Wise Ones

The southeast winds blew gently, caressingly, full of medicinal salts, carried in from the Atlantic Ocean, and fragrances from the vegetation on the shorelands that continued to emit spicy intoxicants ahead of the winter solstice. Bella and Beetle, two lovers on the barrier beach, lay within each other's arms intertwined like one being, warmed by the burning driftwood they had collected and placed in the fire pit Beetle had dug. To be the only two people in a far-reaching radius around them granted them a considerable degree of freedom, in which they lost the constraints that came with having people near. They could do whatever, and no judging eyes would land upon them, no other thoughts, emotions from meddling peers would intrude. Sure, there may come benefits from socializing, and a person may be gregarious by nature, but, too, there were times when great freedom and distance from all others delivered a big payoff, anytime limitations were stripped away and permission was granted to roam beyond the beyond.

To know what was out there, took going out there. Bella and Beetle were not exactly making plans for it, it just happened, but rehearsed as they were in accepting new patterns of freedom living, they were excellent creatives for the conditions. A consciousness, or in this case two consciousnesses, and in so far as they were communally being, one consciousness, was a great catalyst for the machinations of the cosmic order, for the reality and the invisible realities to make another notch in the evolution of the world’s fate. Nothing could remain the same. There was a dynamism with great objectives occurring, but it took countless alignments for these growths to happen, and happen they would, just like all that went into a seed of a plant genus to be born in a plant, to free itself from the plant, to travel to a spot and become a plant in its own right. Receptive, grateful, appreciative, skillful, talented Bella-Beetle, Beetle-Bella rested in the comfort of the moment’s gift giving, having opened up itself to the sensory intake of the human consciousness, as if to say Behold, like a light suddenly emerges to render dark sayings visible, and their wisdom becomes digestible at last, like a nourishing piece of bread that fills a mind body soul up with a higher mood.

The couple’s mood encountered the mood of the skeletons up the beach on the mound stretching east-west, dancing before them as if they entered a theater for a performance, they purchased tickets to attend, if not snuck in through the front door for free, and were taking in the show. What initially began as a dance of death, a communication of desolation, drought, hopelessness, purgatory, damnation, forsakenness, lifeless scorched earth but for their membership and movement (if there was something there it could not be the ultimate desolation, the ultimate dead, the ultimate infertility, it had to be something) started to morph. As soon as the blackened scorched conditions by the slightest, subtlest of degrees broke, all changed dramatically, like that first moment when the charging galaxy star reaches that point below the horizon line when it makes its first forceful assault on the darkness and that heavy pall is alleviated ever so slightly, but it’s registered by the senses of the observer as a dramatic change due to the contrast. Everything that comes into the world is given an incredible sensitivity to the world’s processes; the gift itself is nothing earned, but it could be developed and built upon, just as it could be numbed and deadened. It was as if everyone was given a pair of wings and they could decide to use them or not, and if they decided to use them, they then had to decide how to use them, in what way, what to do with them, not just say, “Gee whiz, I got wings. Look at me.”

Initially, the dance was easily processed, just lying there, relaxing there, with an attitude of Ya, ya, I know this O cruel world. But as soon as there was the subtle alteration, they instantly realized they were caught up in it all, as if suddenly they were like O my God, we be stuck in a spider’s web and there’s no way out but to gleefully accept the sacrifice, which wasn’t any intentional one to begin with, but once on the altar and awaiting the imminent death blow it was best to quickly turn it into a willing self-sacrifice, blind acceptance. Whelp, life was life, life was that, here comes the now what, yippee!

In the initial brush with the skeletons in their dance patterns that maintained a line, there existed a spooky silence. If there was nothing to hear nor anything to feel or smell, what was suggested by sight alone was questionable, since just the one sense took it in, but the other senses were suggesting there was nothing to take in, not detecting anything to corroborate the information. But the skeletons were wise ones, they dealt in the wisdom of all creation, which flowed among the living and the dead, across galaxies, through worlds, in and out of dreams; there was no escaping Wisdom. She was omnipresent like sunshine on a cloudless summer afternoon day upon the Great Plains of the island’s far eastern part that many visited during the peak tourist season, but it was as if they were ignorant of it all and might as well have been any place else, unless, unless something broke them free, like a divine intervention, that which occurred to Paul instantly or Austin over time.

