Farther Inquisitions 

(What follows is pure fuxion. Any singularity to actual events or persons, living, dead, or in limbo, is puerilely coincidentical.)

     At a recent conversation with a ghost - who, by the way, has a great little song called "The Reproductive Tract"- i was saying how i didn't have anything to write about any more, and that i felt kind of stupid ; he said: "Maybe you should write about that".

    So this is maybe another exploration of stupidity on the fringes of the modern age, or something like that . The concept of postmodernism or even meta-modernism or para-modernism brings to my mind the image of european and new york intellectual super-brainy types neatly dressed in minimalistic black , and probably wearing thick-lense nerdy glasses, indulging in binges of ultra-cynical mixing around of the stagnant waters of human affairs to very little actual effect. I have little contact with the media and none of it at home, so there is very little material on which to perform any clever incisions and deconstructions of what is already nonsense.
More fruitful would be to focus on direct experience through which a wealth of material is always available to the naked eye!

    I would really like to write a piece titled "The Santo Daime as a zombie cult" which i reckon would go down really well, but the problem is that i can't be bothered to go to one of their sessions. The thought of the indoor space, the puking in buckets, the lights on, the christian hymns in Portuguese, the dancing and the music , the men in shirts and ties and so on just sort of puts me off, you know? Still, i guess they are providing a valuable service to those who do not otherwise have the access to the experience, and who am i to grumble about restricting it within tight and pre-defined apparently safe and controlled boundaries, and imposing an unwelcome religious element to what is a much wider , deeply human and natural state of consciousness?

    The inquisitor within me can chill out for now, as i move on to hopefully lighter, clearer waters - yeah, right. Once upon a time ago i was at a gathering , a festival by and for green and spiritual types, travellers, hippies and assorted friendly and wacky folk. Among many other weird and wonderful attractions craftily designed to lull you away from just sitting in a field spacing out, there was a "Women's space" and a "Men's space".
    The men's space was a small, functional geo-dome tent with no frills, inhabited by varying but always small numbers of mostly middle-aged men looking extremely gentle , friendly and welcoming, coaxing male passers-by to join in the circle and celebrate being a man. There was an undertone of "we are not really losers", something subtly slightly spineless about some of them so few people responded to the coaxing with more than the usual festival goer's uncomprehendingly smiling look. Many sped up their stroll and walked away - or so it seemed to my bemused eyes which were taking it all in with appreciation, grokking , so to speak, from a vantage pointy nearby , sipping an oh so refreshing Colombian tea.
    The women's space was an impressive geo-dome easily twice as big , decked out in deep blood red canvas with triangular windows sown in, and a small garden space under a tree outside. Inside it was luxuriously decorated and fitted out with abundant pink cushions and fluffy surfaces, pink in all its shades being the predominant , if not the only, colour. It made the men's dome look totally cheap in comparison. It was inhabited by varying numbers of mostly young and beautiful, shining women looking extremely gentle, friendly and welcoming, to other women. At some point in the evening i found myself hanging around outside the Goddess Womb Space, as is my habit, engaging in a pleasant chat with one of the shiny women in charge there. Eventually she went inside , saying "I'd invite you in but you'd have to grow breasts". I replied "It's allright , i 'll do that in the next lifetime".

    Will i ? what would i like to be reborn as? a woman? a sloth? a tree? a god ? a translinguistic, holographic, hyper-spatial object at the end of time? a cybernetic organism? (what's that?) a virus? a dragonfly? a butterfly? a falcon? a witch? a saint? an alien? a boddhisattva? a shapeshifter? a Japanese peasant? a Japanese monkey? A time-travelling super-shaman ? beaming back at ya?
    At some other point in time at the same place, which is the place to be, outside the Goddess Womb Space, another shining woman appeared and said to me, with a smile, " You should feel honoured to be standing here". I said " Oh, should i ? i better go then!"
-"I'm just joking "
-"Oh, i'm glad. Because i like it here. I like women, so it's natural to be here."
The program for the dome had Sunday billed as re-unification day when the dome would be "open to men and their energies" , for uniting it all together. This never seemed to happen as far as i could ascertain, but by then i was pole-dancing elsewhere anyway.

