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The Music of The Spheres
Mark Evans
M ega-corporations control the economy and Wall Street. Through their interlocking
directorates with the giant New York money-market banks, they also influence
government and global fiscal policy through the Federal Reserve System and
the International Monetary Fund. They export the jobs of American workers
offshore to build factories in the Third World where stringent EPA environmental
laws do not apply. In order to prolong global dependence on fossil fuels,
they have retarded the development of alternative technologies by buying
up and shelving the patents of advanced technology. I also believe-because
of a personal experience 25 years ago-that they have suppressed information
about the physical/spiritual nature of the universe.
In February and March of 1971, at the age of twenty-one, I hitchhiked across
the country from California, ultimately landing in Salem, a small town in
south Jersey on the estuary of the Delaware river. Salem is an old town,
the site of the first Quaker colony in North America, even older than Philadelphia.
It was also the site of the only Peace Treaty that the White man made with
the Red man that the White man never broke.
After a short while, I found a job painting a house and moved into a small
efficiency apartment. One Easter Sunday, engaged in a vigorous walk around
town in the brisk spring air, I heard the sweet strains of Handel's Messiah
while passing the towering stone Presbyterian church. Because it was a remarkably
good performance I went in and sat down in the back of the church to listen
and watch.
After the service, during the coffee and cookies session, I was approached
by a luminous middle-aged lady, Albertine Richardson, one of the "lights"
in the church. She befriended me, introduced me to her husband, C. Leonard
Richardson, an engineer for the DuPont Corporation, and invited me out to
their house for a few days. They lived way out in the country, in a pre-Revolutionary,
three-story, brownstone mansion perched on a prominent knoll among the green
rolling hills. They were very well-off. The entire downstairs, and a good
portion of the upstairs were artfully decorated with authentic eighteenth-century
Colonial antiques. That evening, at dinner at their long oval dining room
table under crystal chandeliers, a memorable conversation took place.
There were several couples as guests that night, and in the course of the
supper, Leonard began to relate a story that he had obviously told before
in the sanctuary of his home. Had I been the only guest present, I am fairly
sure I would not have heard it. Leonard was holding forth for the benefit
of his friends. The story, as reconstructed in my memory, went something
like this:
In the mid-Sixties, DuPont had been working on the cutting edge of research
and development in Laser technology. They had enormous stationary lasers,
some almost as big as a dynamo, in a huge 300-foot white room, in their
lab in Wilmington. They did everything with those lasers that could possibly
be conceived of being done. They were working the other end of the equation
at the same time, developing equipment that could electronically transform
light into sound.
They made the apparatus that could transform light into sound as small as
possible, given the state of technology at the time-so small that it could
be put into a small suitcase. Then they took that equipment up to Canada,
and set it up on the tundra, west of Hudson Bay, and directed it at the
Aurora Borealis-the Northern Lights. With state-of-the-art recording equipment,
they monitored dozens of Auroral displays, and recorded scores of hours
of Auroras on audiotape. They were amazed at what they found: the Northern
Lights, electronically transformed into sound, were music, the most exquisite
music one could ever possibly imagine.
At the highest echelons of DuPont, even down to the corps of engineers,
this was known. Leonard Richardson himself had heard ten to twelve hours
of those tapes in the lab at Wilmington. "The moment you first heard
it," he said, "it sounded like a beehive. After a few moments,
however, you began to realize that it was choral in nature, a highly complex,
harmonious tapestry of sound." It was, in fact, a labyrinth of melodies,
totally harmonious, and contrapuntal. In it could be discerned as many as
sixty-four distinct, harmonious lines of counterpoint. The closest earthly
music it could be compared to was Bach, perhaps the Third Brandenburg Concerto,
except that it was way beyond Bach, far more liberated, and not at all lugubrious
or liturgical. It was infinite. Although each manifestation of the Aurora
Borealis moved in a series of movements and variations along the lines of
a concerto, no two Auroral displays ever produced the same symphony; each
one was entirely unique.
It became a DuPont Company secret. "Some very powerful people"
(whether in the corporation or some related citadel of power, Leonard didn't
say, and no one at the table had the presence of mind to ask) "decided
that this information was not fit for public consumption." Here Leonard
Richardson waxed philosophical and postulated that it may have been suppressed
because it proved the existence of a higher power-of God. Leonard went on
to elaborate a theory about the origin of the Aurora Borealis: he said the
Northern Lights were music because they were emanations from the Shekinah
glory of God, shining down from the celestial Jerusalem, the heavenly Zion.
Quoting from Psalm 48 and the Book of Job, he argued that the Biblical heaven
is to the north. "He stretches out the North over the empty space,
and hangeth the earth upon nothing." He said that there is an enormous
black hole in the vicinity of the North Star, Polaris, and that it seemed
apparent from the research that had been done, that a disproportionate amount
of the cosmic energy, the Solar Wind that is the source of the Aurora, emanates
from that quarter. Hence the plausibility of the New Jerusalem being in
the vicinity of Polaris, the North Star.
The guests were amazed and silent. Perhaps we needed time to digest what
we had heard. I wish I had asked all the penetrating questions that have
occurred to me since that night. But the moment passed, and the conversation
eventually turned to other subjects. Before long, the evening was over,
and the guests went home.
I am grateful that C. Leonard Richardson was open and candid in his own
house and that I was made privy to his secret. I pondered for a long time
the amazing story I had heard. Today, as a consequence, twenty-five years
later, I and a small team who have developed electronic technology comparable
to that used by the DuPont Corporation, are on the verge of taking this
equipment up to Canada. We intend to duplicate the experience of recording
the Northern Lights that was done in the sixties. This time, however, we
plan to make the recordings accessible to the people.
Individuals interested in offering technical aid, information or data, in
contributing financially or in joining our partnership, may call 707-538-1720
or write to: NORTHERN LIGHTS PROJECT, c/oMark Evans, Box #750, 1275 Fourth
St., Santa Rosa, CA, 95404