My Realizations
The Autobiography of Julian Lee
COPYRIGHT 2009 JULIAN LEE

Intro  ╬  At The Start  ╬  Some Early Experiences  ╬  A 'Multiculturalist' & Anti-Racist By Age 20      My 3rd Female Spiritual Mentor Ruth Moffett --  I Join The Baha'i Faith To Try To Assuage Engineered White Guilt & Solve False Religious Controversies   ╬   Grandfather Lee   ╬   My Mother      My Dad   ╬  My Brothers & Sisters     I Start To Run Away From Home At Age Four    My Mother Dumps Me In A Strange Place, Family Life Ends  ╬  Sunday & Going To Church    My First Friend     Wasted Years In the Grade School Warehouse    The Sixties  ╬  Mrs. Christians  ╬  Sister Eleanor Therese   ╬  Coming Of Age: Woman & Sexuality  ╬  We Get a TV, Family Life Dies    Our Big Green Piano   ╬  The Great Matriarchal Swindle     Trying To Be Cool -- Obsessions of Fatherless Boys    I Start Hating The Automobile    Wasted Years In The High School Warehouse  ╬  At 17 A Beautiful Scottish Nymphomaniac Tries To Seduce Me -- She is Later Drowned in a Vase by Coral Eugene Watts      Getting Lucky: I Start Visiting  Our Quiet, Empty Church Around the Corner  ╬  Rock Band Stupidity, Offending Crowds, Damaging My Hearing  ╬   Seeking -- I Wander Homeless  ╬   Chad & Emma   ╬   I Get Married and Become A Father  ╬  The Baha'i Years  ╬  Real Family: Your Children Are The Best Part Of Life   ╬  I Discover Astrology and Am Good At It   ╬   I Discover Meditation  ╬  I Become Disillusioned With The Baha'i Faith   ╬  Genesis: I Realize The Significance Of Continence  ╬  I Hitch Hike 40 Miles Daily To Work In Alaska  ╬  Three Unethical Women Try To Seduce Me While I Am Married (My Poor Wife!) -- I Resist Them All,  Mostly    My Kids Need Better Charts -- I Search For Lost  Community For my Kids & Family     I Get Shaktipat & Yogic Kriyas  ╬  I Hear Aum  ╬  I am Given The Philosopher's Stone   ╬   Devastation: I Lose My Family  ╬  I Become a Man of Sorrows  ╬  Solving the problem of karma: "Hang Out With The Chartless -- You Become Chartless"  ╬  I Become Santa Claus  ╬  I Teach Brahmacharya Though I Don't Want To  ╬  California Days, Foothill Road, I Start To Get My Family Back  ╬  I Meet Karunamayi  ╬  I Experience Samadhi & Out-of-Body States  ╬  I Become Racially Conscious  ╬  I Become Aware Of The Jews  ╬  I Put Political  & Racial Lyrics Into My Songs  ╬  A Seeker Comes To Me --  I Form a Proto-Brotherhood  ╬  Dirtytown, Oregon & The Uncoolest Cool  ╬  I am Stalked by the Jewish "Antifa" for Speaking Out  ╬  The Upanishads    I Flee From Aum But Am Comforted by Divine Smells    I Return to Simple Living & Wandering  ╬  Helping Street People  ╬   A New Astrology: My Astrological Discoveries Summarized   ╬   Going To India Within

I was born Curtis Lee Mickunas on March 23, 1957 at 9:57 am in Des Moines, Iowa, perhaps give or take a couple of minutes as little has exactitude in this world.

Mickunas is a Lithuanian name, and a fellow Lithuanian once told me it means, roughly, "Big fellow from yonder bridge." I was named Lee after my grandfather Amos Lee, who I admire greatly. I came from a broken home but was blessed to have a father with a devout attitude about the Catholic Church who prevailed on my mother to raise us Catholic, and placed us two blocks from the most beautiful church he could find. Although religion was only sketchily delivered to me, I imbibed necessary essences -- even just from the reverence-inspiring interior of St. Augustine's Church building itself. What I imbibed in Catholicism, and around blessed nuns, gave me little stones to walk on that later became big walking stones, along a journey that finally satisfied me well.
A Rose By Any Other Name is Still as Sweet

If I had to say just one thing about my life, I'd say my life was sad and involved loss, but was yet an exceedingly lucky life I'd not trade for anyone's. And the one great thing, the one outstanding thing worth citing, is that I attained a true guru, Paramahansa Yogananda. He made every sorrow and loss O.K., more than o.k. and in the end preserved every good thing for me. And that's how God is.

