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In reply to: Strings of Nines
“Just do it. Either just do it, or just make something up” she told herself. Again. “Either do it, or make it up, but stop thinking about it and talking about it.” Yoland sighed and turned on the radio. It was an old pink one, the kind with the dials that turn, and a pull out antenna. The antenna was a bit rusty at the bottom and didn’t rotate very well, which made it a bit tricky to get a clear reception without alot of preliminary juggling around and fidgeting. The dogs under her desk scratched themselves noisily as Yoland fiddled with the radio.
“In the backwater….”
“…yes you’ve got the Splain Channel loud and clear now all you have to do is focus on what the next word is and then write it down without thinking about the spelling, as you can see you are looking at the keybaord and tryping”, Yoland smiled at the typo, “the words that you are hearing without trying to anallzye them too much now. ok are you ready? We’re going to do some balloon exercise first to get the ball rolling, you see, there are many ways to blow up a balloon, and I’ll be the first to tell you you’re doing it wrong, I am kidding, of course.”
Yoland smiled, inching forward on the chair to accomodate the dog that had wormed his way round her back, wondering whether or not to move him.
“Your chair is fine the way it is, that’s a very common delaying tactic my freind, and one you are quite familiar with. Now, pay attention once again to simply the words that you hear as you are writing, watching the keys is rather mesmerising is it not….”
Yoland did a quick reality check and agreed that she was feeling a bit mesmerized, and realized that she possibly could feel considerably more mesmerized if she stopped doing reality checks.
“…and as you watch your fingers moving along in a rather detached way, you can detach your attachment to knowing what the next word might be and simply write what you hear; we are practicing the sliding away from the strict hold on trying to anticpate the net words and then you freeze the flow, it shouldn’t be tiring if you let go and relax a bit and simply allow your fingers to move of their own accord while you relax your shoulders…”
What a load of rubbish, thought Yoland, as she adjusted her chair, which had a habit of suddenly dropping down an inch, just enough to make it hard for her to reach the keyboard. Sighing, she wondered about ever getting a satisfactory answer to her Really Big Questions, the ones that nobody had answered so far. All she ever managed to tune into was rambling waffling inane….
“….you feel that your questions are so large that the capacity for distortion is huge, and you feel that other questions are easily answered via other routes and methods, and this is correct.”
Yoland wondered what THAT was supposed to mean.
“Ok we can forget questions then and I will tell you a story.”
Yoland relaxed. That sounded easier.
“Once upon a time there was a beer fisherman from the planet of Oxbloodshire.”
Oh here we go, she thought. What’s coming next…
“Whether or not you find clues in there is entirely your choice to create them, and all are equally valid. This is such a simple thing: that even the most seemingly miniscule sentences contain a myriad of potential diversions and convergences, routes, patterns, nets, from even the tiniest particle of an idea. All of them are boundlessly creative offshoots which become a particular stream, or string.”
Yoland found herself wondering where some of them started, and found she didn’t know where to start.
“With the question of syncronicities every point of them is the start point, the end point, the main point, the moot point, and the connecting links as well, as are all the others. When you get your ball of string in a tangle, it’s easier to throw it away and start a new one.”
Yoland was inclined to agree, but wondered if that sounded like sensible advice.
“Immediately the new one starts linking up all kinds of things in a new interconnected design pattern, and then when that gets in a right tangle, a fresh ball of string awaits; the tangled ones aren’t in a tangle at all when you’re not tangled up within it.”
Well, that certainly sounded resonable, Yoland had to admit.
“And why waste time with old tangles anyway when you can start afresh and just make something up, for no particular reason?”
Bloody good question, why not indeed? Yoland decided to start making things up there and then, and turned her computer off and went to pack her case.
In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud
In reply to: Strings of Nines
Largely concealed by his trenchcoat and his large pinhole glasses, peering through the other pinholes he’d made in his copy of that outdated rag of the Old Reality Times newspaper in front of him, Godfrey was spying on Franlise who he could see trotting on the cobblestone pavement at a fast pace —and rather elegantly for a cleanlady, he should add.