At first blush, these figures were in a bad way, and yet, even in winter the dead-looking stuff had buried deeply within that spark of life that was being nurtured and worked upon, readying it for the moment when it would burst from out of its tightly compressed energy intensifying spherical nucleus, laughing in the face of the powerless death grip, as it defeated it with great triumph using life, and life again, higher and greater than before times. In the subtle morph of these figures’ situation, their stations in it, he had a piercing notion, like an arrowhead shot through his skull, planted in the mind and emitted mosaics of colorful new insights, revealing and shining light on dark sayings he hadn’t even known were present, concealed the way they were in the darkness of the unawakened period, and realized there was in them a promising spark of life, like one of those red coals covered in the soot of itself at the bottom of an extinguished fire on a deserted shoreline, cold and relatively colorless, the beach grass having turned from bright emerald green to a brittle lifeless brown and tan. They were forsaken, but not ultimately forsook; they were the sufferers with finality yet rendered.

As the identifiable change manifested itself, becoming more convincing with the growing moment, laying claim to the great phases and passages of time, merciless, unrelenting time, in the dynamism of the whole galaxy, revolutions and orbits, demanding to have the prolonged forefront prominence to drive home relevance and significance, like a vision will grip a seer and intoxicate them with it, eclipsing all else, and in the all-encompassing interaction prove its importance like the Book of Revelations by John Patmos, Beetle realized his seeing became accompanied by a hearing of these figures. At first, he disbelieved his ears. In fact, Beetle was half-hoping that instead of his other senses becoming complicit in the crime, they’d extricate sight from it altogether and return him to a different situation, proving for the moment his eyes had erred in an extraordinary way. He confirmed the sounds were being emitted from the skeletons: his ears guided him to its source along with his eyes. The bones of the skeletons were like tuning forks, each one vibrating and emitting a pulsing tone as if with purposeful intention, like a group of musicians were playing together in a symphony, extemporaneously arriving at a harmonious and relevant for the unfolding moment composition. When he zeroed in on one bone, he could tell if it was vibrating and emitting a tone or if it was silent and only in possession of the potential to vibrate and emit a sound. The movements of the skeletons were as if composing the tonal rich textures, and yet, it was as if that rich song was causing the movements; it was impossible to determine which came first, and it was quite possible they were intricately wrapped within each other and there was some other force at work, like a master musician striking drums, causing both the movement and the corresponding melodies. When the sound first began to emit and when he consciously registered it was not identifiable, but once he heard it, he felt like it was always sounding, and it had simply become more frequent and more forceful. Since he was experiencing a mystery at the eastern end, Beetle tasted a trace of fear, but it was not the debilitating fear of prohibition, it was the fear of initiation, recalibrating him, readying him, like a loofah removes dead skin cells and opens pores. In the movement of the bones of the skeletons, the sounds emitted composing a song, Beetle suddenly observed a display of colors, participating in the magnificent show. They were predominately a white, red, black and pale green, intermingling across a spectrum, flashing and receding, staying around lingering and fading away, as if they, the colors, were actors among the figures and sounds. Gripped as he was by the magical moment, Beetle was all in. Being all in meant the experience was continuously giving, and the richness of it was ever increasing and filling itself out. The sensory intake up to that point began to exponentially spread, demanding other senses play a pivotal role in it, as if they, too, were summoned to play their parts or face dire consequences, as if the moment before all was a test to gauge who and what was interested and willing to do that which would save them from the torturous lower realms of being, which would cause them to experience the insatiable longings for a transition beyond themselves, knowing full well the opportunities they had and failed to seize upon through foibles they hadn’t even attempted to work on to improve, giving no reason for a mercy gesture to rescue them.

Beetle’s senses, having gone through the ringer countless times, it was a wonder they stuck with him to this day, it was a wonder he himself had arrived at the moment at all, had any moments, made it out and remained among the living, therefore, helping him to appreciate each subsequent experience, moment, as a gift of magnificent proportions, the attitude spreading through every facet of him, aiding the senses to come along and be a part of the fortune earned by the beneficial and benevolent twist and turn saying Beetle, now comes the Vision of the Experience, the Perception Beyond the Perception, the living of the life that most never live, magnanimously offered, gratefully received, gracefully utilized, generously shared, turned up with great skill and commitment, adherents of the divine discipline, knowing the source of themselves and the pleasing nature of Unio Mystica, and his power of smell next started to play along, picking up fragrances of the art, which not only accentuated the movement, the colors, the sounds, but were as if in strong prominent roles of their own, into which he could explore a vastness that would give him a cornucopia of material by which he could save the world. Saving himself through an intense experience with a more substantial reality birthed a wide-reaching amelioration of all perceived, as if all participated and generated a greater serpent skin of itself, after shedding the former. The scents drawn through his nostrils, defying logical expectation, ranged across the poignant fragrances experienced in his life, each carrying with them a host of associations that were invoked or left dormant in a rapid speed exceeding any sped up film, as if in one single flash of light there were countless scenes of his life revisited, sources of sage, rose, cedar, sandalwood, pine, scrub oak, crocus, thyme, cosmos, milkweed, seaweeds, daisies, sea myrtle, goldenrods...

