PinkOnBrown Webzine

Ok, so bear with me. I have not written fiction in a long time – it feels all bulky and whatnot. Trying out a piece of cyberfiction to evoke new connections and ideas. My goal is to draw information through hyperlinked information to one area. This is based on a line of thought I have seen going around my many sources of information; most notably recently have been the connections of artist Tim Boucher and author Wes Unruh.

Feet firmly rooted to the ground, the figure stands in the dark. His skin is exposed to the air, perspiration condensing slowly in the shifting temperature of the room he stands in the center of.

Vulnerable – he stands with arms outstretched trying to bring his focus down to a single point of light. Beads softly click against each other, wrapped around his wrist for security, and a hand pointing a crystal is raised. Sacred dagger slices the symmetry of his body in two, bringing energy from above and racing down to be grounded through his base. Splashing, electric blue pierces the speckled dark behind closed eyelids. Breath steadies.
The hands, one clutching mirrored stone - his force – and the other grasping charged quartz raise beside him. The crystal traces across the air once more spilling more light, becoming brighter and burning the silhouette of a cross in his mind. A circle now surrounding him, aflame and dancing. Now the sphere is complete and white surrounds him as a protective womb; he is calm. He can feel the eight directions now. “Raw magic,” and a dorje flashes forth from his right hand sending his will out into the word. He turns slightly, “Death magic” – another flash of power, of lightening. All  points are acknowledged in turn; the air is humming and vibrant, charged with life and his will is slowly realizing in the moving dark. He is known. The Seeker.
The Seeker has been fearing this moment his whole life. He has sought contact with The Watchers, knowing it to be his path. Their faces haunted him in youth and compelled him through life until this point. He sits in preparation to meet Them. Muscles clench, unclench, clench as his breath drops into a slow, regular beat. A rest like this invokes a sense of timelessness. Without any connection to a temporal constant, time flows like the air – in and out, soft and pale.

A vibrant blue mass of energy has formed in The Seekers chest. With this fragment of himself, this piece of the world, he will form the link; he will form the portal. Myriad of images flash in his minds-eye, each one imbuing a unique quality to the blue mass. The polymer structure formed of thought begins to reflect that of a tunnel. It slithers around softly in the air, humming gently beyond the upper and lower edges of hearing. But he can feel it. The whole of his body vibrates with the intensity of the rubbery tube extending from the center of his chest. This is his antenna to sort out the vibrations, transmissions to be used and transmitted in every dimension. Tones begin to distinguish themselves from the matter that they underlie; the song of the spheres that generates every bit of physical material that we can interact with. He will play it like an instrument of old, an ancient behemoth.

Without warning, millions of points appear in a deep field – all within his control. These are the points he will feel together to transmit the call, to bring The Ancient Watchers. This is Indra’s net; this is a vast web of gossamer information, a million points of pure light reflecting each other. Crowding together they form the symbol Rho – the end of protein synthesis. “Rho,” slow and deep, issues from his chest and travels along the blue antenna into the multiverse. Rising, engulfing, the tone, “Rho,” is everything. A deeper tone shoots back immediately and overpowers The Seeker. He gestures the tone again with quartz in hand, tracing the sign. “Rho.” Again the deeper tone returns, powerful and endless. He has never experienced a depth like the seemingly-infinite chasm formed in this sound.

The net draws together as if by an incredible hand. Innumerable points of shining light crowd together and join, melting and shifting as quicksilver. With shock, The Seeker realizes that the light has formed a single, mirror-like surface. There is no reflection in this mirror. Only gentle movement of the surface; waving, drifting. The movement of the liquid illumination grows in intensity and the surface breaks. Slender digits appear through the light, resembling vegetable matter in the surface of its pale, smooth skin. The Seeker is rapt. It has happened.

[To be continued...]