She was wearing a pair of posh fishnet stockings which would on occasion raise a few whistles from the bystanders. All of which was making his staying incognito rather impracticable.Maybe she had detected something, but suddenly as well as inexplicably, she altered her course to dive into a dark alley on the side of a tall building. From there, she seemed to have vanished. She was certainly inside that building… all of this was getting suspicious and suspiciouser.
Godfrey decided to wait patiently for an hour or so. After all, the autumn breeze of Hoowkes Bay was doing good to his flooh. He ordered a coughee latte at the terrace of a nearby café, throwing occasionally a few side glances in case the mysterious inner-lovely cleanlady would suddenly reappear. He was quite enjoying being here, taking a break from Ann’s often incoherent streams of thoughts his flooh was giving him a hard time to piece together. He’d been better at that than he was now, he was the first to admit.
Now, he wondered, why was he continuously attracting such extravagant authors such as Elizabeth and Ann. Perhaps he loved the thrill posed to him by the labyrinthine tendrils of imagination these two had the curious ability to spread afar and entangle beyond hope… Or perhaps it was simply a curse.A that point, the screech of a magpie pierced the mid-afternoon sunlight bathed and calm balmy air, interrupting his thoughts. An omen?
Maybe also, and more simply, he was taking a liking to the mysterious cleanlady and was envying her apparent natural ability at streamlining those nuggets of thoughts into seemingly coherent patterns. If such a thing as a Fellowship of Unification and Continuity in Knowledge existed, it couldn’t really be a terrorist organisation… it seemed more like a flovesend relief group to him.
But frankly, he didn’t even know what he was talking about.
In reply to: Strings of Nines
Dhurga was practicing araiki movements, he was preparing to hunt and the different patterns of the araiki were helping him express his intention. Once it has been expressed through the patterns, the physical reality would match naturally and he would be provided for. All he has to do is follow the energy.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Yurick woke up from another spell of dreams. The patterns of the bedsheets where as though his newly inserted tile was creating a strong combination with other tiles.
In his puzzlement, he forgot to take a physical dream snapshot…
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Speaking of toomoorroow, Elizabeth,there is something I have been meaning to say to you for some time now. Godfrey cleared his throat nervously. Somehow with all our deep, and incredibly meaningful philosoophising about life, I clean forgot to mention it.
Clean is hardly the word I would have used whilst anywhere in the vicinity of this ooffice, muttered Finnley, mostly to herself, as she attempted to dislodge a large spooder web from the corner of the ceiling.
Godfrey hesitated. He looked down and with somewhat unusual preoccupation made spiral patterns in the thick layer of dust on the window ledge.
Godfrey, what is it? asked Elizabeth starting to feel some alarm. Oh in the name of Floove, you haven’t found another Felicity have you!
No, nothing like that. The thing is, you see … well …
Spoot it out! You are driving me Madder than Almad! snapped Elizabeth, losing patience, and craving nicobeck. She knew that meddlesome Finnley would take great delight in reporting her to Mr Arak if she smoked in the ooffice.
Godfrey sighed and looked up, directly into Elizabeth’s beautiful violet, albeit rather bloodshot, eyes.
I have been offered a position managing a poonut farm in Noo Zooland. I start immediately. It is a dream come true for me Elizabeth. I had to accept.
No! screamed Elizabeth.
Yes, I am afraid so. Goodbye dear Elizabeth. We both knew I was a rubbish pooblisher. Why don’t you see if that chap Bronkel will come back?
Good riddance I say! said Finnley as Godfrey walked out the door. You two have done nothing but speak noonsense in a hooty tooty accent since that man arrived.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
His species was dying.
He knew there were a possibility to save his people in mixing their encoding patterns with that of the Turmaki.But what was their intent as a species? The Ancient Gates were gone, only a few of them had remained after the shift of the Phreal. Tor Amok had chosen to stay along with some friends. The temptation to follow the others had been great, but something was still holding him in the old ways.
He had to talk with their officials and offer them to share their paths.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Many people were gathered at the Soft Pool in the Garden of The Orientations.
Some of them were sitting here still and smiling, their eyes closed and open to the different energies surrounding them. Some of them were standing others walking around and a few ones were running following seemingly random patterns. Their movements were the perfect match of the energy connections between each participant, physical and non physical.It was like a shining crystal, some rays of light/attention creating an instant connection and an instant energy exchange which need not be continuously maintained, many different connections were being created and were lasting as long as necessary, sometimes a few seconds, sometimes a few minutes, and others mere moments.