Adding to the smell sense was touch, and he was amazed when the scents, the bones, the sounds, the skeleton movements extended through the distance to connect themselves to him at various points on his flesh, generating a series of wild sensations he could at once perceive and process while simultaneously there was a whole host of them that spilled over and he couldn’t connect with, being overwhelmed, occupied with those he could. The more the moment lived and breathed, the more Beetle’s experience with it developed, as if he were exploring its true nature, as if he was coming to know a love partner more intimately. The phenomena began to be more inclusive, destroying any semblance of separation. The same movements of these skeletons, the same colors, sounds and fragrances were not isolated and self-contained, but they were inclusive of all, as if everything were swirling and forming its own fractals. A single movement by one bone, carried with it the punch of sound, fragrance, color, touch, and it was as if all of Beetle was in that very motion itself, as if it was working with the substance of his composition, as if it were all one body, one organism, working together to achieve the purpose and potential of its own being, like a musician’s existence is defined and judged by the achievement of their compositions, until the musician and the composition become synonymous, and when the musician is long gone and all that’s left is the work, it becomes clear that all along the work was always the best way to know the artist, the artist the work, the work the artist. The all of it was the all of it, each piece a part of the whole, the whole comprised of the parts. Beetle was astonished over how deep his connection ran. The experience was welcoming, pleasing, gripping, entertaining, emotive; he had no interest or thought to struggle against nor to try and shake himself free from it. No, he was all Yes yes yes to it, like cheering on a saxophonist in a jazz club. Yes, yes, yes. A caterpillar doesn’t call it quits midstream, despite knowing it was killing itself.

He may have been lulled into blind acceptance only for it to subject him to great violent blows. The calm, the easy to accept despite weird activity became a powerful force, applying to all a might beyond the all, all at the mercy of it, like an earthquake seizes all life in a moment, wows it all with the great shifting of the plates, causing an acknowledgement of a power beyond all human control and the acceptance of a life or death divide that could be crossed because of its blows, like strapping in on a roller coaster and enjoying the buildup, until reaching the point of no return when the greatest intensity was upon the rider; he knew if he fought it, he’d hurt himself. He knew if he went along with it, he’d be alright – at least in theory. (“In theory” was the plague of humanity. To know was to take the ride.)

He heard thunderous booms, like explosions all around, covering every square inch of the tapestry; the very basic building blocks of the strange creative use of reality, rendering it more like a virtual reality, became destroyed, causing him to lose all bearings whatsoever, everything becoming just an undefined swirl of colors, sounds, feelings, collapsing upon itself all definitions, one ooze. Amid the explosions, the thunderous points sending everything into chaos, he started to hear a systematic sound with great method, like the swivel of letters and numbers on blocks in a station announcing the new times and destinations of trains coming in, spinning around and locking in and spinning around again, the sound of turning gears and the knocking of blocks. The pounding began to overtake the thunderous blasts, until they took over the operation. Beetle was relieved to have the ability to stabilize himself, turning to the more ordered and less destructive force at work, after feeling the chaotic blasts were threatening his ability to retain his point of observation. He had a good reason to draw that conclusion: during the explosions he was under the impression he was periodically blacking out, and when he came to, he was surprised to discover himself again, and he knew, if he ever went out and never came to, he’d be no more, as if his ego was being disintegrated and restored, disintegrated and restored.

