Like something from the Middle Ages, is it not, a witch-hunt, my repeated gang-rape by slobbering vacant animals, drugged to the eyeballs on the opium of the people. The many faces of obscenity have been repeatedly listed. I am surrounded by mad spastics, among whose more pathetic delusions are probably that the rest of the country would agree with them that I represent ultimate evil and should be punished for offending against the ravings of the Stone Age and that the permission of peasant and priest alike is required before setting pen to paper. I do not expect the appreciation of those for whom the world was fixed in the Stone Age. I do not expect them to be familiar with theories of the multiverse or consider the working of the human mind. I expect them to keep their filthy hands off me and if necessary to be made to do so. I do not expect the political classes and the so-called scientists of medicine to be complicit in permitting animals to burn me at the stake. Science indeed is threatened by these vermin, it being the case that science does not come on their radar, but I did.
Every -ism is an an attempt to make aspects of reality, transient realities, temporary realities into absolutes, metaphors for reality into literal truths.
Every -ism is undermined by and eventually crashes on reality, the reality of the physical universe, the reality of individual humans in all their variety, insistent on being what they are not what they're told to be, the reality of the existence of a multiplicity of other ways of looking at the world. This is what happened to Christianity. This is what happened to Marxism.
The vehicle is mistaken for the destination. The shape, size, colour or velocity of the vehicle does not matter. What determines the destination is the driver.
If it is imprinted on your consciousness that Jesus is Lord or there is no God but Allah, you must arrive somewhere where Jesus is Lord or there is no god but Allah, unless of couse somewhere along the road something clicks and you have learned to let go of all your preconceptions.
If other things are indelibly imprinted on your consciousness, then you must arrive where these others things are so, because you are shaping the road, unless of course etc, in other words if you stop shaping the road.
The key to totalitarianism is the supposed helplessness of individual human beings. There is nothing inside. Either they are helpless without the assistance of whatever version of the divine multi-vitamin in the sky happens to be current or they are individually helpless and only collectively capable, whether as the proletariat or as the Volk. On no account must any individual think he or she is significant or empowered.
Rejection of the notion human consciousness shapes the trip lies behind acceptance of 'revelation'.
There is the question of whether everything that occurs to persons is self-generated or whether it may be a connection with other times, other places, other dimensions and the further question of whether such a connection ever is or can be pure or whether it must be refracted through what the human mind thinks (both consciously and unconsciously) must be.
There is the impossibility of the primate brain believing such a connection, should it exist, being a result of human capacity and consequently its convictions that some higher entity is revealing something to it.
There is the incapacity of the primate brain to deal with its own personal 'big bang', consciousness, and to believe itself capable - that that which sustains, that which reveals, that which is everything, is within, 'the force that through the green fuse drives the flower'.
“However simple, however sophisticated, however down to earth, however numinous, it’s always you, you the – “ Mel stopped suddenly. “I was going to say, you, the corpse, who shapes the trip.”
“But that is not at all what we are talking about,” protested Mitch. “We are talking about the beliefs of the living as to what will happen.”
“NDEs.”
“The whole point of NDEs is they are not dying.”
“We have no idea what being dead is like,” said Maya. “Cho was really quite sharp.”
“We know there is a continuum.”
“Shaped by us.”
“I don’t think,” said Hass, “this is particularly getting us anywhere. Exactly what is happening when we sit?”
“Cho said it was a conduit. I think we’re finding stuff we already know but don’t know that we know and we’re very bad at understanding what we’re telling ourselves.”
“We’re shaping the trip.”
“Certainly. And a pretty restricted trip it is too, confined solely to a rather limited social circle.”
“It would seem to me,” said Mitch “the universe should return to school for it surely has a problem with making itself plain to folks.”
The Matter of Kadun (inner and eso): life, death, eternity and Gaia
It came to Karula: sometimes they talk as though they’re separate species. “I do not think,” she said, “at the most fundamental level anyone has ever explained to me the difference between earthpower and – “ She clapped her hand over her mouth and whistled.