His interactions fulfilled, Sam gathered his attention toward his new goal and he left the crowd at its game, the energy of the experience still present inside his energy field.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Australia, Uluru, Dec. 2035
Sam wasn’t very fond of the Ooh dimension adventures; he didn’t yet have inserted a focus (or foocoos) here for that matter. And he was too engrossed in the City creation planning to design a few parks there anyway.
He just had his first night under the stars, on the freshly built wooden floor on top of a jujubaobab tree in the middle of the park where he could see the patterns he wanted to insert on the gardens. It looked a bit like the French gardens in the Versailles gardens most of his focuses liked so much in the past. He was aware of Yann, his shifting focus, who was precisely visiting the gardens at that same simultaneous time, with friends and family.
He laughed when he projected to him, and overheard a discussion where Yurick was pointing to a typo he made about the Jeff Kuuntz expo that was there. Decidedly, Yann had the same dislike of the Ooh dimension, preferring the Uuh’s.When he started to go to sleep, the feelings started to blur in a strange mixture of imageries…
Jeff had strange dreams that night. He was singing Tumuuld to a certain Elizabeth who was speaking all funny, and playing djudjuriduu on the treetops, surrunded by inflated magunta colured balluuns…
Sometimes it tuuk his breathe away how life was strunge, but cuul.In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
It felt like she’d been projecting for hours —in and out of her body, often brought back by the incomfort of the warm and moistly room, where the rheumatic fan was blowing a measly wind full of humidity.
The rabbit she’d seen a few hours ago was ‘wanishing’, like a gentle feeling of pure joyful happiness holding by a thread that you try to reminisce before lapsing back into the old patterns of self-doubts.
She didn’t have to strain herself so much, she suddenly realized; it never worked well when she tried to push it. She wanted the clarity of the projection to be deeply anchored within herself, and not some stroboscopic view of her grim reality sandwiched in glimpses of blissful clear lightness.
So, she decided to wait for the moment to be back. Time didn’t really matter once you projected, but here in this reality time still mattered, and you had to find the proper exit-way. Not all moment seemed to work well.
There were old books in this room, most of them, her son probably did pile up without even reading them. Some of them evoked the the birth pangs of the new era they were still building, which had started about 30 years ago. Now, in 2038 she was old, but back then she was in her mid-life and fully aware of the good aspects and not so good aspects of this life. She had yearned for the changes, and it had come; she had outlived most of them, and the books probably wouldn’t tell her much that she had not actually lived. Probably her son was keeping them because of his beliefs on wasting his investments.
She, for one, couldn’t care less about them.She picked a little book, with a few words and mostly drawings and symbols on it, and she smiled. She’d seen some of these symbols in her dreams, she related to them; she didn’t need the words explaining them; words were just the authors’ translations, and she trusted her own before them. But the book was making her feel good.
She leaned back in her bed, maneuvering the rolling bed to be in front of the last beams of light of the day.
She could see the full moon rise, and she felt peaceful.
When she noticed she was in front of the cave, she wondered how long she’d been out of her body without knowing.
She could see the moon higher in the sky than when she was in her room, and she could feel an energy of excitement.Anita was finally coming out of this underground trip with her parents. Seeing the little girl in the flesh would be such a revelation for her, she was thrilled to the point of even forgetting her doubts about the possibility that she was really becoming insane.
She didn’t know why or how, but she would convince her son to offer them some shelter, so that they could settle before getting home. She had so much to learn from the little one she could feel. She was really wise beyond her age…Voices where starting to fill the silent space:
“Anu! It’s been hours now we’ve been in these damp corridors, are you sure you know the way?”
“Yes Mum, we’re almost there…”
“Here, I can see the light Lily!”
“Yes, I can see it too Aaron!”
“Wow, the moon is full, it’s so lovely”After the couple had emerged, Balbina could see Anu wink at her. She was seeing her! Now, she only need show her the way to the house!
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
After that strange dream, Yann had completely forgotten about the city and the puzzle reality game and the park. He’d caught a cold and a disturbing hiccup that made his thoughts hard to follow. He’d been wanting to do so many things during that week end, and it was all running away from him.
