Big Boing Mindstuff
Psychedelic Water 20
The lovers emit a soundless cry as they traverse the permeable weave of time, soaring free of material constraint to explore the vast unchartable terrain of the collective consciousness - the outer limits of an image nation where all dreams and destinies of humankind combine. Their intense tantric conjunction lends wings to quasi-cometary flight, lofting the interlinked couple along a rarely achieved trajectory as they pass beyond the orgasmic stratosphere of simplex loving lust.
Interpenetrating bodies and souls are fuelling and fuelled by the supercharged electromagnetic engine of impassioned primate mating. Minds and bodies blend into one as the two-backed beast ascends toward heaven, rushing upward along the blazing ladders of crackling upright backbones. They soar through nerve-melding realms where molten desire transcends fleshly envelopes and becomes the merest outline of something inconceivably vaster
The shaman’s flesh is a white hot metal brand smouldering within the furnace of the umber woman’s ineluctable embrace. His soul is a semimolten ingot, alchemised within the pressurised crucible of Amber’s lava-hot being. His mind expands to fill a dimly perceived dell that dwells beyond the psychoactive peak of the earlier night; a hollowed wake that furrows the backwash behind the slowly departing vessel of their psychedelic sojourn.
Ram’s eyes remain open amidst the altered tumbling of supersensitised senses. His mind explodes far beyond distracting reams of flittering self-obsessed notions, questing beyond the usual streams of rippling, flickering thoughts to more fully absorb the totality of Amber’s unsurpassable presence.
Her shapely smooth form encompasses the bigger and bonier bulk of his slim hirsute frame. Long lovers’ arms encircle closely pressed bodies in welding rings, sealing the blaze of their mating inside. Soft gentle hands grip angular shoulders to caress flesh-smothered bones as the golden girl rebreathes superheated air into the bellowing caverns of his lungs. They inhabit a timeless yin-yang jigsaw of boldly enfleshed desire; hearts, minds and spirits share a core of belonging that all Ram’s straining and striving has delivered him unto; home at last, in eternity.
He’s seared and ringed by firm golden limbs, wrung and enflamed by taut feminine elasticity. He simmers within the incendiary heat of a feverish bloodstream that pounds at his flesh and throbs all around him, just past the sleek squeezing surfaces of Amber’s encircling limbs and her innermost secret moist searing seam. Ram’s awareness expands to encompass the entire denuded grassy base of the rainforest valley, where anciently familiar primate bodies tightly twine by the primordial bubbling stream amidst silent spirits and eldritch presences.
Amber’s uptilted eyes blend to one in his close-pressed material sight, forming a single burning orange orb which draws him onward and in, further and yon, to a blindingly blazing place as far beyond the simple pleasures of pneumatic sex as a flurry of multiple orgasms surpasses an itch that defies endless ticklish scratching. From this numinous implicate coign of vantage, abstruse sensibilities connect disparate realities through synchronistic tangles of barely glimpsed similarities in a finely threaded net of coinciding pluralities and obviously linked correspondence.
After no time whatsoever he dwells in many worlds at once, partaking of mundane senses and sensitised suprasenses, attuned to fey connexions with curious faraway cosms as the lovers bask in a radiance of intimate animal closeness. Their motionless lovemaking creates and illuminates a vision splendid, echoed by the material world of birdsong and waterfalls, music and wind, close ardent moans and distant soft drumming. The tantric lovers’ simian bodies await the first warm tonguing of dawning sunlight, inhaling and recycling pheromone-laced scents; a living pyre of recombining passion within the dew-misted riverside bower.
Slender torsos mash even closer and limbs clasp more tightly when a chill morning breeze ruffles leaves overhead. Amber’s fluorescent orange dress flutters above them in undulant waves, flagging their presence to the wild woolly world of ferals, yuppies, hippies and tourists that sleep or cavort, snooze or disport all around. Muscles contract and relax while transcendent minds traverse unworldly realms of intriguing illumination, a shared lucid vision-quest through varying futures and manifold pasts in the eternal gift of the numinous present.
