "chart" is far superior to what I had. Though the west coast was rich in spiritual knowledge for me, this one is richer in social and family ways.

I feel fearless and free. Now and then a genocidal Marxist-inspired parade might march by here. I hector them and try to stand them down out in the street, which is great fun. "Somebody has to do it." I do this right in front of the townies, the men gathered outside bars, and the rest. I've published movies of my parade face-downs, which are as effortless to me as calling "Come home" to a dog. When the impulse strikes me I still raise my flag high and am none-the-less loved for being what I am. During the St. Patricks Day parade here I stood on the side with the people, calling out pro-White and racially conscious calls as each float passed, for a half hour. "Long live the White Europeans!" "Protect ethnic communities!" To the "pope" figure on the "Catholic" float I called out: "Pray for us Father! Save the distinct Peoples!"

This natural, unaffected community where people are so friendly is so dear to me I can do nothing less. In fact, I was the only really interesting thing going on. Even "social justice warrior" types of youth who know my political views respect me and we have friendly conversations. Such is the power of Kith and Kin. Besides, these people respect others who stand for their views against overwhelming crowds. There are a lot of Native Americans in Montana and they have a deep place here. After one of these spontaneous sorties, a Native American of my acquaintance, one with long jet hair, said to me as the last of the parade passed by: "Go get 'em Julian. You really let 'em have it!" 
My daughter recently told me, after going into a new coffee shop here, that the owner chatted with her saying:

"You're dad's a badass isn't he."

She responded:

"I'm a badass too."

One's kids are a constant perplexity. I said to her, "My Lord, why did you have to say that?" 

In fact, we all say "Why did you have to say that?" -- to each other on a regular basis. Since she's seen my confidence on the streets for so many years (I used to get "into it" with loud Harley drivers and loud subwoofer offenders in Southern California, often to their chagrin.)




The first day I came here, when I was first approached by a homeless panhandler, I handed him a $20 dollar bill, turned from him and called out -- in the middle of busy main street -- "Racial Love! Long live the White Europeans." My daughter, who was with me, was a little annoyed by this. But my kids know my views.

My nature is that any righteous battle -- being "in battle" -- gives me bliss. I spoke about this in my chapter about the samadhi experience. Sometimes I feel very young, and sometimes very old. The long meditation and "gathering pratyahara" has led to my extremities being somewhat numb. It's not diabetes, but the pratyahara. I sometimes have to walk in a careful manner that is like a very old man to keep my steps sure since I can't feel my feet as well. Sometimes I am so full of bliss at these people, my good fortune, the yoga I do -- and just the shining sun -- that I am like a drunken man in danger of falling over.

In my life in Montana I have both a "sense of family" (with locals who are not my family technically), plus my natural family has begun to grow back, with my children coming here to be with me. This is deeply satisfying, plus engaging. Though I keep up an apartment, I still prefer to do my readings/work amidst crowds, that is, in the various cafes and restaurants here. The buzz of people around me becomes -- to some part of my brain -- "my family" and it stokes my "reason to work." I love how so many people call me by my name, and I love how a cultural thing in Missoula is for baristas to ask "So what are you doing today?" It's not just patter; they really care, and I am often inclined to tell them.

Just as I was writing this, in a cafe, the song "Time of the Season" came over the stereo. I love that song, that year, and Colin Blunstone's voice. I approached the barista for a refill of my Americano, and I started singing out the words:

"What's your name? Who's your daddy? Is he rich like me? Has he taken any time to show how to live..."

While singing I danced just a little, arms waving out a bit, though I am not good at dancing and it's unusual for me. The shop was full of people and I was a bit of a spectacle, but a happy one. I was happy, being around people I loved, and now this song moved me. The barista, a beautiful 20-something ginger who has (strangely) lived already in all the same towns as me, had delight on her face and joined in. I knew she was a Leo, and would connect with it all. Thus in the middle of the crowded room we were both dancing and singing the song, all smiles. An old man stood at the cash register, bemused. I said to him: "Remember this?" 
It was just one of "those moments" that is often brought by the right song and right people, at the right moment. Those moments you can't plan. My life is becoming, more and more, filled with the spirit of joy that makes one have to dance. Especially when I see the faces of my children, or make a new friend, or hear from some of my old disciples. I speak also with friends, associates, and positive activists across the internet on a daily basis.

