The Integratron: exactly where it needs to be.

The situation of so many structures in Southern California feels haphazard: buildings plunked down here or there by whim or whimsy. But the Integratron really belongs in its place: an auspicious spot in the Mojave Desert town of Landers. The day of my visit is the last healing sound bath before the annual summer vacation, and according to the brief talk given by the crystal bowl player, there are a variety of reasons for this place’s power. For one thing, there is the proximity to the powerful Giant Rock up the road — believed by the Integratron’s creator George van Tassel (1910-1978) to be both a native sacred site and point of contact with Venusian aliens. There’s also its placement on an energy-rich “geomagnetic vortex,” at the intersection of numerous ley lines — straight paths between significant structures and landmarks — and over three coalescing aquifers, one of which reaches north all the way to Mt. Shasta. (Dowsing rods helped choose the exact location.) But for some people, the power of this place is evident simply from the way it feels.

Welcome, friends!

Originally, the Integratron was supposed to harness and transform that power in dramatic, measurable fashion. We are told a bit about the original equipment for high-voltage healing that this time machine and tabernacle was supposed to house, involving a current of electricity, blasted into the building via a conductive rod that is the only piece of metal the Integratron contains. Van Tassel’s never-completed plan, a mixture of terrestrial and extra-terrestrial technologies, was aimed at creating an electrified rejuvenation process for participants. This anti-aging mission was encouraged by his space contacts, who related to him that humanity’s advancement in wisdom would require a lengthening of the human life span by at least several decades. The engineering plans disappeared, perhaps mysteriously, at the time of Van Tassel’s death.

Moses, Tesla, and E.T. helped with the design.

The energies on offer in Landers today are different. They come in the form of the Integratron’s sound baths, which marry the tones of quartz bowls with the remarkable effects of the dome’s acoustic properties. The shape of the room intensely amplifies the tones, which requires that the bowls be sounded very gently. It’s louder than I would have expected, but not at all agitating. Lying on the ground on a mat in this place, you really do feel like the sound is covering you, soothing you. “Bath” is not the wrong word; sounds are waves, after all. I could be persuaded that this is indeed good for me.

At least a few attendees ignore the warning that the experience is so relaxing that those given to snoring should adopt snore-proof positions. Their snoozing rumbles soon float around in the dome beneath the singing of the crystal. The bath lasts around 45 minutes. When it ends, we are asked to stand in the center of the room, on a spot where anything spoken is supposed to have a special force, and to summon a deep wish.