Sid’s Café – Observation Deck — Spacious Present
“I told him he would lose himself”, Sohars looked a bit ruefully at the images projected above his table. He watched as Johnny got off the plane at Pearson International Airport and shook his legs and stamped his feet – getting used to being grounded again.
[The tables in the Observation Lounge are equipped with dioramic devices that allow observation of any moment in any space-time continuum from any point of view. As will become clear later in our story, Essence can use these tables to project expressions of themselves into any moment as well. This technology is based on uncounted networks of nanons and nodi that infiltrate all of space-times.]
Sohars sighed, and looking up, saw his friend Scalbanian approaching. “Hi Scaly, thanks for being here.”
Scalbanian sat down. “How’s he doing down there? Did you get through? Does he know the whole thing is off?” He gave Sohars a little poke and laughed.
Sohars squinted sideways at him but laughed too. “He’s ok. But he’s lost! Totally gone! I can’t get through to him! I told him he would lose it and he has!”
Scalbanian offered supportive energies, “Sweetie, are we losing our balance a tiny bit here? What happened? Roll this thing back for me.”
Scaly knew this project was special to Sohars and he wanted to offer as integrated and articulated a supporting energy as he could muster, and for this he needed to know the details.
Sohars smiled again with gratitude, “We popped him in, just like we planned. The big guy on the plane choked on a peanut and translated just like the probabilities suggested, and Johnny popped in. That part was easy. The problem is that Johnny has lost all awareness of who he is, and who we are! He is totally immersed in physicality. The scurvy little piglet!”
Sohars and Scalbanian both laughed hysterically as they watched the little Johnny projected above their table being impatient with the customs inspectors.
Pearson International Airport – Toronto – 5:43 AM
“Ok, where’s the washroom?”, Johnny left customs with most of his knapsack intact, No thanks to that prying customs inspector, he thought as he entered the main terminal, I should have pee’d on the plane.
Careful inspection of all visible signage yielded nothing except security signs telling him what to worry about, bizarrely expensive food and drink, and curiously, a barbershop. Who gets their hair cut at an airport? Feeling much in need of guidance, he approached someone in uniform.
“This way? Thank you!”, he trudged off in the direction indicated by the helpful security person. As he walked, he pondered the vagaries of airport washrooms. Why do they never have proper doorways? Buffering themselves from public gaze by only a sequence of curved hallways.
[In some cases these entrances are so baffling, so serpentine, so potent with recessed lighting and Minoan resonance, that walking through them is like a pilgrimage through the labyrinth at Chartres, built long ago to echo the ‘quest for the grail’ for those who were not able to attend the crusades in person.]
But enough of the long and winding road of history, we are in the midst of a biological imperative. You will understand why it was a resplendent Johnny, poised and focused within physical expression, who finally burst into the washroom, sphincters ablaze with anticipation.
Pearson International Airport – Toronto — Washroom – 5:55 AM
“There is more to this than meets the eye”, Johnny thought to himself as he relished the roomy feeling of recently relieved organs. Washing at the sink he pondered his reflection in the gleaming, bevel-edged mirror.
“Ok… pudgy, certainly! But cute! And pudginess is not always a bad thing. And neither is being older! I’m only 56 this month. Not old at all! So… cute, pudgy, not old… what else? Could it be vibrancy? Yes! Vitality and vibrancy!”
As Johnny was admiring his ageless vitality in the mirror, the image started to look a bit odd – sharpening at the corners somehow – and then an electric static started spreading over the image creating a craquelure that widened and allowed another scene to appear. Gradually the other scene solidified and the cracks widened to reveal… a dimly lit bar, by the looks of it, and someone approaching from the other side.
“Whoa! Hold on a minute!”, Squinting suspiciously at the mirror, Johnny blinked twice and looked around. This mirror was just like the others on the wall. Why did this one suddenly look like a window with a man waving at him?
”Is this two way glass or something?’ Johnny asked out loud, even though he had been sure, until now, that he was alone in the washroom.
Johnny became aware of a voice inside his head. [This is meant allegorically. By ‘voice inside his head’ we do not mean an actual voice inside his head. We mean inspiration and intuition and gut feelings and hunches and wishes and dreams and hopes and fantasies and whims and stuff like that. Apparently an actual voice inside your head is a fairly dramatic expression of loopiness. Not to say that there’s anything wrong with that, of course.]
So, as we were saying, inside his head, as it were, there was a voice talking. A kind and sensible and reasonable voice – a bit out of sync with the images in the mirror – saying, ‘Relax, Johnny, it’s just a nodi,’ this with a big wink, ‘You cloth-eared bint!’ Big grin from the guy in the mirror. Johnny immediately recalled the Monty Python bit and smiled.