I continue to do two readings a day, with 2-4 other appointments sprinkled in. This has been my average workload for perhaps 20 years now, and I am very easy in the saddle with it. There is a line in the Desiderata about "attending your work" because "it's a real possession" amidst the currents of samsara, and I understand that phrase. It's a beautiful thing to have a 30-year established practice with deep roots, almost all from referrals. The past year I've had calls for new requests from 10-year, 20-year, and even 30-years-ago clients. I continue to get just a bit more in phone calls than I can easily handle, and I still work on Saturdays too. Yet I love the daily interaction with my clients -- unique and interesting people in a wide range of fields, countries, and situations. This year I've had a famous entrepreneur (featured in magazines), a Russian translator for the US government, a prosperous inventor of a new healing technology, and a professional golfer. I talk to about 10 people a day on the phone, and along with my socializing in various cafes and restaurants, and with my daughter, this is plenty enough socializing for me.

And I continue to keep up my life in the wilds and the streets, out under the sun and the weather, because I prefer those places.
I grew up in a lovely old home in a neighborhood of doctors and lawyers. I lived in an historic mansion/villa in California, and in a charming Original Colony House in Alaska. In Portland I lived in arguably the nicest apartment building in trendy Northwest Portland, the Saint Francis Apartments (with their lovely sun rooms). But in Portland -- and especially with the pratyahara event -- I came to despise apartments and houses, seeing them as unnatural tombs. People become stupid in them, with rigid patterns, and limited. I now have the shine of the sun and wind on my face, rather than the pallor of an apartment-dwelling grub, and I like that. Summers here, I find they place pianos about the town on the streets. I took great delight last summer renewing my piano fingers, remembering old pieces I knew from my teens, and found that my playing was better than ever.

Yet the comfort of the yogi -- from meditation and divine perceptions like Aum -- remains with me as well.
The days of solitude are no longer needed to stoke the yoga. It rolls on of its own. I indulge in that more at night, preferring to spend my days in productive work. After my "flight from Aum" in Portland, the sound actually went away. This for about 3 years. Late at night I felt I could vaguely still hear it, but it gave me the reprieve I wanted. My fear of the samadhi "slip" was so great! But upon arriving in Montana, within a few nights, it was there again. But now it was bigger and more majestic than ever. I lay there in ecstasy one morning perceiving new, churning and even patterned aspects to Aum. Somehow, possibly because of the friendly and kith-kin aspect of this community, I no longer fear it. One has the sense that it is possible to give yourself over to Aum if one has good people around you, caring people.

I spend most of my time in town among the people. I stroll about a lot. I ride a bicycle sometimes -- something I've not done in decades. A couple months after arriving here I was strolling through a big room full of friends and locals feeling very contented. My mind mused: "What's this feeling? When have I ever felt so safe, contented and free?" And it struck me right away: When I was living in my mother's home as a teenager. Then I also had few cares (except "What is Truth?"), no demands on me, and was able to pursue my interests however I liked. I realized "I have returned to 'Mother's House.'" 
It was sheer delight to realize this.

My health is good. In fact my old nemesis, bronchitis, appears to have finally fled from my life. I have not been to a doctor (or hospital visit) in 40 years.

When you get old, and especially when you know Aum, simple things of the world are very satisfactory. You don't need much to entertain you. I have taken to feeding the wild birds during the winter, which is, I guess, an Old Man thing to do. I very much enjoy it. I have even made my own suet for them. Simply standing out on the street and enjoying some good tobacco in my pipe is, perhaps, my favorite activity in life. Street, sun, good people, and the magnificent Montana sky and it's cloudscapes -- are enough worldly pleasure for me.