And if I could only cite a few words I managed to read in this painful life, one verse or phrase that mattered most, it would be this where God, in the form of the divine incarnation, speaks to Arjuna in the Bhagavad-Gita:



At twelve or so

Mother painted portraits of all her children. This was one of her earliest oils, and represented a jump up in technique and style. It is a good likeness, though I did not like the picture. (I was often disappointed with pictures of myself.) She even rendered my cowlick, bane of mirror moments,  though she tried to soften it. I always felt I looked too sad and serious here, but that too was probably a faithful rendering. At this time the family was just beginning to come apart, and though there was not much conscious discussion of it, I could feel it. My siblings had brown or hazel eyes. What hair is seen here was hard-won. She preferred the clean, disciplined look of butch haircuts. She actually cleaned up my summer hair in this portrait, making it look like a sort of helmet, which irritated me though I said nothing. I always encouraged her painting.

I posed for her in a great new addition  with full windows all across one wall, built in the Frank Lloyd Wright style almost single-handedly by my father. He had intended it as a family space or family room, but she turned it into her art studio. In another wall was a beautiful, large, stained glass window of the Virgin Mary taken from an old church, in the best stained glass artistry. It was a "sacred heart" motif. I grew up under the saint in this window, always enjoying the light coming through and the colors. It never occurred to me how strange it was. Thank you, mother, for letting me have a little hair when you did my portrait, though I know you hated seeing it all the while.
"He who meditates on me with a oneness of mind, ever united to me by incessant worship,I protect whatever he has and supply him with whatever he lacks."

These words are true. And it doesn't matter what words you use for God, who is the Lord of all Names, but just that you seek Him and know where to look. Christ, my original nominal God-given guru I was born to, said it in other terms:

"Seek and you shall find,"

"The Kingdom of Heaven is within you," and...

"If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place; and it shall remove; and nothing shall be impossible unto you."

"For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."

"But when the Comforter is come, whom I will send unto you from the Father, even the Spirit of truth, which proceedeth from the Father, he shall testify of me"

Emotionally, my life featured mostly loneliness, loss, and confusion until my search for God yielded fruit. Materially, my life was unimpressive and I struggled or just got by. Creatively, I had a bit of enjoyment with arts. I had a gift for astrology, but it largely served to confirm the predicament of duality, karma, and limits. The one real comfort of my life, that made it worthwhile, was that I had some idealism and principles, and I embarked on a religious quest.
My wife was unable to follow along with it, come into its discipline, and enjoy the priceless fruits that could have been hers automatically. But many women make that mistake with their men when they turn to God and away from pointless lust.

That above would be the shortest summation of my life. What follows then is details, hopefully some interesting ones, for any who want to know.


Jesus Christ
Cosmic protector of the European Peoples, the first guru of my life. He was distant and hard to understand, but He put me on the right track. May the Christian Nations rediscover Him as true guru.
Amen Guru