“We, humans,” said Mel, “are finite and infinite. You can’t have a one-sided piece of paper. The separation is illusion. Earthpower is the approach from one side. We are the other. Each contains the other.”
“Together,” said Mitch drily, “you represent ultimate reality.”
“The interface,” said Mel. “Where one side of the paper joins the other.”
“Of course one knew that theoretically,” said Cantilip briskly.
Karula spluttered.
“Then it – then neither is the end of the trip.”
“It’s the beginning of the trip,” admitted Mel. “It is advised not to go further.”
“But you do!”
“That’s quite different,” said Mel.
“Physical,” said Hass helpfully.
“Cuddles,” said Venga.
“We have to be human,” said Mel. “To know we are love. Anyone who doesn’t at some level acknowledge that is intolerable to himself and all around him. “
“Most of the messes people get into are because they think they can extinguish human,” said Hass. “Go around intoning, ‘I do not need’. Fine. Starve to death.”
“’Nothing matters.’ Watch other people starve to death. We seem to have somewhat digressed.”
“They do not understand which part of them is saying these things
...
Mel frowned.
“That sounds like an ultimatum.”
“Oh, my dear boy, no.”
“What then?”
“I shall not offer fatherly advice. For that you have a father.”
“The real problem,” said Mel, “is Hass was there too.”
“No, Mel, that is not the real problem. The real problem is Zur loves you.”
Mel managed a small smile.
“I can’t think why. I’m treating her very badly. For – for 98% of my young life, it was inconceivable I visit Azt, let alone live there. Everything has shattered, do you see, good, bad, indifferent. Everything. For 98% of my life, Zur was my life. “ Then I realized I was Master of Kadun. “Everything must be remade.” Time. Time stretched out before him like an endless field of flowers. But that is only because I am dead. We are finite, damn it! Infinite and finite. Mitch’s voice echoed in his mind. I have no problem with the notion I am finite. Here and there, alive and dead, Azt and Zur, Zur and Van-senok, why is nothing whole? The image returned. Hand in hand, the eight of us are walking into the Light, capital L. “Meanwhile I need a vacation!”
“To that at least I give unqualified assent.”
...
“There is this recurrent image,” said Mel. “The eight of us are walking hand in hand into the Light.” But then he said: “It’s like a flashback.” He paused. “The thing is, none of us can any longer keep a lid on what we are.”
“Then you must return to the Denzines and learn,” said Tar briskly.
Sure, Dad, sure.
“Even Hass?” asked Tar.
Mel didn’t answer directly.
“What I understand is that everything I have been taught since I first managed to stammer why? was directed at keeping my feet on the ground. Nothing is whole!”
“Everything is whole.”
“The healing lies in the balance? Papa – “ which Mel hadn’t called him since he was about ten. “ – how is it possible to be both alive and dead?”
“Darling,” said Saski, “you do not appear to be doing badly so far.”
“Do you understand that – that in earthpower I am Master of Kadun or more exactly - ?”
“Of course, darling,” said Saski.
He’s going to say it, thought Tar. He said it.
“What does it all mean?”
“I want my sons home,” said Tar.
Mel realized it was an order.
“Shall Essa order his son home!”
“Where,” said Tar softly, “is home?”
But Cantilip said: “You leave with Sarat Maya, Karula.”
“And Mitch of course,” said Mel.
She didn’t seem to think Mitch mattered.
And Fal, thought Mel. Is that it, only women can heal Kadun? Then death returned and said: Then Shavli must rule Kadun.
“No!” said Mel, then realized he had spoken aloud.
Tar looked alert. Mel explained.
“You become obsessed with death,” said Tar.
And Mel said: “That is the matter of Kadun?”
Cantilip cried out: “Don’t you see! No-one foresees our deaths because we’re dead already. It IS a flashback. Maya was right, we’re dead and we don’t even know it.”
“This is madness,” said Tar.