The people here are naive and sitting ducks, not realizing how special and unique their community is, and subject to political delusions. But I do my part to stiffen their spines. The people here are so dear to me -- and so much a part of the old, natural world -- that my heart aches with affection for them. My only nightmare is that they will be changed also by the insistent genocidal march of the Cultural Marxists.

An important part of my life has become the world of dreams. Especially in the last 3 hours of sleep, in the early and later mornings. The things I do, see, and experience in dreams are so magnificent that I sometimes find myself waking inside the dream, as "Julian," and I start crying out to God like a baby. It might be because I see some mountains that are far more spectacular and beautiful than any in the world, or find myself in magnificent mansion halls, or flying and sporting up and down an awesome astral river with many waters. The cry I cry is: "Thank you God! Thanks-Thanks-Thanks! I Love You! Thank you for letting me enter this world and see it with my earthly eyes." 
I hate to wake up each morning until I have had a few of these dreams.

I feel confident that my in-between bardos, before the next life, will feature these kinds of worlds and experiences. Because we do indeed see the astral and heaven worlds -- the ones that we are karmically due -- in our dream states. Back in the years when I was incontinent and didn't understand the power of brahmacharya, I had nightmares. No more. Because the external projected world -- both waking and dream worlds -- are a projection of your own inner virtue and ojas. My dreams have continued to upgrade and upgrade, as has the waking world for me. I even see this in the news-of-the-world, with the wakeup of the European peoples and new seeking of older sane ways...

Missoula, Montana was my 3rd major move in life, and my 3rd move guided by astrological knowledge though I was freer to choose this time. While living here I have often thought: "This seems like heaven. It's actually good enough, heaven enough, for me." 
I had always hoped I would be a martyr for the cause of White European survival and preservation of the Diversity (the distinct peoples and nations). At this point I feel so ensconced among friendly people (a far cry from the fanatical maniacs of Portland) -- that I'm no longer hopeful that wish will be fulfilled.

I feel near to "the train station" now. I have always resonated with the Jai Uttal song "My Home In The Hills." 
My primary ambitions from here on are to finish my commentary on the Yoga-Sutras, perhaps work on my music some more, enjoy a few nights around campfires with kindred souls, and watch my children prosper. I am regularly astounded by the amazing and unique qualities of my own children, and there is little fulfillment in life greater than this. One of my daughters recently said to me "You're Zeus." She is often seen standing out on the street with me -- and likewise smoking a pipe. We are an oddity and mini-spectacle, I suppose, on these streets.

I tell her, "No, hon, I'm not Zeus." She enjoys sometimes catching up to me if she sees me walking down the street, and on arrival doing elegant, flourishing bows to me, arms out and sinking toward the pavement, in the manner of a court dervish. I don't know where she learned to do this, but my kin are full of surprises. Back in Portland another daughter said to me: "When I see you at a distance on the street my mind often thinks, 'Is that a homeless man or a king?'" One of the greatest things is to be respected by your own children. I myself admire my children as much, feel the same awe about them.

I plan to watch the Alt-Right sea change take hold out in the world, knowing that I did my part to help light some of those fires. My chief ambition now is to start doing a "street puja" here in a Hindu-esque manner that basically brings church out onto the streets. I feel the people need this, and perhaps it will please Brahman and protect these Peoples. It will bring the people back to the ideal of contemplation on the Divine -- something done very well in the churches of our people. I would like to do this with a few of the yogi-brothers I've met during my years of teaching about yoga, the real yoga, which is stilling the mind and contemplation of the Divine within. My chief yoga these days is listening to the blissful Aum, deeper and deeper into it, and contemplating how it's the same thing as the Sun.

I also want to finish this autobiography. And I will write out a few of my astrological observations, and discoveries that I've not written yet. Perhaps not all of them. I've always had the instinct that I know things, about astrology, that should not be widely known. But whatever I feel like doing, I will enjoy realizing that.

Julian Lee, Feb. 5, 2018