 
Paramahansa Yogananda,
My root guru

Om Guru

A Seeker's Life



Victor and Virginia Mickunas
West Des Moines, Iowa, circa 1952

I never saw this charming photo of my mother and father, probably from before any children were born, until my 57th year. My oldest brother had it. My father is "the handsomest man in the world" to me. And I've never really fallen for any woman who did not have bone structure in the face like my mothers. A photo of her father, Amos Lee, is on the mantle and this is at their house in West Des Moines probably shortly after marriage. One thing that surprised me about the photo is how slight and fragile my mother looks. I always remember her as robust, healthy, and energetic. I realize now that it was motherhood that developed those resilient and energetic qualities in her. My father is super proud of his major catch, my mom. Mother joined the Catholic Church for my father, and sang in the choir. But it was my father who was more devout. In this photo my mother looks amazingly sober, which is often seen in photos of her and dad. She is more often glib and smiling. I used to think on seeing such photos, "Oh, she was not happy with dad." Now I realize that he probably brought out a profounder awareness in her which she could only handle in small doses. Along with my father's model-caliber looks, he was a profound man. Profounder on a mental level than my mother. My mother, however, was profound in the heart. Every face is a storybook full of particular stories and moods. I can see all of my children's faces in my mother's face. I especially like, in this photo, my mother's strong eyebrows which are natural and unaffected by picking or plucking. This kind of refusal to alter what God and nature made was, in fact, a decided attitude of her. She nursed us all naturally during a time when bottle feeding with cereal formula was all the rage and the "progressive" thing. This naturalness also attracted my father. Her fiery stand against unnaturalness was also at the base of her counsel to me that I should never put drugs and foreign substances into my body. I don't know if it was a peculiarity of hers or if it was common to all the Lee girls. I don't think it derived from her mother Ethel, who tended toward a   fashionable look. My mother had her own style, and sometimes her clothes were unusual.
I read "The Imitation of Christ" while staying in an empty, austere room at my dad's house in my teens. It spoke powerfully of penances, detachment from the world, and the love of Christ. At that time I had been considering becoming a priest, and was strongly attracted to that. I was very affected by "The Imitation of Christ." That spirit of renunciation took strong hold of me and I wanted to feel it more and more. I wanted to know about what the saints knew about. I gave away all my possessions at that time, even my old art and love letters from girls. Even my albums and music had been extremely important to me in my teens.

My impulse was to wander homeless like an early disciple to clear my mind so I could decide what's real. Later I did. I started fasting at that time and have done many since then. Two weeks on just water is heaven to me. And even the pain and suffering of that because you then sense your soul. Although now if I fast I come close to death (my heart actually stops) because there's not much more there in my body for the fast to "eat up." I am actually highly inclined to such ascetic practices that do destroy attachment to fleshly comfort, and I wish I could still fast. I highly recommend it for overcoming passions and conquering the flesh. If you came to my house and told me you were a Christian, I would make you fast every Sunday, at least. Thing is, you don't have to do a lot of austerities to get results, and get God to notice. They say that "Shiva is the God who is easily pleased." The image of Shiva is, for me, one of the ideal conceptions of God.

For many years now I've eaten only once a day, in the evening, and then not much. Long ago food lost its interest for me. Fasting helped with that. Despite my spare diet I don't get thin, and have more weight than before, because I have learned how to draw in divine food through meditation. ("Bread that you know not of.")  Most of eating is the addiction to the pleasure of it. I simply care very little about food now. I never drank, and I never used any drug but aspirin.

My mother said to me: "Don't take drugs." I listened and never did. It sometimes angers me when I hear people say to parents, "No use telling them not to do it. You can't control your kids. And telling them not to do it will just make them want to do it." This is both absurd and grotesque advice, and an abandonment of both your parental power and duty. It would only be true in some cases, with some children, and only for a while. Generally when you love your mother, because she loves you, you listen to what she says. Same with the father. My mother saved me from the damage of drugs simply by telling me, from an early age, how they become addictions and damage you, and telling me it would break her heart if I ever used them. I made that decision young, and stuck to it through all kinds of situations.


I wandered homeless and penniless, by choice, for long periods starting at 19. It gives a great detachment from society, the comforts of home, stature and pride. Once from Des Moines to Seattle, with only my father's wool Marine Corps blanket. Another time to Corpus Christi, which I chose because it had the name of Christ in it. One of the best experiences was walking through the "badlands" part of northern Yellowstone Park, utterly alone under a full moon in one of God's most beautiful places. I owe a debt of gratitude today to the few people who had the faith to pick me up late during that lonely night. One rescuing car contained a young husband and wife who lived in Yellowstone. I also remember a nice white military man in southern Texas and his gentle, trusting, brown-haired wife. I always remember that soldier taking me into his home with his wife, just for a moment, to play me one song from one vinyl record. It was a record of a Christian singer with a beautiful, soaring, and pure voice. He really wanted me to hear that for some reason. 