The order regained, Beetle observed the sound was steaming from the skeletons whose bones were being used as blocks to build a new form, the sound, the bones stacking. The bones, the vertebrae, the skulls, they all interlocked within themselves to form a spiraling stairwell of sorts, appearing like a DNA molecule, with its base primarily pale green, followed by a blackness, a redness, a crowning whiteness. These bones had reassembled and presented to Beetle a vehicle, an instrument, calling for use, like a saxophone left collecting dust in a rarely frequented music shop facing imminent closure, desiring having a use for its reason for being at all. Beetle, feeling sympathy for the lack of use of itself, took up the reins in hopes of satisfying it. He entered the gravitational pull of its spinning nature, and felt himself become elongated at once, as if he kept himself planted at the base while the instrument took him higher within itself, as he traveled the vortex of the spin and colors and sounds and sensations, reaching the device’s crown, where he came upon a wide-open plane, glowing in iridescence.

He felt at once his presence wasn’t exactly expected, but it was detected, much like a swarm of bees will instantly notify each other of a foreign presence in its hive. There was no initial indication about the response he’d receive, and he had that unsettled feeling it could go any number of ways. Strange beams of light began crisscrossing all around him. The rapid shafts of light firing across his bow were not hostile at all, fortunately. He felt welcomed and in the welcoming he experienced the height of confirmation of all he ever thought to be true, all he ever felt to be true, all he ever intuited, staring him in the face in endless affirmations, as if he had reached the destination of the long journey he set out upon, and the counter to it all, that worldly matter that questioned, refuted, doubted, ridiculed, derided, was all burnt up by the irrefutable heat of the experience of it, like discovering the treasure trove that a hunch had led to against the odds and in spite of the castigation by everyone who got wind of the effort, seeking to undermine the hunch at every turn and to convince the seeker there was no treasure to be found.

As he waited momentarily to take in the new scene, the new scene began to make more sense, as it was in the midst of creation at the same time he was adjusting like the pupil of the eye adjusts to the light intensity. These pearl-like light beams firing across and intersecting in all directions were not flashes but permanent cylindrical forms with a density like wood. His intuition instructed him to climb; his elongated body retracted back into itself, coming up behind, releasing its grip below at the base of the device that felt like the starting point of a Nature trail long ago entered. When he gripped a light beam, he wasn’t sure if it would burn him or if his hand would sink right into it. The beam was warm, but not burning hot, and the material wasn’t hard and impenetrable, but had a slight give to it, but not to the extent his hand slipped into it deeply or through it altogether.

He began to climb, and the more he climbed, the more he was assisted in a way he could not fathom. His strength came from a source beyond him or it awoke from deep within him, and his abilities exponentially increased until he had surpassed the talents of the world’s top climber, despite having little to no climbing experience whatsoever. He heard encouraging melodies, like voices of enthusiasm; he saw colors, appealing to him; he felt pleasurable sensations intensifying in the direction he moved. He knew it was human nature to pursue the summit, the tops of things, and like a boat floats, it was a purposeful gift, inherent to the natural function of being. Beetle cared very little for all that was behind him, and even for the moment; the present moment was more like a fuel to burn to get to what he cared most of all about, whatever was beyond. Just like each beam he gripped and stepped on, and hoisted himself higher using, the moment to moment were like rungs of a ladder. He was getting closer to the cumulative effect of his life’s thoughts, and he pursued it with every particle of his being, given the opportunity that allowed him to. His pace quickened to incredible rates, and before he realized it, he exceeded and extended beyond the light beams, he was no longer climbing but he was soaring upwards with his own powerful propulsion engine, disintegrating himself in the process, but he didn’t care; he wished to achieve his maximum height at maximum velocity, even if it annihilated him altogether. He achieved a maximum state – must have – when all just transformed, and he remained in a peaceful floating substance slightly denser than air. The curious place had curious properties. His mental inquiries resulted in endless echoes, like a resonance of church bells, covering large swathes of land.

“What is this this this...?”

“This this this this, is is is is is. It it it it.”

He looked around and was greeted by his own looking around staring right back at him, until it was as if he was multiplied countlessly and all were simultaneously looking around, like a mirror of a mirror. As the richness of the imagery and the mental echoing inquiries intensified, he identified a companion with him, conjoining in it all, Bella, and he realized they had come together on the ride, sharing in the experience.

The all of it began to pulse with a tonal chant, a rich, steady ancient pounding of a drum beat. They discovered a comfort in it, like no other; it sounded more permanent than an immovable mountain in the last frontier. They clung to it, and they saw it, and they knew it as an old man, whose presence alone reassured them, and he communicated to them a lifestyle of his own strength and discipline amid the strange realities that left them by the flame of the burning driftwood, in which the old man was, full of joy acceptance.