Yurick was preparing him some medicine made from essence drops and jasmine tea, and Yann particularly enjoyed how his friend was taking care of him… he was feeling like a child of about 8. Though he was grumpy and mumbling a lot, he was pleased that they shared this occasion to talk about everything and nothing in particular. When Yurick told him about a lightus flower and a spam about a puzzle, Yann remembered his dream and what he saw there. He was telling his friend about the different patterns he saw in that park and that’s when emerged the idea of a book.
The 2 friends were quite excited about the idea of a hidden city, yet to unfold. This book would be one step toward its manifestation.
Yann, who was quite readily passionate about weird things was already imagining walking the ground of the park and hearing the sound of the water condensing from no cloud and falling in the even pong.
“And you know what? That teacher you were listening to in my dream, something in his way of speaking reminds me of Aleksane…”
“I have the impression of a hearty laugh, an eye and a thrilling atmosphere”, said Yurick.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
“So we’ll be moving as soon as the others come back from their trip. Very well, that will be a great opportunity to see new environments for Yikes “ Vincentius acknowledged the news with his usual composure.
“Very well then, I hope you are not too worried about Arona, but she…”
“Not at all” Vincentius answered with a smile.
“Oh… Okay then. Perfect!”Malvina added as if to make sure he had understood everything properly “So, I’ll be at my friend’s den for a few days. Georges and Salome will be here in case you need anything, and of course Buckie, though he might be a bit unpredictable…”
“Have a safe voyage” so Vincentius, who was not of many words when it wasn’t about saying something meaningful, ended the conversation.
To go to see her friend Yimho, Malvina wanted to look pretty —not dashing, but not looking like a country girl either. She reached for the linen embroidered dress with the zynder patterns. She loved it, it would be perfect.
Yimho was a guy living nearby she had known briefly from her days of Sorcery training, who had a rejuvenating cave situated just under a hot spring, so that water was running almost everywhere inside the cave. On the walls, the floor, little pools everywhere. Yimho had this uncanny interest in golfindels and was telling all sorts of stuff to entertain people with; stuff that he got from tuning himself to the consciousness of the creatures.
Malvina was thinking she would have a nice time there, though the echoes of clicking sounds throughout Yimho’s dwelling were a bit disturbing…In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
The door of the garage opened with a creaking sound, and Madame Chesterhope sped up into the gritty alley.
In that dimension where she had hidden her command base, people were a bit sloppy about roads and tarmac, so she had designed a little modification on her machines to be able to levitate in some of the less practical areas; but she had to admit,… she loved the vibrations and bumps that the motorbike created with the friction of the ground surface.
She started to giggle, all enthusiastic about the speed and the wind in her hair, that she ignored the road sign indicating that the road was flooded some miles ahead. The rain had been pouring cabbages all past hexades, so much so that her leather suit was in all honesty the best thing she could have worn, not to mention the fact of course, that it was making her totally sexy.
Two peasants were coming her way, looking at her with wild eyes like they had just seen something otherworldly. Ahahah she laughed, the fools would soon have forgotten everything about it (another handy and sly magical modification she nodded to herself). Looking in her rear mirror, she could still see them wiggle their hands in a frenzy… What the fl…! On the road, the two peasants wondered what in the name of Shaint Lejus was that rider… But worse, it was heading straight to the pool that the swollen river had made recently, outpouring on fields and little sniggly and thorny paths, like this one. Making desperate signs to be seen and warn it, they watched in horror the black podgy thing with flabby flapping schpurniatz arms sink straight to the bottom of the pool.
The landing was a bit bumpy, but she found her balance quickly. Those transdimensional puddles were a bit rough to get accustomed to, but once you knew how to manipulate it, you couldn’t forget it.
Now, all she needed to got to the location she was heading to was to hop through a few more transdimensional puddles.
Actually, all sorts of puddles could do the job, water puddles, even oil puddles… or run-over poodle puddles for that matter. She preferred water ones, for the quality of water was very fluid, and allowed for easier defocusing. Lately she had tried transdimensional exhaust fumes clouddles, but that was a bit disorienting more than helping.
As far as she could tell, this first one had been projecting her to a dimension in between Earth and the Duane. Incorporating vibrational qualities of the two, with a little more rigidity though. The machine needed a little time to stabilize and get prepared for the next transdimensional jump.