I still remember that voice. I loved music, and singing, and that one voice has always been a benchmark in my head, a voice to strive for in my own singing. Then I hitched on. May God protect you. But also a debt of gratitude to God for not letting them stop too often, and leaving me in beautiful lonely, and pure places, places that still live in me today. I've slept many times in culverts and stood in the rain and had to scrounge for food and got used to hunger. It helped me see the world clearly. I highly recommend it, by the way. If you were to come to my house, I would make you do the same.

I grew up both loved and neglected, and learned to be my own person. I was a very ambitious musician and aspiring songwriter by 16. That fame quest got turned on its head by my own logic and I became deeply interested in religion. I married and had four children, and became an astrologer because of deep fascination with the coherence -- soon apparent to me -- that is found in astrology. Then I was strong in it. I uncovered a more accurate and  useful form of astrology and it became my profession. My specialty was predicting how life would change in different locations, in great detail. Basically, I discovered that a  "relocated natal chart" exists which is grosser and more accurate for everyday use, while other charts exist in us in subtle layers. I discovered we can actually change our astrological charts in truth. My astrology became more accurate and detailed than that which is conventionally practiced in the astrological establishment. I was delighted by this knowledge, which built up in me as an observer/ analyst type, and which seemed to arise as if by instinct. I contradicted the dogmas of established astrology, so I was considered an upsetter or lone wolf among astrologers, an infant terrible. I was fine with that. Astrologers always bored me anyway. When one reduces himself down to "technical factors" and forgets the magic of the divine and of grace, he becomes a boring person, not-to-mention annoying. I always kept aware of the open areas and blank areas of knowledge, the "still mysteries," never biting down to hard on "I know it all." Because knowledge, after all, is endless. As endless as grace.

So being part of the "astrology club" seemed unwise and corruptive. I only cared about knowledge in my life, and was pretty much willing to give up anything for it, even things I later wished I'd never given up. Astrology became finally a triviality to me.  Religious and spiritual questing dominated instead. Studying astrological coherence, never a good substitute for religion, was just a way to become fully cognizant of the predicament we are in -- that of having fluctuating karma and involvement in a limiting matrix of duality. I realized that astrology laid bare that situation. Encompassing a genuine "law of the world," it was more than enough worldly knowledge to bear and only made me all the more interested in religion, and the possibility of grace or salvation from karmic laws. Now starkly and cruelly evident to me; the awesome universal cohesion the Creator had wrought made me want to seek a grace, for a freedom provable and seen, not a passing "good transit," and once seen, run for that state of grace for all I was worth. The highest value of astrology is, in fact, a religious one. It is the only knowledge by which one can learn to consciously identify the difference between passing good karma and grace; the difference between pleasant transits and His transcendental saving hand. Then by perceiving the attitudes and actions that increase the grace and lift you out of your karma, one can run towards God.


Happy to be visited

Mark, Joe, Victor, me.
For a moment my brothers were with me on the top bunk bed where I slept. I was clearly made very happy by this and to be so close to them. I think I felt honored. But it was probably dad just choosing the best light in the room. They had given us all cowboy hats, which probably added to the festive feeling. It was not often that we received gifts, especially matching gifts for all. Dark suits Grandpa M's funeral nearly 10 years later was probably the next case. I am surprised at how happy I am in this photo. Like rolly polly Joe (2nd from left with the affectionate oldest Mark), I still had my innate childhood joy. Victor, to my right, clearly has a profound feeling and thought on his mind related to the proceedings! All of us were emotional. Joe and Vick (middle) with emotions most close to the surface.


When you are a child, and when you have a loving mother and strong supportive father, that is your divine state and that's all you need. A real inclination towards God never truly commenced until I was emotionally bereft and confused in my teens. Then for some kind of solace I would be drawn to our great Catholic Church two blocks away. The tall and heavy doors of its great sanctuary were never locked back then. Ah, only now I comprehend why it's even called a "sanctuary." Indeed it was that for me, the only one I had.