    Deeper into the first -or was it second- evening , the Bedlam Boudoir provided an excellent party space under a marquee, their solar and wind powered sound system just about managing to pump out the early acid house and techno classics that the obviously very seasoned DJ's were cunningly mixing. The crowd consisted mostly of obviously very seasoned party-head veterans who had been through it all and come out the other side in one piece, and still up for it when it's good. This was a proper momentary revival of the good old times, my son, when the vibes were totally positive, when the ees rocked and were handed out for free, and the party went on for days, and people still took acid . We were having it big style, with plenty of cheap garishly coloured frocks, ballroom costumes and false gentleman's moustaches being worn. These were available for free at the door. And we all rocked on , twisted on dangerous cocktails, bouncing to original primitive beats. The situation was at that magical blend of totally out of control and really safe. "Safe as f**k, mate" as they used to say. At some point they had to stop, as this is a chill-out festival and not a rave, and that sucked. I was screaming at the DJ's as they were switching the system off " Don't let those motherf****rs tell you what to do , stand up for your right to party! Come on!" . i hadn't had such good dirty fun for some time - ah the good old times! (that sucks man , change the channel)

    Outside, it was refreshingly drizzling (as long as you had winter gear on) and the wind was making deep trancey sounds blowing in the tall trees around us. Stumbling back to the tent (my absurd attempts at flirtation having failed to register as genuine) had never been so easy.

    At the most effective Tantra workshop i am gazing into the large eyes of a woman i have never met before, she is gazing into mine, we are touching hands , and we are both getting very tripped out. Her face is melding into my face, the face , we recognise each other behind the mask, we know each other forever, tears run from my eyes, we are dancing. The recognition is mutually aknowledged, we bow to each other in grace and part ways. People were really releasing stuff by the end of the workshop, i could hear people crying and breathing deeply , as the totally hip female instructor kept repeating "I LOVE MYSELF". It was like 5MeO or a non-visual ayahuasca of sorts. I was impressed.

   "I don't want to hang out with the hippies and talk about how nice everything is! " K., a good friend of mine has recently been through the looking glass and into Real Reality. We are sitting in a very cosy cafe -- run by lovely pixie people and featuring deeply chilled trance music and tasteful tryptaminic fluoro decor -- sipping hot Synchronicitea, easing into the mushroom trance. It's great to see him and hear him. The man is a very gifted performer truly connected to the frequencies. His familiar tale of almost archetypal psychic battles and power games , fear, cliqueyness, paranoia, demonisation, scapegoating and godless goddess overdrive is truly moving to listen to. Single dads, single moms and hi-tension vibes surely make for some wholesome, happy children. Hooray! - - - The grief is good to feel. It's good to feel. Let's breathe.

  Philosopher stones are definitely good when fresh, not so good when dry. In this instance they are fresh out of the jar of the greedy dutch merchant, ("harvest up to 150g!" my butt) and they are good. Drifting down to the hidden pixie gorge, lit up with hundreds of tea-lights and small log fires, and inhabited by elfin creatures playing music and abundant psilly vibes - me and K do a duet on the gongs for a while , vibing the place, then he says "Proximity!" for the 3rd time that night, and then it is time for some more pole-dancing.

["Doesn't Pan devour virgins? " "No, he deflowers virgins, you know, they're all running around in the woods with hardly anything on, then he appears with his big erection "Har Har , i'm coming to get you! " and the nymphs squeaking "Oh oh, oh he's coming to get us , run!" and they're all loving it!" ]

Why do men sometimes feel like stumbling brutes when it comes to love? Do women ever feel like that? I guess they do in a way. Why does love make people feel bad? When that happens, does that mean it's not real?

i like love . love is real. in fact , i love love. I really really do. <><I LOVE LOVE><> it sounds good. it sounds so good. coming from the heart, the body , the mind, the spirit, it's all one baby <><I LOVE LOVE><> love is good. it's really really really good. one more time <><I LOVE LOVE><> oh yes. !^_^! i love you me we. love is good. consciousness is good. relax. don't freak out.
Relax. don't freak out
Relax. don't freak out
Relax. don't freak out

imagine ribbons and scrolls and more ribbons and scrolls of all colours streaming out , reading :
Relax. don't freak out - Relax. don't freak out - Relax. don't freak out - Relax. don't freak out - Relax. don't freak out -
Relax. don't freak out - Relax. don't freak out - Relax. don't freak out - Relax. don't freak out - Relax. don't freak out - Relax. don't freak out -
Relax. don't freak out - Relax. don't freak out - Relax. don't freak out - Relax. don't freak out - Relax. don't freak out - Relax. don't freak out - Relax. don't freak out - Relax. don't freak out - Relax. don't freak out - Relax. don't freak out - Relax. don't freak out - Relax. don't freak out - Relax. don't freak out - !!

 

Yet it's also good to freak out.
freaking out is good.
It's good to be aware .
It's good to see.
It's good to connect.
It's good to bring your palms together. try it.
bring your palms together in prayer.
It's good when opposites attract and come together.
It's good to touch.
It's good to be embodied. every body is good.
It's good to feel.
It's good to breathe.
It's good to live.
It's good to give and take.
It's good to be conscious
Consciousness is good.
Relax. Freak out.
it's bad , and getting badder
it's good, and getting better
it's god.

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