They begin to return from penultimate Satori. They permeate two realms and bodies at once, shifting betwixt breezy, scent-laden, riverine breaths of the Great Earth Mother and pellucid voids of luminiferous, sensuous aether - swimming together through serried tiers of ethereal planes and orbiting varicoloured spheres within spheres as breaths and fluids and minds combine. Look, her being says inside their dreaming, here… we are… and his attention shifts along with hers, angling toward a blinding white aureole of blazing light.
Time and space and mind and sex dissolve.
No time later, after eternity, the bearded shaman peeks through red-shot black waves of intermixed follicles and strands – salt-peppered chestnut streamers and jet-dark streaks mingling together with aftermath bliss in a dazzling starburst of coronal light – and he sighs as he sights his new paramour through the afterglow haze. They commence a slow descent towards a semblance of normalcy.
His lover’s eyes gaze all the way into him even while shut, her glowing orbs pressed against translucent mauve eyelids; yet Amber’s brow shines with a third radiant orb, the centralised site and obvious sign of truly superluminal consciousness that he observes on two levels at once. A faint glow suffuses her umber skin and tiny tendrils of nebulous steam arise from her nostrils. They appear to suffuse the stunning heatedness of her fine young flesh.
The shaman’s eyelids slip shut and he drifts through a synaesthetic landscape of intersecting sensations, flavours, wordless ideas and ideals, all projecting through the mingling tides of their bodies/minds/souls, revolving around a common indefinable centre in the tingling luminous afterglow of transcendent ecstasy. Discerning the juncture of their skins, the places where the surfaces of ‘him’ meld into ‘her’ is perfectly impossible.
Tantric exploration with the intriguing woman is an experience far beyond Ram’s fondest hopes, rendering his most idealised reveries and imaginings into a grey landscape of flat two-dimensional shadows. Even the extraordinary satisfactions and undeniably abundant joys of the previous night with his other unique new lover have paled into pastel hues in the stacked vaulted hallways of Ram’s random access memory.
He’s rarely made love with a woman so blessed; possessed of incredible prowess and power, rare exotic beauty and an utterly sensuous, sensitive and inspiring soul. Compared with the melding, mind-blowing bliss of union with blessed Amber, making love with most other lovers has been a hollow exercise leading up to the real thing - mere practicing exercises in mutual masturbation.
With Amber – as with few other gifted lovers he’s known with such intimacy and intensity – lovemaking is a breathtaking adventure into the very soul of the beloved.
The bearded shaman is born anew, unutterably sensitised to the entire living world and attuned to the subtly shifting fields of the vast harmonic symphony of the world-dreaming cosmos. His awareness slowly contacts from infinity and suffuses the rainforest river valley, returning toward and though the anchoring vessels of hot love-rimed flesh in morn’s shady gloaming. Amber’s face burrows through the permeable barrier of intertwined hair and her lips begin to suckle on his beard.
What a woman, he muses as his flesh perspires in the ineluctable grip of her unnatural heatedness; Is she a woman at all? A Daikini? He sees a smile dawn in her opening eyes. A Djinn? What a curious dream to wake to… Their bodies shift together in delicious entwinement and Ram’s thoughts start to idle as he drifts slowly along in neutral gear.
Love… Eyes shine together in blinding parallax and the receptive hot grip of softly wet membranes stretches at the brink of complete fulfilment. Her heat squeezes round the hard core of blood-pumped flesh that throbs against the tightly guarded gated womb of unending future lifetimes. Beloved… The simian loins of a single twin-minded creature flex even tighter and hotter, exulting in the satisfaction of penultimate closeness. Glorious beloved… amazing reality of female perfection to gaze unto, onto, into… Amber grasps gently, inside and out while they peer into the two-sided mirror of harmonised souls. Ultimate blessing of living divinity…
Feline eyes crinkle in a silent smile as nostrils flare with an intake of air. Making love… She clenches around him and sighs into his mouth. Really making love… Tongues slide past lips and sight blends together as disparate minds become one; Dual gift to humankind, female and male, left and right, height and depth, high-blown ideals and visceral innards piled together in entertaining cacophony of entraining delight… He neither knows nor cares whose thoughts are his or hers, theirs or everyone’s. The combining thoughtstream spins into a gentle maelstrom and begins to flow more swiftly as portents pour through their mingling mind, channelled through their melded being from other levels of reflective personality; from heightened perspectives of deeply intrinsic unreasoned wisdom.
