Strange Textures

We love to dance, but the journey is hard. The cloisters are beautifully vaulted and the stained glass casts an ethereal glow that matches unbound contemplation. They make it hard to stay in one plane of existence. We pass through the thoughts of Bernini, St Augustine, and Theresa of Avila. We are grace. We are one.

An imagined ladder, step by step leading down into the past. Rungs above fade into nothingness. If you climb down far enough, can you reach back and be where you were? Can you ascend back to the present? What might you bring back, and what will you carry into the future? If we’re going to do this, I think I want an escalator at the very least.

This building haunts me. Or do I haunt the building? It’s difficult to keep track of who and what I am, what I’m doing. There are others here. Or are they other Me’s? With little sense of self the will to act is subsumed. What happens is what happens. How can I know if caused anything, if I acted at all? Perhaps I am an emergent phenomena, resting awareness of what is rather than separate from my surroundings.

Sure, having the basic recipe and ingredients is one thing. But when you start to apply heat who knows exactly what will happen? If we were talking about food, a chef or a baker, maybe. But we’re talking about interdimensional proto-physics. Cooking with the original ingredients of the vortex behind reality. What mistakes we will make! How the worlds will dance!

Montane ecosystem calling. Can you hear me? This is my voice. It might be hard to understand. It rolls down and swirls, bouncing off rocks, echoing and eddying to a loud, complex, cacophony, like saying everything all at once. Can you hear? Lentic ecosystem here, receiving you loud and clear Montane. It takes time to translate though – are you still there?

The foundation of differing realities is understanding. If each reality has a voice, how coherent can they sound together? If separated, harmony might not exist, or appear only through chance, by accident, or with serendipity. However, if connected, the flow of information will either create combined voices which could contain deliberate dissonance. Still beautiful.

In an earlier universe, reality was a colouring in book. We roamed the blank pages and the line drawings until a nice landscape caught our attention. We got our pens and spray cans and crayons and got to work. Haphazard and messy. Vibrant colours went over the lines. We splodged ourselves and blended into the environment and went exploring.

Start with the pulse, feel for the universal fit in the rhythm. Breathe into construction. Build with purpose and will. Let multi-coloured light pick out corners and curves as you summon powers to birth your design into a reality. Hold it. Work with the feedback rather than distorting or destroying your creation. Send it into the world of matter.

Sitting, watching the green. Red thoughts on my mind. The land subtly shifts and rumbles. Perceptible vibrations course up through feet and around the body. Anticipation, the land lifts gradually and we rise slowly at first. Then faster. Red to green, through blue turning to black. Wind and cloud gives way to stars. Where are we going? Where are we going?

Sitting in the cold, swaying. Watching the stars dim and pink slowly blink on wave tops, growing to orange as the land washes lazily against a semi-static sea. The boats glide in smelling of salt and fish. Dangerous unloading, hard work and exhaustion hover within reach of a hearty home.