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Don't You Come Round Here No More

Posted in Lucerne Village, Mystical Experience, Unknown, World Myths with tags , , , , , , on August 1, 2012 by javedbabar

The man from the mountain felt much better the next morning. A patron of the Lucerne Valley Hotel had given him a voucher for a free steak dinner, and the barmaid had offered him free beer. He knew the receptionist would have given him a free room if possible, but would have got in big trouble. The village was that kind of place.

The man from the mountain slept in a small park near the centre of town. Its young lawns were dotted with clumps of cedar, and there was a fountain and pavilion, in the corner of which he found a blue tarp. He brushed its dust off and laid it back down, then he lay upon it, pulling the slack over himself. A cement bag made a good pillow.

Something wasn’t right when he woke up. Before he’d opened his eyes he felt threatened. He knew better than to make quick moves though. That increased the threat. He rolled his arm slowly across his body, pulling the tarp across with it.

A group of people were gathered around. He noticed their legs initially, then vague balloon-faces. He couldn’t say how many there were but guessed twenty.

A high pitched voice said, “Look, it’s the Abomination.” There was muttering around him, saying, “It comes in many guises,” and “We must guard ourselves against it.” They were repeating the words of the preacher outside the Transparent Temple yesterday.

The man from the mountain sat up on the tarp, seemingly floating on a small blue lake. Fallen white blossoms were scattered around him.

The high-pitched voice, which he saw came from a young girl, said “Why are you here?”

There was no need to answer this brainwashed child, but he felt she deserved an answer that was different from the ones she repeated unknowingly; she was putty in the hands of her parents, who were putty in the hands of the hate preacher.

Still seated, he turned around to face her, and said, “I don’t know how or why I awoke on the White Mountain. Somehow I was brought there, or came there, without my knowledge or consent.” Twice the girl almost interrupted, but she had been brought up with good manners so held back.

He continued, “I was alone there, cold and hungry, so came down to this village. Kind people fed me last night, and then I slept here.”

The child repeated, “Why are you here?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll be gone in a day or two, towards that dark mountain.” He pointed to Mt Negra.

The crowd stepped back and gasped. A man of a similar age to the man from the mountain jumped forward, his wild eyes rolling. “No, begone!” he shouted. “You belong to the dark mountain. Like the others before you, begone!”

The crowd stepped forward, circling him more tightly. He had to act, and flung himself just to the left of the girl. He broke through the crowd and ran into the forest beyond the park. They chased him, shouting, “Begone!” and threw coins and stones, but he outpaced and wrong-tracked them. The man from the mountain knew he couldn’t rest now. He climbed and crawled through the forest towards the dark mountain.

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Are You Staying Long?

Posted in Lucerne Village, Mystical Experience, Unknown, World Myths with tags , , , , , , , on July 31, 2012 by javedbabar

I’m not sure what I’m doing here. I woke up on Mt Alba, cold and tired, and walked down through the forest, and across the marsh, into the valley, then followed the road past farms into town. There were beef cattle and dairy cows. I eyed the steers.

There was a holy gathering at the Transparent Temple, and one outside. The one inside seemed welcoming, but I didn’t want to disturb their rituals so kept going. The one outside was hostile, and I felt it was best to get away as quickly as possible.

Though I’ve warmed up by lying naked in the sunshine, my bones are still sore and my stomach gnawing. I’ll head for that prominent building; it looks like a hotel. Yes, the sign says Lucerne Valley Hotel. I would love to have a pot of tea and some hot dinner. Do I have any money though?

I check both trouser pockets and the ones in my shirt. Nada.

The guy at reception gives me a big smile, he seems friendly. Maybe we can work something out. He says, “Good evening, Sir. Welcome to our humble establishment. Would you like a room?”

“That would a fine thing, but right now I’m wanting some dinner. The problem is that I’ve just returned from a spell in the mountains and find myself without funds. Is there a way that I could work for my dinner?”

“That’s an unusual request, Sir. Let me check.”

The receptionist calls through to the kitchen. He says to me, “I’m sorry, Sir. The chef says that he could do with a hand tonight, but he isn’t allowed to take on casual staff, regardless of whether money exchanges hands. It is forbidden by The Authority.”

The door swings open and a stocky man walks through.

“Hey TJ,” he says to the receptionist. “How goes it tonight?”

“It’s been a busy day, Mr Shama. There are quite a few people from the holy gatherings staying here.”