‘Yes, we’re coming to you through this lovely little nodi here, inside the mirror. Why? Because we have to talk!’ Sohars smiled and waved beseechingly. ‘Hello? Are you getting this?’
Johnny heard a fierce buzzing in his right ear and shook his head slightly. The video and audio came into sync and the person in the mirror and the voice in his head were now the same person and Johnny suddenly recognized his dear friend Sohars who was smiling at him from the Observation Lounge at Sid’s.
“Whoa!’ he said without even a moment for a double-take, ‘Hi, boys.” [As Essence Source of both Sohars and Scalbanian, he sometimes affectionately called them ‘his boys’. He was in some ways a father figure to them both, thus making them in some ways brothers.]
“Sweet Arcadia! The production values here are stunning! I always forget how totally you can go under.’ Big grin at Sohars and Scalbanian. “As they say, ‘The reality-undertow is ferocious’, and ‘That first step is a loo-loo!’ he laughed. “So anyway, what’s up, boys?”
Sohars wasted no time. [These portals were ridiculously unstable. The merest whisper in a nearby probability could change it back into an empty mirror in a twinkling]
“We wanted to tell you. It’s all off! Change of plans. Whatever it is you think you’re doing there, you aren’t. Understand? So have fun and come back whenever. You still get a free buffet at Sid’s.”
The connection was fading. “There is no secret mission!”. This last with elaborate pantomime movements of his arms…
Sid’s Café – Observation Deck — Spacious Present
“Do you think he got that?” asked Sohars as he and Scalbanian exchanged glances.
“I get the feeling he may be in there for a while, actually,” said Scaly, all supportive strategies on standby, “But he’s a big boy and he’s been there before… even if it was about a quadrillion years ago!” he laughed.
Sohars laughed too. “Thanks Scaly! How about a quick one!” Suddenly Sohars was very thirsty. Without waiting for an answer, he summoned the Numinary.
Pearson International Airport – Toronto – 6:66 AM
The man standing in front of the mirror seemed to be coming out of a trance-like state. ‘What?’ he exclaimed to his reflection. Odd how we sometimes seem to drift away from ourselves for a few moments, he thought as he finished washing his hands.
In the mirror now, nothing is reflected but the vibrant pudginess of Johnny Danger as he turns to examine his bottom and wonders if perhaps he should have a quick one before going back to the studio. Or perhaps a bottle? Yes!
Johnny exited the washroom and strode to the cab stands feeling connected and justified – like a man with a mission. He needed to stock up. Stimulants! Depressants! Catfood! Treats!
Several bottles in fact, were charged on the way home, along with fresh fruit and veggies for tomorrow… sinful pastrami from the deli for tonight… and lots of breads and buns… Today is Friday, he reminded himself. Maybe a chicken for Sunday and some nice wine to celebrate surviving another adventure.
How wonderful it will be to sit with the Sunday papers surrounded by cats and tea and marmalade and dappled sunlight… and the dewy woman of his dreams… [oh, wait a minute, that was a holo-projection from his alarm clock] Johnny was single, middle-aged, mostly gay, and didn’t regret it for a minute. The cod stocks may be down in Canada, but there were a lot of other fish in the sea.
But what about this strange document? Standard Release Form for All Physical Realities. What on earth could that be about? And how delightful to investigate, now that he had a strategy to avoid page immolation. Since the pages dissolved when he finished reading them, his plan was to read everything but the last word on each page.
Something deep within him stirred when he thought about exploring this strange document. The feeling of excitement reminded him of boyhood ‘scientific expeditions’ into the ravine near his home.
Wednesday, June 7, 2006
– – – – –
“KRIS: Now, (Pause) from our perspective and this IS a critique on prevalent and popular or should we more adequately say “pop” conscious creation practices, is that….we will give three distinct terms. The magic involved is slightly divorced from the source of that magic, therefore ultimately will lead to difficulties and low rates of success primarily because that kind of magic, conscious creation magic in the pop world, focuses on what we will call “MACRO-MAGIC”, an immediate desire to project onto the physical world the BIG magical things: big money, big car, big house, big partner, big love life, big job, etcetera etcetera; whilst in truth, the work needs to be done inside.
And it is not sufficient to say, “But yes, they do use their imagination,” it is still focused outwardly. Thus we will call the primary essence of magic as “MICRO-MAGIC.” And then there is a third magic. There is “META-MAGIC.” So we are all dealing with a whole bunch of M&M’s here! (Laughter)”
Kris/Brahm — Magical Perceptions – Language, Gods and Magic