Home, London. That deep grain hometown feeling in this amorphous human expanse. People don’t know the vast galaxies we made in the corners, central supermassive black holes that could pull us the world outside in a moment, translate out our activities everywhere in a neutron flash. Finding your strange style, and ours, in fashion on the west coast of Mexico, before I knew about the patterns life throws up, yes, but still I tend to think that one was our celestial fashion vomit. And the deep vein connection / anonymous comfortability. Our legs sweat against each other, bus seat thighs. Shades of skin and expression. Cosy down into this, shouty silent safety in the shadow of the city suited thieves and their machinations, illumination symbols twisting around the lot. A twilight Thames embankment walk with my work boss teaching me all kinds of meanings to this imagery I grew up with, always surrounding us. Brixton, Dalston, Brick Lane bustle and swirl, a jumble pot of lives, dreams and hurry… bright orange lights and glowing shop fronts at the top of late 80s Crystal Palace Hill, with its tall metal tower characters and Victorian monsters hiding in green trees. Feet out on grassy parks in warm summertime, humbum, people and people for centuries and miles and miles, views out of windows, from hilltops, endless endless habitations, vibrations, perception points. The mysteries made at playtime, breaking out our moves for shifty molecular twists, vibrating resonance in our threads and stories. Oh, dreams, customs, food, festivals, telly soaps, potions, gods, candles, a same but different choose your own adventure yearning, playing, building, oh joyous sore confusion in the gritty caged playspace, digging for an Otherworld in the dry dirt under a lump of concrete, beneath the holly tree.
What is magic? We used to meet in Owold, and we were in deep, forget-me-not-forever assisting each other, learning to process together in actions and energy sharing. Exploring territories that were unfathomable, discovering where the shared experience began and ended, dreaming together in separate dreams full of intersections. The dimensionality of imaginary space. A time of innocence, another childhood of experience in some ways, a peak experience too. The moment it happened, you said, the world you inhabited was completely destroyed, and all sense of you with it. As you emerged anew you saw how where we live is the universe contained in our own heads. You saw a web of meaning that stretched between us all and out to every being, “It’s freeing because the world isn’t fixed like it was” you told me, “and the world isn’t fixed for other people either. The world is in part a world you have control over building.” You laughed about a comedy show where a person given the chance to make endless virtual realities makes their own neurosis again and again “so.. there is that”. I laughed too, without ever having seen the show I knew the story, only too well. You were with us though, and we were with you, and together we were learning to look at things from new angles, we were playing, and the plasticine was reality itself, well, maybe.
Physical effects occurred too. The shaking, pains, heart bombardment. The shuddering energies that take over us and compel us in strange directions. Something snapped. Although I yearned more than I can say to do so from my space of all this, it was so hard to reach you. In fact I had no idea if that were possible, or how. Although so many of us were on this path before that moment, had experienced related things before… honestly, none of us fully understood what had been unleashed. I was unafraid, most of the time, but the fear was real and was out there, was in you. At times these processes would become cruel and intense. I would shudder and shake for hours, sometimes in agony, sometimes in ecstasy, find myself on spontaneous vision quests, become nothing, nothing, a tunnel of light. I would feel vast electrical energy ripped from me, through me, was ever sensitive to every strange fluctuation in the world as I encountered it, heard wings all around me and rolling through me, dissolving. I had no idea how to integrate some of this with the rest of it or with the other world, the familiar world. While I didn’t understand, I felt fairly able to navigate the space I found myself in, like it was my natural state. I was consistently told by my nearest imagination beings that this was the case. I don’t think it was so with you, and the space you were in. I checked these sensations with you, and with a few others, and some were the same, and some were very different. In my sensitive state when the shift happened the energy shaking off you felt so heavy, so drastic. I understood how, after a time, you seemed to react. For a while we grew distant and you seemed to avoid us. I did spells to help you find a way out of the mires. I tried to be there for you but I also kept my distance.
We took up playing mbira together, I after you. We explored together again. You came back, tentatively. You were, once again, so soft and silly and wise. Things were calmer, and we felt almost like veterans of some crazy battle, aware, underneath, that fighting could erupt again at any moment. Some of the spaces we explored then were so vast, so ultimate, so indescribable. We could come out of them collectively and smile, say “that was a deep one”… humm a little. Giggle. Go back in. It was gentle and simple and amazing that it was available to us. We were gentle with it, as gentle as we could be. It was more than we would ever get to grips with or really know, and we were all very comfortable with that. When the tides turned yet again they turned for us all, but so heavily for you. The help you seeked backfired, it chased you out of this life, and it is so scary to say that because it feels like something one is not supposed to say. But it is so. Seeking help is a wonderful thing, but it is fraught, as everything, all healing is, with danger. Snakes are doctors, and doctors are snakes. Every human being knows that. Nyangara. Up on the mountain. May that snake be gentle with your spirit, heal the process that was you. Send you on your way with love.
Stop. Breathe. Feel the world
Tumble down in the wail cadence
at the start of Erasure’s Sometimes.
Take a pace forward. You
know that iridesce
is a flicker between worlds,
The ones you work with live
There, perhaps, in between worlds to
here, like this role in reverse.
The lands there appear differentiated too,
a stack of
which flickers, alike, different, to this space
and always has.
Yet things are different there, the same. When
spaces integrate I have
seen entities expanded over entire sky,
encountered beings up close in a
myriad of forms, sung to the dark
and beautiful abstract mask spirits who cluster
around leaves and trees. Been encouraged in
process, shit and vomit by serious,
giggling gnomes. Felt >bzzz< wings against my
legs, learnt strategies, developed relationships,
developed strength, and felt myself give it to them.
The question of reality is a misnomer.
The Otherworld does not exist
on the same plane as this
Space. Is this imagination? Pretend?
Dimensional? It doesn’t matter.
The shifts made through
interaction (between this non matter and)
The potentials created, envisaged,
the layers, those layers of being, life.
It is time to call the worlds together.
This is the
Battle. The only war that matters,
to paraphrase Diane. And yes,
it is the power of our imaginations, and
the power of working with their elements
as whirling, existent, experiencing in their own right,
which brings us to
strengths and possibilities
we did not know we had. The chance
for real change I can perceive
lies in aligning to these realms,
Honouring these spaces,
spirits, energies, that we have always
sensed. Seeing where they take us,
and where we may go with them.
What next? That daoist/BDSM symbol still appearing,
on surprise church windows in Africa,
back in the roundhouse in Wales.
Do you want to come
along? There’s a bridge to build
on this quest
and it’s not made of stones, but
wonderment, curiosity, stories.
Discoveries, energies, balances.
Space, Love, care, observation, listening,
The kind of home splace invasion sectored out by instinct and your words cutting through ice like butter,
fantasy space, fantasy animals
we know and the questioning reality is exactly why we followed this path,
but what is the path itself?
Get back on it. Get back on it.
It bleeds and suckers to//read accounts that are all too human and
one knows their closeness, sensed in physical space of mind,
in physical space of body
Does exist out~~
Where reality is made and….
Tell ourself a bundle of kindling tails, get lost in the undergrowth,
screed to (distant)screaming.
You also told me this would not hurt me
Or at times stayed quiet on the subject
You also implied its usefulness
in process in
the clarity of seeming accounted
The clarity of experience
merged selves, create
process break force stretch to
pleasant necessary sunset, to pastel fade out, to ocean vapor, to an innerspace bigger than ourselves as, to not be as we know it, to not be, to