As far as she could tell, she was in a place that was not unlike her birthplace, in the countryside of England. There were occasionally some giveaways that she still wasn’t quite there yet, like an erratic flying schpurniatz, but she was close now.
A few meters in front of her, she could see a lovely puddle that could do for the next jump. A bit small for her… well, motorbike, what were you thinking… but that would probably do it. She took another breath, then pushed the TDPP (Trans-Dimensional Puddle Propeller) button. Flof-flof-flof-flof…
Bugger, bugger…. What the bloody heck!Straw was flying all over her hair, and obfuscating her vision… Darn last puddle had to much mud in it, and her concentration went off for a split second, heading her towards a field of barley.
Turning round and round for a moment in complete disorientation, she finally pushed the levitation button to take a little altitude.
Oh, now,… at least she could tell she was in England, because she knew that place.
How perfect! She could now just move into the dimension to the Pacific island. The GPS included in the modern expensive motorbike had been bipping as soon as it had found again the satellites, and it was now pointing the direction.
Giggling again, she pushed a new button and disappeared into the sky in a supersonic puff of smoke. a few days later, Chestershire, UK
AFP - 2008-07-21 - An new amazing design has been reported by eye-witnesses on a crop of barley of a local farmer along with reports of strange booming sounds and orbs of light. A sight to behold, the delicate intricacy of these interwoven patterns is believed by many to be the work of the Crop-circle Makers, some alien intelligence desiring to communicate with us. The theme of this crop-circle is thought to be a variation on planet Venus cycles, and would be highlighting the number of cycles lefts until the notorious end-date of Mayan calendar, Dec. 21st 2012. Scientists have brushed off the allegations of elderly pranksters, as this one seemed to have required levels of astronomical knowledge far beyond human intelligence.In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
New Venice, July, 1 st 2035
The night was hot in New Venice at this time of the year. The weather patterns had been steadily shifting for many years, and the climate was now sub-tropical in the inundated Big Apple, as more and more people resented the usual coldness of winters, and had subjectively agreed upon a heightening of the temperatures of a few degrees.
Though accustomed to tell his body to relax, and vibrate at a lower frequency to counteract the sticky and displeasing effects of the heat, Al was finding sleep hard to find. Usually, he would attribute those moments of twitching slumberness to mass accessing of subjective information and bringing them to the objective. With the eclipse that would occur in the next weeks, those were still time of great cosmic synchronistic congruence.
Needless to say, he and Tina had been somewhat stirred by Becky’s sudden casualness, and relative abandon not only of the Reality Play but also of her three lovely first born to her friends.
People of that mysterious facility that Becky had briefly spoken so highly of had been doing a fantastic job, considering the very early birth, but still, Al had soon noticed the babies were displaying some kind of emotionless state which was eerie to observe in children that young. He had first thought of a remnant from the birth trauma, but it appeared that they were all perfectly aware, and even more than that, accutely aware of their environment to the point of displaying qualities of awareness akin to telepathy or pre-sentience.Sam’s innate talent with the young ones had been very beneficial to them, and Al was hoping, would help them access their emotional communications as a guidance system to navigate within the immense and potentially overwhelming quantity of subjective information they were given such an easy access to.
Finally after having spent so much time before the cyputer, Al was collapsing from tiredness. He threw himself on the tatami for a healthy dose of rejuvenating sleep. Or so he thought…
Al woke up with a chill, sweat beading over his eyebrow.
He remembered.
They would come… Hybrids from their future… He remembered having met one a few years ago.
A strange bald guy with piercing eyes and strange snorting twitches on his face. One moment he was talking to him in the middle of the ramp waiting for a condocab, and the moment after, he had forgotten all of this encounter.
The guy had said intently to wait for the time when the Dream would remind them it was the Time of the Reunion.
So what was next? Aliens coming in their aluminum flying saucepans making mosquito sounds?
That sounded awfully like the outrageous rants that old Russian guy named Pasha was making years ago in the archives of Dory —which they had taken as a basis for their Reality Play…Gosh, that dream was so vivid, it couldn’t be a coincidence… Especially since the first Hybrids to make contact all looked like they were clones of Becky!