Not really the Way, but projections of the monkey mind, misconceptions of duality originating below the veils of mortal coils… split in twain and welded together like the hominid brain and the primate mind... argumentative, disputative, dichotomous consciousness melded to sex-split and sex-joined physical bodies, imbued with an imperative will to propagate beloved shapes and enduring selves through the scrolls and folds of time…
And capable of the best and worst, and every mundane or transcendent thing between… An unseemly twinge flickers through Ram’s being and a strangely guilt-laden memory arises in his mind’s eye. His thoughts return to the drunk and drunken feral Goth grrl - the dreadlocked emo who made love with him all through the previous night - and he’s instantly smitten by the livid sight of Angel’s nubile nakedness splayed and displayed, used and abused a few hours earlier in a dark public park.
The experiences are so utterly different; joining with elfin Amber in this blessed ongoing afterglow of lovely loving is a total contrast to the hardcore, plunging, screaming sex he’d experienced with Angel during the previous drug-fucked night – let alone the brutalising pseudo-sexuality of the metal-pierced Goth’s unnerving gangbang, which he and Amber both witnessed a few hours ago. Like day and night… He spits contaminating images from his mind and concentrates on the glorious sensations he’s been stupidly distracting himself from experiencing.
All dichotomies are illusion, an inner voice announces with archetypal wisdom. He shifts within Amber’s enwrapping core and she sighs into his throat; the sheer uncanny heatedness of her is magnetic, irresistible. It’s all one… Their bodies start moving in unison reply to the unspoken words, contracting and relaxing around each other as the shaman’s hallucinatory vision delivers Day-Glo images of living liquid crystals and transmogrifying geometric solids into his widely opened mind.
The uncanny confluence of many of Ram’s most recent conversations returns in a series of fractal glimpses. Everything is true… For a brace of moments the multidimensional and multi-branched potentials of myriad time streams is apprehensible to his opened awareness - a multihued book of interleaved 3D tapestries in which each woven page is a variation on a singular theme. Everything is permissible… Each individual embroidering thread of each tapestry’s sheath passes through all the pages of a volume whose limits extend beyond the peripheral bounds of his inner vision to recurve back on themselves - pouring back into the primal core of eternally spiralling time. All is one…
Time and space stretch with the elastic heat of ongoing union, delivering clingwrapped bodies and molten minds to an unfathomable ocean of bliss where currents caress their drifting souls on the cusp of an unnameable shore.
The trip should have worn off by now… He drifts closer to and further from complete illumination and wanders nearer to worldly wakefulness with every breath. His fingers caress the fiery sweat-shimmered sheen of Amber’s long flank and the barely padded hump of her sleek bony hip, back and forth, round and round, in time with his cyclic drifting; slowly, irresistibly, his stillness of mind slides toward slumberous subconscious streams.
Somewhere just beyond the semipermeable membrane of Ram’s senses - past the slippery mesmerising embrace of the blazing silken woman who only yesterday was a distant stranger - the world is a viridian paradise emerging into a new day. The shaman spies the outline of an addictive idea and traces its path along the meandering surface of his tumbling thought stream, sinking toward the yawning burrow of dimming semiconsciousness that is the usual preserve of the domesticated primate mind.
Amber squeezes him gently and he returns to the incomparable reality of her love. A morning zephyr kisses the down on Ram’s arms as he fully enfolds the slender Asiatic woman, who settles and spreads her wee smooth self upon his cross-legged lap. His legs have grown completely numb on the featherdown doona; all worldly sensation ends and begins in his rigid shaft, burning like a blazing log inside the torrid furnace of Amber’s slim broiling belly while hearts and minds roil into one. Her heart beats inside him while minds entwine.