“That,” said Mel grimly, “is why we’re going to sane it.” No-one laughed. He turned to Cantilip. “We’re packing.”
“You return to Azt?” Tar kept his voice level.
“Great heavens, no! We are going to Fidub.”
“Wring his neck for me,” said Tar.
“We’re putting our own gloss on it,” said Mel. “We understand that. Or we are putting Azt’s gloss. Refracting it through what we think we know. What are we seeing?”
“It was illusion,” said Cantilip. “Karula and I weren’t there.”
“Unless of course,” snapped Mel, “you were dead.”
As the door closed behind them, Saski lay back in an attitude of complete collapse.
“Appalled beyond belief,” said Tar. He held her, then stood back and laughed. “Get packing. We, my lady, are going to Azt.”
“I shouldn’t have said that,” said Cantilip. “Total loony.”
“True-untrue,” said Mel. “Not true-true.”
“Catharsis,” said Cantilip.
There’s a heli-pad on the roof, drop you in Cho’s back garden in an hour.
But Por reported that they hadn’t left.
“They’re just sitting up there, talking.”
“Stop calling it death,” said Mel. “The part that’s there not here, the part we can no longer keep down. Death is a gloss and a corruption. We’re not seeing it as it is.”
“Because it’s been kept down, it – it isn’t properly integrated, That’s why it’s so erratic.”
“No balance.”
“Yes,” said Cantilip. “No. Mel, we’re doing this to ourselves.”
“We know that.”
“Why are we doing this to ourselves?”
He rested his head on her shoulder.
“I guess because we’re scared shitless.”
“We’ve brainwashed ourselves. There is no choice. No choice but to wander round Azt bare-headed, no choice but to behave as though Azt had been at peace for a thousand years. Do you not think the rational part of our minds rebels?”
“Thinks we’re suicidal,” said Mel.
“Think of a prey-animal, Mel. A rabbit. If rabbits had human consciousness how long d’you think they’d last before going psycho?”
“Simply as a result of existing,” said Mel.
“We’re not built for it.”
“Except we are,” said Mel.
“The ‘there’ part to which – to whom?”
“Nit-picker!” said Mel.
“To what the fear is meaningless, says, hey, man, it’s cool, what’s the hassle.”
“You’re dead already,” said Mel.
“What is the one thing our – hah! – uncensored selves have not experienced?”
“Total terror,” said Mel.
“Of losing you,” said Cantilip.
“Of losing you,” said Mel.
“Because,” said Cantilip.
“Because,” said Mel.
“It’s not terror at one’s own demise,” said Cantilip.
“It’s absolute powerlessness to prevent,” said Mel.
“Anything happening to any of us,” said Cantilip.
“Love is destroying us,” said Mel.
“Nobody told us,” said Cantilip.
“What could they have said?”
“Imposed detachment!”
Mel gave a little start, then turned and kissed her gently on the cheek.
“We have been so stupid. What is not whole?”
“What is forced apart. Oh Mel.”
“Love, they told us, love with all your heart and soul, become one.”
“It only works,” she said.
“When nobody wants to kill your beloved!”
“Grubby little rational minds. We understand the risk. We accept it.”
They looked at each other in horror.
“Letting go.”
“Of each other.”
He took her hand and began slowly to recite.
“I who am One, who am One with the One, and You who are all, Protector and Preserver, Creator and Destroyer, in whom all are One, give peace to this house and all within.”
It began to rain, but they didn’t mind. Finally two wet little rabbits descended and found Tar and Saski gone,.
We want to talk to a grown-up.
“It’s the opposite of everything we’ve been taught!” shouted Mel. Am I shouting? “Sorry.”
“No,” said Por. He ploughed on. “Cantilip leaves you? Is she not free? You let go.”
“That’s different. She has choice.”
“Here – the here part of you – accepts totally she is – discrete.”
“But there we are One – “
“What is time?” asked Cantilip. “It doesn’t matter. We shall meet again and then it will be for ever.”
“That is faith,” said Mel. “Must we cross in real time to know!”