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
His teeth had been nudging him for a few days, or maybe a few weeks actually. Last Wednesday, Yurick and him had a chat with their friends Michaela and Elias, and Yann told them about his questioning.
Now, he was wondering about what was the meaning of all that in his new understanding of his reality. He was having the impression that he was in a complex video game and that at the beginning he hadn’t been told about all the fun stuffs he could do in it. Many aspects of this video game were unraveling and still he was feeling cold feet about jumping ahead.
Yann was noticing that his teeth were nudging himself mainly when he was doing certain things, like judging himself, finding himself unworthy, trying to force himself in certain directions, or to force his body. It was like his body was an amazing communication device from him to himself. It was continuously giving him information, not only about his environment like temperature, smells, lights and images, but also about what would have been hidden like weather patterns, mass excitement or balance, mass tension or release…
Elias had told him and Yurick that their energy was constantly open to each other, in a continuous merging and exchanging process. They were quite aware of that now, and at the beginning of their relation it would have been overwhelming, but now it was really fulfilling in many ways. Even when they were not in physical proximity, they would be together and feel each other. But they were also more centered upon themselves and they were not as influenced by the mood of the other as they had been
they had reached a more balanced relationship and were beginning to intensify the movement.
Yann had also begun to be aware of a humming tone, inaudible, but very present. It was humming under the veil of this reality and he had been told it was one of his language of communication. This was very intriguing and it was overlapping his interest in his body and his teeth, he was wondering about the effects of this humming tone on them.In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
The cold wind was blowing upon the marshes. The atmosphere was damp and dark with threatening gray clouds. A storm was approaching and Asiir was dreaming.
Her dreams were so strong that they were triggering many emotions in her rider. Since their bonding seven years ago, their link had grown stronger and Lola wouldn’t think of shutting it down even in those uncomfortable moments. They were one.
Lola was feeling a menace, some undefined threat coming with the storm, as if the storm was just the visible counterpart of what was preparing. In those moments, Lola couldn’t help but think of her family and her village… Her fist grasped tightly the grip of the sword she was holding.
Everyone was killed when she was nine. Her dragon wasn’t fully developed at that time and couldn’t help her save her people. All Asiir could do was shield her from them as she was shielding herself, not even thinking of it.
She sighed deeply, releasing the pressure of the storm and of the dreams. She’d learnt not to hold on the powerful emotional responses but to open herself as a channel of her dragon’s dreams. All she could do was let the energy flow through her. Was it Asiir creating the storm or the storm disturbing Asiir’s dreams? She wasn’t aware of the answer yet, but at times it had bothered her to think that her dragon could cause “bad things” to happen.
A chilly breeze and a surge of electricity. She grinned impishly.
It was the time of her lesson.You’re late master. she thought to the shadowy figure behind her. She was feeling something different that day in the presence. You’re not alone. I can feel a different energy with you today…
The dragon growled in her agitated sleep.
Your emotions are dragon drenched again, Lola. I know you consider it a proof of your connection with your beast, but it may be far more damaging than you think.
Lola had felt a twinge at how Samira had called her friend, she was feeling her emotions rise dangerously to the point which she had learned she could not control herself. She had always wondered if Samira was seriously considering dragons as beasts or if she was teasing her, especially since she had let the connection develop in such a way.
You’re going to have a new teacher…
Lola’s heartbeat accelerated slightly, so slightly, but she could feel her mentor’s smile upon her interrogations. Was she leaving? She’d always dreaded such a moment. She felt the wry expression of Samira.
I’m not going away… you need a training that I can’t give you. You need to learn how to ride properly over your bond and not get consumed by it, and Noraam can teach you that.
A strange impression of connection with the new energy flew in her, making her feel quite uneasy. Such an intimacy was unusual with another human energy. Or was he human?
A sudden surge of energy made her wince. She turned to her mentor and was surprised to only see Samira in her stout armor. She could feel the strength of the other energy but she couldn’t give him a form. She was feeling nudged gently from many directions at the same time and realized that she was afraid of loosing her bond with her friend. Wasn’t she trusting her bond? Another chill, and the rain started falling.
