Russell Buddy Helm

The lobby was full of uniforms and men inside of them. Winifred and her Indiana college room mate surveyed the selection of promising husbands from the mezzanine railing. “Who is that one?” Winnie pointed to a smaller, slightly more mature man in an impeccable white tailored Navy uniform. Her roommate turned to her own fiance, a member of OSS. “Do you know him?” Winnie asked him. He shrugged, “Maybe.” Winnie eyed her prey. “You better know him. I want to meet him.”

“I’m sorry we aren’t having this meeting in my office, Lt. Helm.” Wild Bill Donovan, creator of OSS spoke softly in a low sigh. The war was affecting everyone’s level of optimism. It was a struggle to just stay hopeful. The Washington monument loomed ahead of them as they strolled. “That’s alright with me, sir. I’m getting used to it.” Bill was older, feeling the cold, he pulled his trench coat tighter around himself, the bulge of his shoulder holster apparent to anyone interested. He didn’t care about spycraft. The Lt. looked smaller, bespeckled, innocuous. The perfect spy. “We’ve had you track down enemies of the United States. Your record is impressive.” “Thank you. Sir.” The Lt. was trying to gauge this spymaster’s drift. He was acting oddly. “What is it?” He asked bluntly. Bill Donovan winced, unable to accept what he himself was about to say. “It’s an off worlder. He’s funneling technology to the Nazi’s.” There was a grey nip in the air, the low slate clouds were uncaring. “I thought so.” The Lt. said with a clenched jaw muscle. “…Nordhousen, I saw the disc ships. Incredible speed. Also, the South Pacific…” Donovan interrupted the earnest Lt. “This one is here, in the United States. He’s setting up a testing facility out in Nevada, for God knows what.” Lt. Helm frowned, “Where is he getting financing?” Donovan’s voice was cold, resolved to the crisis. “Krupp works, Berlin…through shell companies.” Then the old man regained some of his casual composure and almost smiled. “But first you have to take care of your little brother. He may be in over his head.” Lt. Helm was surprised, “Roy? At Oak Ridge?” Donovan growled again. “He’s not much with the women, is he, being a nuclear chemist, but a real looker got on his wave length. Check her out. If he just needs to get laid, let me know. I’ll send one of our Navy women volunteers out to him. He’s in a sensitive position. We can’t have Nazi women spies seducing our atom bomb builders.”

Rhythmically releasing fear can be achieved by slowing tempo. It’s that simple. What might come up as we slow our tempo is what made us fearful. A lot of the knee jerk fear reaction can be from the digital neurosis in our environment. Soon there will be places reserved for people who are too sensitive to the internet, to affected by computer energy, and cell phone radiation. There are fear alarms going off all the time for no good reason. By backing off our tempo in the grooves, we regain control over the present moment and we relax, for a moment. By maintaining this laid back groove in our consciousness, we can manage the fear factory that is our new world, and get on with the business of having a good time with our lives.

Searching for our spirit guide is a conundrum because the guidance will most likely come in a non intellectual format.The conscious literal critical survival mind sees only what it knows or suspects. The guidance comes in many different essences. The drum is ideal for searching for your spirit guide because along the way you will have created beauty in the grooves and connected to a higher source without limiting the insight to a box in the survival mind. The new mind is not limited by words. Just like the ancient mind. The grooves are a language without words. When one of our earlier drumming devotees passed, she appeared in a meditation drumming event with her therapist. Her spirit said that she was far, far away but that she recognized the beat, and she found us. She wanted to bless the drumming meditation and to support the ongoing drumming. Angels at work.

Rhythmically rebuilding our belief system seems to be one of the features of the laidback downbeat grooves system of this drumming therapy. What I fondly call the Helmtone Drumming Protocols. That way, people know what they are getting. There are already a lot of bogus drum therapy hustles right now. There will be more. But the truth is that it works. I have witnessed so many people who have drummed into themselves what they wanted. For their own higher good.

What do you think happens? It comes in a box? Our new consciousness downloads when it can. If our brain is obsessed with details, it may not happen.

Declaring armastice on the war inside is what therapies are all about. But there may be a basic dichotomy that is irrefutably a paradox and cannot be resolved. The condition in our inherent make up has to do with who made us and why. If we are so called starbabies as well as hominids of earth are we then at odds about who we really are? Does the ape consciousness win out over the ET in our genes? Will there ever be peace in our souls? Drumming seems to put the beast in it’s cage for a while; meaning the intellect. The higher functions of the brain are eating us alive. Our critical mind, the survival mind, the automatic mechanisms that cause stress just because they think they are doing the right thing. The drum can calm that tenacious intellect, at least put it into neutral for awhile and we can experience the tranquility of silence within the noise and pulse that blindsides the “higher intellect” and puts it in neutral.