That open church, alone, makes my life boil down to a Lucky Life. How I thank father and Father! There I'd sit in the dim, soaking up the sacred atmosphere, my back straight because that was the yogic attitude transmitted to me in church, thinking about God, and trying within to offer Him my problems.

Krsna says in the Bhagavad-Gita that there are "three types of men who seek me." One of those is the "man of sorrows." It was only after sorrows and confusion that I turned to God. And it was in those pews, alone and breathing the breath of centuries of saints, that I finally became a God seeker. The soothing and sacred atmosphere of the church itself was feeding me within. As the roiling and suffering ego inevitably awoke, that quiet and empty church, decorated and built for God alone, was where I first came into spiritual comfort. The purpose of religion is, indeed, comfort and joy.

Later, seeking stout enough material about God to give final confirmation and rest to a questioning  mind, I arrived at the Upanishads and Yoga, literature directly addressing the search for God within.

And I met personages on the way who were my great good fortune, unknown at that time. Two of these were my parents.

In a real way it was my mother who cut a clear path, in the growing cultural wilds, that turned me Godward just by giving me clear direction on where I should never go. In my teens drugs, drink, and smokes were becoming rife among my peers. This was the way they escaped into a kind of comfort in the face of their own pains. But my mother had done two things: Made me care about how she felt by being there for me and loving me, and 2) Advised me repeatedly about the stupidity of drugs, drink, and smokes, telling me it would break her heart if I ever did these. I thus determined in my very young mind not to go that way despite all inducements, even with a person right in my own family who offered me those vices. (Once regaling me on the wonders of smoking hash, with pipe and chunk at the ready in his dark and private lair which was a kind of opium den for many young visitors to our back door during the clueless-single-mother-years.) The smell of marijuana and hashish in many homes and establishments was, in fact, a feature of my teens. By the teens many of the popular kids were becoming drunkards and having bacchanals called "keggers," more covertly in the Catholic schools, more shamelessly in the public high schools Merrill and Roosevelt. But I wasn't going to break her heart, or become  a wreck with a damaged brain or body, as mother so clearly put it. Neither would I drink, though my respected father did and the refrigerator always contained cans of Budweiser. This mother-direction gave me nowhere to turn for solace, later, but God and my inner self. I was unentangled by those things, and able to concentrate within with fewer addictions or distractions. To my great misfortune neither my mother or my father warned me about the worse pollution and damage that comes from lust, sex, and the male period. (And it was really my father's duty.) Not even the Catholic Church -- woe! -- gave any clear instruction! But for the drugs teaching alone I owe to my mother much that is good in my life. But I owe her as much for providing me with a noble and religious father.

Along with my interest in questions of God, religion, and spirituality I had a concern for society and the moral order that ensures prosperity for the many. Later in life I set out to do a bit for helping the young men, and women, caught in this dark porn age, and lead them to the higher ground of real religious life, which does eternally require an effort at chastity. Chastity combined with devotion are the root of religious knowledge and the real spiritual blood of beneficial religion. This knowledge has now been lost in the churches, thus they decline.

A subtext of my mind, from my teens, was the observation that the technology of White European man never solves the problem it was intended to solve: The elimination of duality, or "problems." Instead it only creates more complex and insidious forms of duality, and more complex problems. Along with the many splendid virtues of the White Europeans, my race that is so much under attack by the Jews, this is their great fault. If they learn the wisdom of their own Aryan sages and their own Aryan yoga, they will learn that duality and problems are destroyed by God and God-search alone, and not by rearranging inert matter. The White Europeans, the masters of technology, must learn true wisdom relative to technology and invention, and return to their moral and mystical, and nature-loving roots.

Mysticism is knowledge of God within, and the techniques and approaches one takes when seeking same. God is not best sought in the sky, in the outer stars, or in things. When a thing is used in religious devotion, such as outer statues or other focci, their purpose is to direct the mind, which then cultivates the inner states, which then dig the inner paths to God-bliss. God is within, and so is the Kingdom of Heaven. This is the knowledge of the Christian saints. Only by retaining the knowledge of the search for his inner divine stars -- from where  outer gross matter projects in illusory form -- will White European man retain any mastery over outer stars.