“Is that what you’re here for?” Shama says to me. “Are you a follower of Guru Baba? Or maybe Ozwald Malchizedek?”

I say, “I’m sorry, I’m neither. I don’t know anything about them.”

“Are you okay, pal? You’re looking pale.”

I’m feeling dreadful but say, “I’m okay, thank you. Just a bit hungry and tired.”

“Well my friend, you should have yourself a hot dinner. They serve great food in the restaurant here. Wait a minute!” He finds his wallet and rummages through it. “Ah, here it is! I thought it was in there. The free meal voucher I won in the raffle. It’s still valid isn’t it, TJ?”

“It sure is, Mr Shama.”

Shama hands it to me. “I know what it’s like, pal. I’ve had tough times too. A good steak will get you through to the morrow.”

I thank him and head to the restaurant. I think I’ll have it medium-rare.

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Welcome to Town

Posted in Lucerne Village, Mystical Experience, Unknown, World Myths with tags , , , , , , on July 30, 2012 by javedbabar

He stripped off entirely and lay on a rock in the sunshine. Ah, it felt so nourishing to be warmed by the source of all goodness, the giver of life on earth. Why people worshipped things other than the sun, he never knew. It’s really simple. The sun gives us light and heat; the sun’s gone and we’re gone, that’s it. Every other god could disappear tomorrow and you’d never know.

Dry and dressed, he headed out of the forest. He’d descended from Mt Alba’s summit into the valley, and his ultimate goal was the dark mountain at the its far end, with the pulsing red star above. How he’d got here, and why he was going there, he didn’t know. He just knew this was his journey.

A good gravel road led towards the village. Fields and farm buildings began to appear. He was stared at by cows, and greeted by goats; horses whinnied and ran along beside him. A metal sign said: “Lucerne Village, population 2,000. Authorized by The Authority.”

He remembered there had been a dispute with The Authority. Or maybe it wasn’t The Authority itself, more its local agents. It had to do with identity. They said that he was one thing, and he said that he was something else. That was the reason for the dispute, and the reason he had woken alone atop Mt Alba.

He must return to the village though. He was cold and hungry and had nowhere else to go. That was the cruellest thing about exile. You had no option but to return, whatever the consequences.

The man from the mountain saw the building known as the Transparent Temple. It sat at the heart of village life, acting as community centre, arts venue, and a place for holy gatherings, celebrations and feasts. There was a gathering there now. People sat around a man wearing saffron robes and turban, who rested with his eyes closed. Then he opened his eyes and looked upwards and smiled. The man from the mountain felt a rush of love for everything in the world. He was a good man, this… he remembered… Guru Baba.

Another gathering took place outside, led by a shaven headed man in loose white trousers and shirt. He turned to look at the man from the mountain, and pointed and said loudly, “This is what we must guard ourselves against. Look closely, for the Abomination comes in many guises. I, Ozwald Malchizedek, have been blessed with sharp eyes to see through them. I tell you, this is one of them!”

The crowd turned and stared. Some sneered and shouted, “Go away! Leave us alone! Lord save us!”

This seemed familiar to the man from the mountain. It had happened before. There was something about him that people feared. Though Guru Baba welcomed this difference, Ozwald Malchizedek rejected it.

Who has the right to do this? To hate the wonder of life, born of a pulsing red heart?

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White Mountain

Posted in Lucerne Village, Mystical Experience, Unknown, World Myths with tags , , , , , , , on July 29, 2012 by javedbabar

I don’t know how I got here, but here I am. There’s a great view in most directions – I can see forests, lakes, rivers and other mountains. This isn’t the highest peak around here, I can see others that are at least equal, and likely more. They contain different minerals though, for they are mainly grey-brown. The mountain upon which I stand rises alone, shining white.

At the far end of the valley is a sharp black mountain. It too stands apart as if an opposite and equal to this one. Though it is dawn, with darkness disappearing, above the black mountain shines a red star which seems to be pulsing, like a child’s heart beating. I am drawn to that star.

There’s no food or shelter on the summit of this mountain and it is rather cold. I don’t remember the night before, how and why I slept upon this bare peak. There is no reason to be here. The only thing to do is to begin my descent.

The Valley below repels me for some reason. Have I been there before? A quote from the Bible comes to mind, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me.”

Is there something to fear?

Who is with me?

It will take a full day to descend to the plain. There is snowy terrain initially; the footing is good but there are patches of ice that take careful negotiation, and some unexpected slides. Thankfully I don’t trigger an avalanche.