“You do not trust?”
“What?”
“Love.”
We are dead and do not know it. It is as simple or as sophisticated.
“What Fal is doing is projecting – realizing, real-izing, making real.”
“Must we suffer the terror and the loss?” asked Cantilip.
“For what?”
“To be free.”
“It seems to me,” said Por, “your little minds are doing a pretty good job so far. Feel it.”
Cantilip lolled across the Plaza, half her head blown away. Mel’s mind shut down. “Feel it.”
Mel walked slowly through a hostile, jeering crowd. They’ll kill him, said someone helpfully. Cantilip retched. “Feel it.” Mel stared at him blindly. “Feel it.” Cantilip sprinkled earth on Mel’s grave then screamed No!. Mel alone in bed turns, reaches for empty space. Desolation overwhelms him.
“Poor little rabbits,” said Mel. “Such complicated minds.”
“Or,” said remorseless Por.
“I am walking behind your coffin,” said Mel steadily. “But the sun is in my hair and I am laughing. It doesn’t matter. What is in the coffin is not you. It has nothing to do with you, with us. Because you are beside me, clutching my hand. So why am I crying?”
“Do we have to make up our minds!” shouted Cantilip.
“No,” said Mel. Immediately it flashed into his mind: time is foreshortened. Oh shut up! he said to his mind. “We’re dragging ourselves under, aren’t we. How do we get out?”
“Only by turning our backs on the whole thing.”
“Not.”
...
Mel had got hold of a graphics program. He sat back from the monitor.
“There! I thought I’d externalize it.”
Cantilip looked at the eight of them walking hand in hand into the Light and began to cry.
“I did that,” admitted Mel. “Then I thought – supposing – “
He opened another image.
“Oh Mel!” She laughed and cried at the same time.
“First I put silver blur round each of us, which I found rather cheering. No change of state. Then of course the blur all joined up and the blur is what joins us. So in the end I had the beginning of a solid block of silver blur and then I thought paint out the people, because the people are the blur. But in the middle of the people.”
In the middle of a shimmering radiant block of silver were eight tiny rabbits.
“What is it that our little brains are screaming at us that we cannot begin to accept because it’s so sick, so crazy?”
“There is no difference between life and death. But we know that or we shouldn’t be as we are.”
“Poor little rabbits. Then I thought something else. I thought we’re going through the Light.”
“That’s a bit scary,” said Cantilip. “But it’s still a flashback.”
“How do I know what time does? Does it ask me? Except maybe it’s something we’ve done. We are at the interface.”
She looked around Mel’s old bedroom and began to giggle.
“Cosmic, man!”
“I know, I know! But mentally we’ve taken ourselves over the top and that’s what we don’t know.”
“Because it’s we who are calling the shots. Our little brains are squealing that there’s something we need to let hang out here…”
“Life is death. It only sounds so repulsive because time programmes us to see it linearly.”
“When my grandfather died, I knew he just wasn’t there. He was somewhere, but not there. A dead person is sort of conclusive.”
Mel thought of his dead.
“Yes.” Then, “It’s what Mitch said. But not linear. Every moment in life is the opportunity to come out of the dark into Light.” But then he frowned. “I can’t believe the Anile court didn’t know that.”
“Anile Throne Excursions,” said Cantilip. “Suppose – there’s the Interface, capital I. What all the trips are about is interfaces. No barriers. What is being screamed at us is everything is whole.”
He was summoned to the telephone.
“Make up your mind!” he said with some acerbity.
“Your mood has not improved?”
“Somewhere,” said Mel, “I’m a happy bunny. I just haven’t got there yet.”
Cantilip began to bunny-hop around him. He smothered a laugh and agreed to return to Azt. Then he began to bunny-hop too. They were in love and under a lot of strain.
Sarat: The Matter of Kadun (inner and eso): life, death, eternity and Gaia (1)
Sarat: The Matter of Kadun (inner and eso): life, death, eternity and Gaia (2)