Inside each other, squeezing inside you, wrapping around me, squeezing around you, filling inside me… The lovers reemerge into the world as conjoined twin divers rising for a fleeting snatch of breath, tasting lush riverside scents infused with eucalyptus wood-smoke while senses thrill to the pervasive beat of the paradisaical natural world; trilling birdsong, murmuring dreamers, plashing water, the beat of a lone lovelorn drummer, the crackling thud of a falling log in a dying fire while wind soughs in treetops all around.
Without prior warning Ram’s consciousness is released from the leash of his body and swivels through hundreds of miles, beyond a week in time and through the half-awake minds of a numberless swarm of morphing bodies until he washes up on the banks of another pristine river; a familiar crystalline waterway fringed by a subtly differing subtropical rainforest canopy.
Rippling interference patterns attract Ram’s attention with hypnotic insistence. Repetitive bands of pressurised fluid approach his single-pointed perspective, spreading across the furrowed surface of a rainforest pool. These liquid echoes are emitted by splashing white water, hurled into the pure forest air and foaming about a pair of swimming children. They cavort before Anike, their commune-savvy WWOOFer mother - a Willing Worker On Organic Farms who has recently arrived in the antipodes from the
“And so all the material universe is really energy, and all the energy is created by tiny spinning vortexes,” David is saying, triangulating his bifurcated concentration on two male companions; one of the blonde man’s blue Viking eyes is perpetually cast to one side. “Everything that exists is a version of that primal spin.” He removes his broad-brimmed black hat to soak up tree-dappled sunlight, loosening the buttons on his hempen blouse. Ram is somewhat surprised to hear his own view of universal mechanics emerge from the other man’s mouth, appearing in a confidence-inspiring confirmation of his private visions.
“So what?” Bors laughs at Dave’s bold declaration as he pulls a checked flannel shirt over sinewy shoulders. “What’s it got to do with anything in real life?”
“Well…” David rejoins, “the implication is that the universe, or cosmos or whatever, is all infinite. There’s no need for a big bang…” Bors - who had been a mathematics teacher with a compassionate if monomaniacal bent, before he attempted to ‘teach the natives’ on a notorious offshore Queensland island (once a penal colony set up by the larger prison colony on the mainland, its denizens had proven intractable to the parochial Eurosurper’s idea of ‘edumacation’) – is affronted by David’s apparent heresy. “Now hang on,” Bors insists with a beetle-browed frown as he muddles his tenses, “There’s a big bang all right, that’s one thing I do know for certain!” His eyebrows forge a shallow chevron beneath the deeply ploughed territory of his crinkling forehead.
“Do you know why physicists postulated a ‘big bang’ creation event in the first place?” the shaman interjects, even as he wonders: Why am I trying to change his mind? “It happened because certain scientists were immersed in cultures that believed the universe was created by an omnipotent and omnipresent god.” His statement silences the conversation for a few moments and a tiny, brilliant azure kingfisher bullets between their bodies while the trio stands still as the regenerating saplings rooting into the riverbank all around. The dazzlingly blue bird swoops low, skimming the surface of the river as it rockets upstream and the children laugh and slap the water with gleeful delight.
Bors inhales loudly and raises open palms toward his companions. “Look, guys,” he says, “I know it’s hard to take - but everything is born, lives and dies – you know? The universe expands and contracts to and from a tiny, compressed point – or it all expands continually until everything stops in ultimate entropy – you understand? The universe is finite either way. Finito! There was a big bang. There’s definite proof, nobody questions it any more.” He shakes his head, shedding rainbow droplets from hair and beard as Anike’s eldest dives beneath a sunken log in pursuit of an Eastern long-necked tortoise.
Ram’yana clears his throat. “We look ‘out there’ and imagine we see back to the beginning. There are actually only two presumed proofs of a ‘big bang’ and both are based on assumptions. False assumptions.” A band of itinerant kookaburras drowns out the conversation with a gaggling chorus of interfering laughter while the children dive deep through the liquid crystal pool. “For instance?” Bors inquires.
“The two ‘proofs’ ” – Ram enumerates his points with a two-fingered peace symbol, “are red shift and the background hum.”