You won’t really need all that Samira taught you during these last 4 years
The inner voice was almost inaudible, but still she could feel it was not a voice and that the communication was going through another pathway. The vegetation of the marshes and few rocks were shifting to an unnatural yellow tint, and the faint glow around her teacher was growing in intensity. Actually, all the objects around her was beginning to glow, the limits of their shapes were collapsing.
Lola was sill feeling the link with Asiir but it was thinning down in such an unfamiliar way.
I’m going to help you remove the veils that Samira helped you put on your consciousness when you first met. But first you need to renew the link with yourself.
She heard a vague sound of steel on the ground… had she lost her sword? She couldn’t feel her body. She couldn’t move as she was used to… but was it still something to move? The face of a man was forming in the energy patterns of the glowing clouds. Was he close or far away? Was he huge or of human size? Was she massive?
A pounding sound in the distance of her inner ear… a familiar call but she was still so far.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
So then, said Franiel sitting down beside a small mound of earth, what now?
The top of the mound of earth was smoothed flat, and with a twig Franiel began to form small spiral patterns abstractedly in the earth. He felt no desire to go back to the monastery and face Aum Geog with the news of the loss.
He held the twig high, and then released it to fall to the ground. It fell without sound, landed unharmed on the mound of earth. He closed his eyes and in the dark at the back of his mind, he heard the voice of his grandmother whisper; Spirals make more sense than crosses Franiel my boy, joys more than sorrows.
Spirals make more sense than crosses….
None of it made much sense to Franiel. The feeling of freedom he felt momentarily slipped away. He was left looking at the space where it had been, feeling empty. The task given him by Aum Geog had given him a feeling of purpose, for a short time had allowed him to forget how lost he felt. Yet now the task had been taken from him, and he was in no hurry to retrieve it, he saw it for the illusion it had been.
What would it feel like to want to go somewhere? Or to want to be something, to want to be a monk, to want to be a teacher, to want to be the father of a family? To be able to arrange oneself neatly in a box and say I belong here?
Spirals make more sense than crosses …. day becomes night becomes day, lives come into being, and go out of being … there is always new life coming into being …… around and around
He began to walk along the path, away from where he had already been …. towards something new? He caught sight of a dead blackbird lying in the long grass to the side of the track and knelt down to look at it.
It is quiet and still.
He dug a hole, scraping in the dirt with his fingers and then using a stone to lever the lifeless body into the hole. The bird’s brown eyes are still open. Franiel covered it with dirt, looking deep into it’s eyes, until there is no sign of it, just a mound of earth.
He traced a spiral in the dirt.
Joys more than sorrows…
He sat back on his heels, and keeping his mind empty, he sang to the dead bird.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
What a francitic woman thought Elizabeth, a bit less distressed now she had secured her last insights into her clooh-box.
Hopefully, she could happily forget about those, and go for a walk to have some welcomed cooffee.Wishing she would not bounce into some unwelcome apparition, she trod her way to the outside world.
How long it had been? With all that pressure from her publisher, she had almost forgotten how exquisite it all was outside.
So simple, and yet so brilliant.It didn’t have the complexity of the Worlds of which she intuited things, nor the same amount of excitement it aroused in her, but nonetheless it was appeasing, and that was perhaps all she needed for the moment.
Perhaps a walk to Garden Centrool would do her great. Sitting on a bench near the dribbling foontain where cuckoos were drinking at the sound of woodpeckers’ holes drilling, she became entranced by the sound of water, and almost felt like dancing at the cuckoos and woodpecker’s cooing and drumming beats…
All this Lemone quotes were now far away… She’d had enough of them, and wanted simpler truths. Lively ones.
She could feel inspiration flow back into herself, as she envisioned her favorite depiction of inspiration, the mangeloose Pigoosus. Elizabeth was reeling in its wonderful aura, seeing the squinting eyes of the creature, the magnificence of its sprawled wings, its awe-inspiring moose antlers, and the slick body of a foxy mongoose with a protuberant snoot.It all was symbolic of herself of course, the best depiction of all her awesome features. The snoot for curiosity (and nose in general), the wings for imagination, the antlers for connection, and the mongoose for the fearlessness and sex-appeal.
Pigoosus, or Pigooh, as she called him, was telling him tales, tales that were spun between the gapping holes of her clooh-box items, and that were weaving them together in beautiful macramooh patterns.