I sought, then, to revivify Christian mystical knowledge and practice to try to help save the great and priceless heritage that is Christianity and our churches, for the sake of the peoples; for the sake of men, women, and children and their happiness. Because all of the great yoga -- the techniques of the God-seeking mystic -- is exists in the Christian faith, just little  understood consciously.Finally indeed I came to the realization of how lucky I was born a Christian Catholic, how great is this spiritual heritage of the White Europeans, and how full of yoga it is. The little stones of my inner spiritual path were indeed set in me by the Catholic Church: Stones of just a little faith, just a little reverence, and the tiniest bit of devotion. It was only this that finally made me more fortunate than I believed possible, and gave me a life I would not trade for anybody's. For the seed of "bhakti," or the devotional attitude, was a gift of the Catholic Church to me. God is real, and responds to those who seek Him, in whatever religion.

Christ is a true guru, and Christians need to really make him their guru indeed. God has all kinds of names, being the Lord of All Names, and unconstrained as to place and time, and looks for His children in every valley, desert, and alleyway. The second great blessing in my life, after being born Christian and Catholic,  was a true connection to a second true guru, Parahamansa Yogananda, and the knowledge of meditation technique he graciously gave me, and for truly taking me on. He finally gave me an understanding of what the world really is -- a temporary self-projected story -- so that I could stop fearing it no matter what happened in it. Another purpose of religion is to kill all fear.

Adding Names

Using my "Lee" name as a last name and adding "Julian" began later in life. I did this for convenience, to assist in business, and for esoteric reasons. Many of my interactions with people were dominated by hooptydoo and mish-mash about my name and I didn't like that. Even my father was not sure how Mickunas was supposed to be pronounced and wavered among versions! Then the fact that most insisted on calling me "Curt." From childhood I disliked the one-syllable "Curt" and preferred "Curtis." I felt like more than one syllable! And I figured even young that my mom and dad had some wisdom in giving me the rarer "Curtis" rather than the commoner "Curt" or "Kurt." Yet most believed they were chumming up to me by calling me "Curt." "Who would want to be called Curtis?" 

Then there was the constant spelling-it-out and misspellings. Dealing with "Mickunas" was work enough; even "Curtis" was problematic. 

"Is it c or k?"

"Is it i-s or e-s?"

"Is it k-i-r or k-u?"

Once I calculated how many hours days of life would spend simply spelling out mickunas -- and having them still get it wrong -- the idea snowballed from there. But I viewed "julian lee" as an alternative or additional name adopted primarily to help with my business and referals as most could spell it right. "Oh, you can find him at Julian Lee dot com!" It worked. But I suppose it's a truism that the Gemini ingredient (I have Mars-in-Gemini) produces several names.  I couldn't fully express all my interests, purposes, or functions with one name, plus I needed to find out about the power of names. Using numerology and name studies I thought that the softer "Julian" might soften me up and help me become less caustic, which I needed. "Curtis" contains two cutting sounds plus a hiss I noted. I became a metaphysician and words, numbers, and names are among the playgrounds for such. Did it work? Not utterly. But I did grow into it such that some people can't call me anything else but "Julian." I am proud of the Mickunas name and consider it magic. But if you would like to call me Mentious Jones or Sky Jasper Walks-with-a-Voice that's all fine as well as I can't have too many names and it's all fun. I like it when others choose which name they prefer; the one they like, and I don't bristle at them saying, "No, you must call me this!" My family (and mother) and old schoolmates still call me "Curt" and I accept it and feel love in it when they do. My mother and father even called me odd pet names as a child, such as "Magurt." I consider "Julian Lee" to be my convenience name and J. Curtis Lee Mickunas my formal name.

People are crowded into and beaten down into one identity both by names, locations, and experiences. But I notice when I sleep I have no name, and when I am overjoyed. We are all, truly, beyond any one name.