“That’s right!” Bors exults. “When we look out at the stars or galaxies or quasars, they’re all red-shifted. Well, most of them are – it’s the Doppler Effect. It proves that the universe is expanding.”
“The Doppler Effect is real of course, and a spinning vortex can easily be perceived as expanding when you’re encased within it – but there’s an unrecognized reason for the red shift’s ubiquity. It’s the same reason we can see less than fourteen billion light years through timespace.” He overrides Bors’ next incipient interruption. “It’s not because the universe began 13.6 billion years ago, but because that’s the effective event horizon of light – its upper limit of transmission within the unrecognised medium that’s the matrix of our continuum - and the limit of most other wavelengths we use for detection. The interstellar medium degrades and stretches the signals and wavelengths, which means light slips toward the less energetic infrared band and beyond. And the scale of time is expanding along with ‘space’ as well, thoroughly altering the reality we perceive dimly and distantly as though through a smoky mirror.”
“But the signal can’t decay…” Bors suggests in a querulous tone. “Oh yes it can.” David enters the opening schism of his uncertainty. “Over that distance it runs into an array of particles and dust and what have you, losing energy.” The blond Dane smiles and his icy blue eyes twinkle with unabashed glee. Bors is taken aback. “So you’re saying that we’re seeing the event horizon of light and related electromagnetic radiation?”
“Aye,” the shaman replies. “Vortexes are always arising and disappearing to and from the infinite sea of potential, continually distorting and eroding the strength of the signal. Some maverick astrophysicists say that red shift is indicative of the youth of a stellar object as well, but that’s another issue,” the shaman informs him.
“Halton Arp, for one,” David enthusiastically interjects.
“Either way, all the ‘virtual’ particles emerging from the quantum foam over those distances interferes with the original signal. The point is, there may be many reasons for the apparent red shift of most of the universe; the Doppler Effect is only one of them.”
“Point two,” Ram’yana continues with a nod as Bors opens his mouth to object, “the background hum.”
“Look,” Bors heads him off, “the only question is, ‘big crunch’ or total entropy? That’s a certainty of physics. It’s bedrock.” He looks at his feet as David delivers a rejoinder; “Only according to assumptions of old mechanistic theories of physics that ignore the uncertainties and probabilities implicit in quantum theories. A whole new range of possibilities opened up decades ago, but very few people noticed,” David assures the prematurely retired high school teacher.
Bors shades his eyes and stares into the sun, but Ram’yana keeps chewing the bone of their contention. “The universe is continually accreting – or condensing – energy and matter in a never ending ‘big bang’ which is happening everywhere, all at once. You know – the ‘quantum foam’? ‘Zero-point energy’?” Bors grimaces and turns away, staring at the river while the hippy shaman continues his spiel;
“Every cubic centimetre of space contains a potential infinitude of virtual particles that momentarily appear and disappear in 4D spacetime, as 3D space rotates with respect to other intersecting dimensions – hyperspaces if you like.” David nods enthusiastically while Bors stares at sunlight reflected from wavefronts on the rippling surface. “Some of these exchanges even form stable arrangements that remain in this universe as particles – or vorticles – and this ongoing infinity of ‘little bangs’ is responsible for the ‘background hum’.”
A distant jet thrums rhythmically, a didgeridoo drone echoing from the skies. “Mu mesons, Higgs bosons…” Bors begins while the shaman continues; “And I maintain these continually manifesting ex-virtual particles are also responsible for much of the degradation of all radiant signals, but that’s neither here nor there, if you’ll pardon the pun.
“All this ‘missing energy’ has been misclassified as ‘dark energy’, but its existence portends the very opposite of a finite mass left over from a primordial event; it’s all an artefact of the primal spiral, the primum mobile vortex – the perpetual spring of the ‘big boing’.” The distant scream of the jet engine fades and returns, folding through waves of the blue-green planet’s dense watery atmosphere.
