Sixty-One

I saw the bright outlines of a woman. Then the golden bees. They flew onto my body, one by one. I was soon covered with them all over. They were buzzing, humming, fidgeting on my skin, at work. When the glowing woman nodded, they moved. Between them there was nothing but air. I was the bees.

My arms, my hands, my fingers were all bees that gathered to form them, they could disperse or unite into any shape. Every inch of my body had senses of its own. I could see with my hand, with each of my fingers… I could feel each and every one that formed me, and at the same time, I was myself, as well.

My left arm lifted. The bees scattered, then assembled into a bird, sailing above fields and oceans. My right arm became a horse roaming endless plains. And then the bird flew above the horse, they were sliding together in the night, golden, with dazzling speed. And I was the bird, and I was the horse, and I was the bees who shaped them and I was also the watcher. Suddenly, the bird and the horse united, the bees merged into a dolphin racing in an endless sea. Then they clustered into a human form. And I was myself again. A swarm of golden bees.

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Sixty

I was under the ground. People were coming and going above me. Then it was silent. Moon, Sun and clouds drifted by. A face. He bent over and let down a bucket for water. I realized I was deep inside a well. Time passed. The Moon, Sun and clouds rode the sky. I wanted to know where I was and climbed to the surface. There was desert from edge to edge. I sat there for a while, observing the light and the air moving through the sand. Then descended into the well. Deeper and deeper.

Fifty-Nine

Somewhere in the North, I was a bird above summer fields, flying high and fast. Saw a man riding a horse. He wore a barbed carapace. A red fog, like a dragon, set fire to the man’s back. He turned his horse around and around in a fast, throbbing circle. Then he took a fiery thorn out of his carapace: an arrow. And he shot into the night.

From a distance, those arrows were shooting stars. I was at the seaside with the Siberian man, staring at the sky.

The silhouette of the man on the horse was on a rock now, accompanied by the red fog-dragon.

“What is going on?” I asked the Siberian man. “What kind of being is that?”

“It is not a being yet. It’s on its way to becoming.”

“Is it something good or something dangerous?”

“Both. All good things are dangerous. Water is dangerous. Fire is dangerous.”

As if it could feel us, the red fog-dragon approached.

“What form will it take?” I asked the Siberian man.

“What form would you give it?”

As I wondered, the fog was getting denser, taking shape. I could feel it probing me, as if to find out what I wanted.

I decided not to want it to be anything. Every idea that came to me, the fog started to incarnate, but I chased them all away. I quietened my mind and became completely still inside.

The fog kept probing within me, but it found nothing but silence. Then it started to take shape anyway. It was becoming itself, who it truly was because I gave it no mold to fit into. I had no instructions, no expectations, no wishes. When the fog stopped changing and it arrived at its final form, there was a small, old man in front of me. His hair white like snow. His eyes dark and intense. He smiled.

And so did the Siberian man.

“Well done. Well done.”

The old man nodded. His presence was so powerful that the air was electric. They laughed.

Fifty-Eight

I was with a great crowd in an arena or concert hall. They had their hands in the air, enjoying themselves. On top of the crowd, there was a faint, bluish light. It slowly turned red and thickened into a fog. It felt heavy and dangerous. Something in its shape and the way it moved reminded me of a snake, or a Chinese dragon.

I wanted to know where we were. I lifted up, higher and higher until I could see the Scandinavian peninsula and its surroundings.

Then it all narrowed down again, I was falling into a funnel. But instead of the arena, I was now in a room somewhere in ancient Egypt. There was a priest performing a ceremony. He was drawing symbols in the sand with a stick. And on the wall, all around us: golden bees. The door nearby had a dragon carved into its frame.  I looked at the priest for clues, but he didn’t want to be disturbed.

Suddenly, I dropped into a glass sphere. The Siberian man had been waiting for me. We were not alone, kids or people dressed as characters from a Super Mario game were running around us in a frenzy. I looked at him, it all felt so absurd. He shrugged “Teenagers”.

Through the glass, we could see dolphins and their vast sea. A huge wave hit them so hard that they were thrown into the air. A hole opened in the scene, like the black iris of an eye, and insects of all kinds were swarming out of it. Bees, too. They were badly hurt, charred…

The Siberian man grabbed me “We must go. Now”. His hands were burnt. We ran. Into a cave where a woman was waiting for us, dressed like the High Priestess in the tarot. She was surrounded by golden bees. Unhurt.

“What is going on?” I asked.

“We’ll wait here now until this passes” she replied. I noticed some strange shapes lingering in the background, but could not see anything clearly.

“We’ll weather this out”, she said.

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Fifty-Seven

It was a field marked by the smells of summer. The sun had already set. The world was violet, bluish green and soft red. There was a woman standing in the tall grass, with her back towards me. She started to walk slowly, her movements suffused a scent of hay. A wind of whirling colours rose in her steps. And she kept on going.

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Fifty-Six

Standing at a deep well with the Siberian man, I could see metallic steps leading to the crystal clear water below. We started to go down. The stairs were rusty, rough and cold to the touch. Some of the wall was covered with moss. We went deeper and deeper, then entered the water and started to sink. We did not stop.

At one point, the ladder bent, and soon it was above us, still deep underwater. It became smooth and soft to the touch. We swam further. I was gently stroking the “wall” overhead when realised it was the underbelly of a whale. When we reached the surface and looked around, we could see the huge tail. Also spotted green shores close by, and headed there.

There were huge megaliths on the beach, and people waiting for us. I asked one of them about the stones and what they were for, and he replied that they were “homes for the soul”. I wondered what that meant, whether they were tombstones. “Not at all”, he laughed.

Then he touched the stone and asked me to do the same. I did. At first, it was rough and cold but then it started to get warm and supple, soft as skin. Almost a human body. It became pliable, like a membrane, and I could enter. Inside, it was a rock formation and I started to climb.

When high enough, I stopped to look. A golden sea all around. I was one with the megalith. I was the megalith.

And suddenly, I could feel someone entering, the same way I had. It was the Siberian man. He came to me, took my hand and we started to descend. But we did not stop at ground level. We kept on going deeper until we submerged in dark green water. We were in the sea, again.

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Fifty-Five

Shadows walking among shadows, we were in the forest with the Siberian man and a few others. The Sun might have been setting or rising: everything vibrated in shades of red, green and violet.

Suddenly, we spotted a herd of yellow deer browsing in the woods. They started to run, then slowed down and returned. Their leader was a golden buck with green leaves on the tip of his antlers. He was magical. And we were mesmerised.

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Fifty-Four

It was a winter night, the snow was sparkling. We were in the fields with the Siberian man and a group of others. He took a handful of snow to access the soil, and we all descended. There were seeds nested in the blackness around us. Softly glimmering, like the stars above. We were in the belly of the earth, but also everywhere at the same time. It was the same sky above and below. And we were surrounded by an alive, endless, glowing universe.

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Fifty-Three

In a wintry forest, in the night, the trees were dancing. Their black bodies stirred in the wind, a frozen flow of shadows against the white. I looked up at the light above. Couldn’t tell whether it was the moon or a lamppost. My face was slowly covered with snowflakes ready to melt. I could feel the presence of my father, but could not spot him anywhere. My cap was getting soaked where it touched my face, the heavy fabric stuck to my skin and I started to itch. There was a smell of burning wood in the air. There must have been a house around, with a warm furnace.

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