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-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-One

It was almost night. At the edge of the forest, I saw a woman dressed in heavy fabric. On top of her head, there was something embellished with pearls, stones and gold. She was climbing a hill. A vast landscape below. Then, like a drawing on the sky, electric lines. She looked at me as if to check whether I noticed.

Suddenly, I was in the kitchen of my childhood home, at the threshold of the room where my father died. It was dark inside. I was small, standing right on the doorsill. Looking at the jambs around me, I noticed knives hanging from the top, suspended by a single, thin thread of rope attached to a nail in the middle, my height.

I noticed the Siberian man next to me, on the kitchen side. He was looking at me and I at him. Then the door turned into a wooden wheel, with the knives facing the middle, towards me. I was holding onto the axle. He told me to keep steady and started to roll the wheel, then let it go, down a slope. I was rolling and rolling…

I ended up in the parking lot of the factory nearby my childhood home. It was deserted, and my wooden wheel turned into that of a bicycle. Then, I was riding the bike, with my father behind me, pushing, helping.

Then we were surrounded by people holding hands around us in a circle. I saw a wolf and got frightened, but he settled near someone. Next came a bear. A gorilla sat behind yet another person. A falcon landed on the shoulder of the Siberian man. And there was the woman I saw at the start, dressed in golden bees. She was luminous.

My father walked to them. Joined them for a second, holding hands, then closed the circle and walked away. Left alone with these people, I was in the middle of the circle, with one foot on the ground and one on the pedal of my bike.

Then the ground opened, and a shapeless form condensed into something like a hand. I wondered whether it was a mole… I decided to follow it, the shape was about my size and constantly changing but never crystallizing into anything concrete.

It was dark in the tunnel, and it smelt of soil. After a few steps, it was not that dark anymore, as if there was some light filtering in after me. I turned back and saw the woman dressed in golden bees following me. And so were all the others.

We kept going and going, tagging after the form through long, dark tunnels.

Suddenly, I was in my childhood kitchen again, just closing the door to the room where my father was sleeping. But then I decided to open it and went into the room. It was dark inside. The light from the kitchen filtered in and I stared at the patterns on the carpet. I almost bumped into the coffee table in the middle of the room. I gripped the top of the large chest with the tv on it to settle myself, and noticed that I had no sensation in my hands. Not even as if I had gloves on. Nor was the carpet soft under my feet. I could see my hands and feet but they could have belonged to someone else, I could not feel them. I couldn’t hear anything, either. Not my father snoring or breathing… not my own steps… not the noises outside… I was numb and deaf. I was eyes, only.

****

Note: the wheel reminds me of Nicholas of Flüe‘s:

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Fifty

I saw locks of hair attached to a line, blowing in the wind, like clothes to dry. There was also hair lying around on the floor in my mother’s kitchen, and outside, all over the yard, half-covered by sand.

Suddenly, they became butterflies and flew towards the cemetery where my father is buried. I wished they had brought him to me alive, instead of visiting his grave.

Then there was a little girl whirling two bowls of fire attached to two strings. She turned around and around herself. Now she transformed into a very small man with a burnt face and now she was a little girl again.

Next, we were surrounded by a herd of paper birds. I was worried that they would get on fire. They did, but with such fragile beauty… they were burning in all colours until the wind carried them away.

The night was approaching fast and the burning paper birds became iridescent, weaving their light into the darkness like northern lights.

Then I saw little girls jump off a cliff, one after the other, spinning in their fall. They floated in the air for a moment before they plunged, as if dancing. The Siberian man stood right under the rock and caught them each, one by one.

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Forty-Nine

At the seaside, I saw a horse turning around and around. Another one joined in and started to rotate the opposite way around the first one. Then came another and another, each girdled the previous one, always contrariwise. They all turned golden, then more and more translucent until only their outlines remained. In the end, there were only golden threads left, each coiling around the other.

And in the centre, there was the ever-changing woman. She was watching me. I went to her and we held hands. We were one.

Then I noticed a boy and a girl. They were running in a field of wheat, playing tag in the sunset, laughing.

There came a group of riders. They lifted the kids onto their horses and off they galloped enjoying the speed. All turned golden: wheat and men… In the distance, I saw women dancing, holding white sheets. Suddenly, I was one of them. We started to build a yurt, we would stay here for the night.

The field was on a plateau. Down below was a beautiful lake, in all the colours of the setting sun. Right next to our tent was a huge tree, and the men started to climb higher and higher. I joined them.

In our ascent, we were surrounded by an ever-changing play of colour. And then, we were not climbing anymore but flying in a pulsating tunnel of air. When we stopped, there was nothing but beautiful, iridescent fog… drops of sunset gathered by wet cobwebs.

Slowly, I could make out the shape of a man. He was standing by water – sea or lake, I couldn’t tell. I recognised the Siberian man. He was waiting for me.

Forty-Eight

I was sitting cross-legged in the sand in the desert, my breath circulating around my body like golden strings. There was a big storm coming, and I was worried. But the Siberian man came and sat down behind me, with his back touching mine. Our breaths joined, golden threads brushing our skin. “That is not our storm”, he said. I felt calm, centered. All was raging around us but we were not touched. I raised my head to look at the blue sky above me, the clouds were gently wandering about. No signs of upheaval up there.

When it calmed down, we were still sitting there. Suddenly, I started to see in a different way, like staring into the Sun with eyes closed. It felt as if I was watching with my skin or through my skin, from the inside. At first, it was dark, then very blurred. Slowly, I could make out a huge eye, of somebody very old, somebody very ancient. She was so close to my face that I could feel her breath. And she was looking at me.

Forty-Seven

The sky was a sea, and there were fish flying above me. And a golden liquid thread was drawing bees into the air. I could feel the wind on my skin, sometimes warm, sometimes cool, gently pulsating. And I heard the Siberian man say: “People can be so unconscious, so diffused and diluted, they expand without awareness… So, instead of unfolding, they diminish and instead of becoming one with all, they eventually crumble and disintegrate into nothingness. It’s not the way. Hold your awareness tightly around your body, keep your consciousness close to your skin for now, just feel it. Do not let yourself spread further than what your awareness can hold together.”

I could feel the wind around me, then I started to see it, as well: it was like a second skin woven from the same golden thread the bees were made of.