“Even if you’re right…” David glances at Bors, and then peers up through the fractured canopy toward the cloudless sky. “You know how, when you look out there, you’re looking at the centre of it all? How, say, thirteen point six billion light years in any direction you’re seeing the light that was at the furthest extremity of light itself – and no time has passed for it, no time at all.” He glances aside to the place where giggling children splash and dive. “The furthest places we see or conceive were all the same place in the primal beginning…”
“Which makes the place where you’re sitting right now the centre of the universe,” Ram observes with a laughing cough. “Everywhere is the centre of the universe,” Bors agrees. “It has to be.”
“And it’s all expanding from the centre,” David twinkles. “The centre of you…”
“But who cares?!” Bors shouts, a cry of exasperated affront delivered in the face of the Nordic giant’s smirking self-assurance. “It’s all still going down the gurgler, all slipping away on one big death trip to nowhere. What’s the difference? We’re alive now and soon we won’t be - we’ll never understand how it all works. So what?” His glare is a challenge that Ram’yana diverts with an interjection. “Life is the opposite of entropy,” the shaman prince murmurs, unwilling to push this angry neighbour much further beyond the limiting boundaries of his grimly depressed certitude.
David is more exuberant. “Free will makes anything possible; it changes everything.” He exudes a boundless unsullied optimism and a momentary cloud of turquoise dragonflies surrounds him as he turns to regard Anike; a beautiful bronze bas relief merging with a suntanned cluster of poolside boulders in the brilliant southern sunlight.
“There are very good reasons for wanting to understand how it all hangs together – if it’s all made of mindstuff,” Ram’yana insists. “That’s right,” David agrees. “All this…” he slaps a water-rounded rock, “is energy, after all. And what’s the matrix behind the energy?”
“Mindstuff,” answers the prince, “patterns of information that we’re continually creating, using the stuff that dreams are made of. Mind affects matter all the time. There are demonstrably solid, easily replicable studies which effectively prove that telepathy and telekinesis are real and observable – Rupert Sheldrake’s researches, for instance, and the world-wide ElectroGaiaGram network of random number generating computers, which was originally designed to test these very seminal postulates. Or the internet site known as ‘Half Past Human’, which clearly demonstrates human prescience. The evidence is there for any who want to examine the research - and the implication is that the world is made of mindstuff; a fractal hologram, all contained in all of its parts and particles at all levels. Or as it’s long been stated by others before us, ‘as above, so below’.”
Bors remains unimpressed. “So? It doesn’t stop all of it from being pointless.” A silver perch breaks the surface, gulps down a miniature violet butterfly and splashes back into its element with a sun-catching flash of platinum tail. “Warrummm… POO!” The plosive cry of a Wompoo fruit dove breaks into their tightly focused tiny circle, startlingly loud and intense in the peaceful surrounds.
“The bird disagrees,” Ram claims with an unconvincingly self-effacing smile. He holds back from saying that all death trips are self-fulfilling prophecies; No point setting his nihilism in ever more solidly concreting mental accretions, he decides. Bors holds his gaze for a long moment, and Ram’s inherently schismatic attempt at fusing their diametrically separated positions fails to arouse any sense of camaraderie. The maths teacher’s stare becomes a furious grimace while an extending silence dissolves into the laughter of children who neither speak the same language nor experience the same egocentric imperatives as the preening adults.
“I have an idea for an invention - one for moving rocks more easily,” David ventures, apropos of something less fractious. “Now that’s really interesting,” Ram enthuses. He eyes the mounds of rock tumbled all about the riverside, masses of boulders and stones slowly filling the depths of the ancient waterhole where the slaughter of trees and fattening of meathead cattle has destroyed and collapsed the once salubrious banks of a pristine rainforest stream. He surveys the extraordinary range of building materials to determine which rocks he’ll next move and remove from the gravel-choked river by hand, one by one, until a decent depth has been achieved for struggling fish, eels, tortoises and platypuses. “Go on…” he entreats his companion, indicating the embarrassment of rocky riches. “Please…”
A True Story
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More True Tales of the Prince of Centraxis…
For further edification see –
The Her(m)etic Hermit - http://hermetic.blog.com
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From The Prince of Centraxis - http://centraxis.blogspot.com