The Shift in Earth-dimension awareness is coming and it is revealing long-lost hidden things, that is the reason of these other-dimensional bleed-through on the islands. Where those having hoped to bury some artifacts away of consciousness, in that dimension where all was so separated that even Pigooh would have had trouble getting throoh. The skulls gates one by one open now.…
Pen! She needed a pen!
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Georges and Salome’s journal
From Georges’ account of his first encounter with Shu Lom Agamon. Part II
We first met in a series of dreams. I realized we were planning that even before we objectively took our decision with Salome to travel to this dimension, since in the dreams I was recalling previous encounters with him. Shu-Lom was a focus of Blöhmul, and Blöhmul was in many ways connected to this particular travel.
In the dreams we were meeting in a sort of semi spherical place, surrounded by 12 gates. The floor was composed of several materials, and the pattern was quite similar to the portal we used to travel to this dimension though a bit different as it included other aspect-tiles of the Jorid.
One of them was the diapason, vibrating between them both, and the compass was imprinted on the spherical ceiling, moving slowly like a starry night sky. The central triangle was showing some blended colorful energy patterns, changing with the orientation of their discussion.
— Each gate is connected with the others, was saying the Guardian, and you can use them to go wherever you want on the 3 planets. We created their physical manifestations, though they are not physical in the first place. The twelve gates are our representation of our own essence families in this dimension. I can tell you the names by which we call them if you want…
My silent acquiescing was enough, and as he was telling me the names, each corresponding gate was activated until they were all illuminating the room with their iridescent colors.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Instantly Elizabeth regretted her spikey, voodish behaviour and scrambled to retrieve the telepooh. Her mother was Vood by nature, a particularly dysfunctional personality type, and Elizabeth had struggled all her life to avoid similar behavioural patterns. Her friends, and certainly her ex-husbands, would say perhaps with only partial success.
Apologies Bronkel, I was engrossed in my writing. How can I help you?
Bronkel appeared to be covered in bandages from what she could see of his upper torso, giving him the appearance of a rather odd mummy like creature. He was constantly searching for new beauty treatments to extend his youthful goodlooks, however at 167 years more and more desperate measures were being called for.
Elizabeth! Thank God, Where in Flork’s name have you been? he shouted at her. His pudgy, prouty little face was scrunched in peevish vexation. I can’t talk for long, I am on the Island for a month and the connection is flork. Where in the name of Fock is the story you promised me?
She could not find the words to reply to Bronkel. I wonder if I am mindblown? she mused. She had read of this horrible phenomenon, and seen the sad pictures of those thus afflicted. Poor wandering creatures, strange erratic behaviour, always travelling, always seeking. But for what? Hell on Dearth indeed. She shuddered.
It is getting urgent you know, spluttered Bronkel. Every day I am reading of new treatment centers opening for those undergoing crisis due to the prolonged absence of the Fickle Four in their lives.
She sighed, Pull yourself together Elizabeth, her bloodshot and tired eyes were drawn to the planetary horrorscope on the monthly calendar. Todays “Words of Comfort for the Descending” quotation was from the famous philosopher Lemone. She particularly loved Lemone’s ideas. Many considered him a nutter, a few thought he was a genius ahead of his time. For herself, she did not really know, only that his profoundly beautiful words offered a kind of solace or balm to her tortured soul at times such as this :
Sometimes it takes a single sniggly thorny path to go through to reach Elysian avenues much more efficiently ~ Lemone
Absolutely fantastic Bronkel, I think this is going to be the best novel yet! My God what an effort it took to say that, but for some reason Bronkel appeared to believe her and began to calm. Thank you Lemone, I could kiss you! she breathed an inward sigh of relief.
Poke its eyes out! screeched Robert X exuberantly.
A sniggly thorny path indeed, she thought, hanging up on Bronkel. She had fun using him and his island getaway for inspiration in her last novel. Fun, what happened to the fun? Is this what descended beings do, sit around in a dank, dusty office writing trashy novels?
She began nervously smoothing out pieces of paper and tried to decipher the scribbled notes; …big soup party …..pointy teeth like cannibals…..tribal wedding ….
Elizabeth put her head in her hands and groaned in abject despair. Twelve of the twenty mongoats fainted at the fearful sound.