Lower down is bare rock; clean faces and loose stones. Brush begins appearing and then lone trees, and loose forests of fir and pine.

My descent is more rapid than expected, at least till I reach the bottom of the mountain. There is a marsh there with foul smelling swamp cabbage. I try to walk around it, but the marsh encircles the whole mountain, so I just wade through, grabbing at trees and bushes where possible.

Waist deep in water, I lose sight of the black mountain. I can no longer see my goal. I visualize its sharp peak with sub-peaks below and dark rock gullies. But is the mountain in my mind accurate? Is it the same as the real one, or am I now imagining something different, and likely to end up somewhere else?

Then I have the strangest thought. If I no longer see the dark mountain, does it still exist? We make assumptions but how do we know for sure? Maybe this world is one of awareness, created by our thoughts.

I haven’t been paying attention to where I’m going. I am lost, stuck in the marsh. I think of the pulsing red star, the child’s beating heart. Is it a call for help from someone?

My pounding man’s heart responds and I push through the mud.

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Black and Blue Angels

Posted in Lucerne Village, Mystical Experience, World Myths with tags , , , , , , , , on July 19, 2012 by javedbabar

Dimpy (Dimples) had created a vicious cycle. Desperate for extra work, she had invented a course, Spatial Studies, and presented it to the Lucerne Valley College administrator as “a multi-disciplinary approach to the element that surrounds and defines all material objects.” He was keen to take advantage of current grants and had signed her up for three ten-week courses.

Her meaningless homework assignment the first week had caught the students’ attention, but had inadvertently set a pattern. Now nobody did any of the homework she set; they only presented excuses.

This morning she didn’t even want to ask the question, knowing what the answer would be. The last two answers – about a fat cousin, and repo men – had been good stories, but hardly counted as homework. She wanted this to be a special course for the students – maybe she should rename it Special Studies, as one student had suggested. She had no fixed subject matter, only a desire to fill in the gaps in their thoughts. She chose a good girl wearing a white dress, and asked, “Did you do homework, Asma?”

She said, “No, Miss Kashi, I didn’t.”

This was no longer a course, it was a game. “Why didn’t you do it?” Were those bruises on her arms? wondered Dimpy. There were patches of black and blue.

“Because I died, Miss Kashi.” Other students were impressed. That was a good one, they thought, and nodded in appreciation. Low whistles were heard and low fives shared at the back of the class. “It was only for an hour, but I really think I died.”

Dimpy was tempted to tell her not to be silly, but felt it would go against the spirit of the class-game. “Okay, go ahead and explain your death to us.”

“I was tired when I got home from college so I lay down for a while, but forgot to take my allergy tablets. I have severe mixed allergies. The doctors have never pinpointed anything specific, so I take everything to be safe.

“I dreamt that I was walking through a desert gorge. On either side there were towering cliffs of multi-coloured stone. They were mainly pink, but with swirls of white, blue, yellow, red, green, black, and flashes of silver and gold. A light wind ran through the gorge in little gusts that tickled my skin, and a small red river was running beside me, its water reflecting the rock.

“I recalled from geography class that gorges can be dangerous, as deserts have flash floods. I decided to get out of the gorge quickly, but didn’t know how. The walls were hundreds of feet high, with no way up or out. I began to panic and sweat.

“Suddenly the river stopped flowing and the wind died down. A cold shadow filled the gorge and before me appeared two angels, one black and one blue. They each held one of my arms and made me nervous, and asked many questions about the good and bad things I’d done in my life, Then a tall green man, so handsome called out, ‘Let her go. She’s got more time yet.’ He led me out of the gorge into a field, and said, ‘Go home now.’

“My mum and dad were crying when I woke up. They said that I was cold and wasn’t breathing, and my heart wasn’t beating. They’d thought I was dead.

“To celebrate my resurrection they took me for a Guru Baba Burger, it’s made with organic lentils, and they let me have pakora chips. That’s why I couldn’t do my homework. I was dead, and then feasting on karma-free food.”

There was a brief pause, then the class burst into applause. Dimpy joined in.

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Spatial Studies

Posted in Lucerne Village, Mystical Experience with tags , , , , , , , , on July 16, 2012 by javedbabar

Lucerne Valley College accepted Dimpy’s proposal to teach a course in Spatial Studies, whose title had come to her during a meditation. They agreed in principle to three ten-week terms, teaching two different classes weekly. These two days a week would fill the ones she was losing as a result of The Authority’s new accounting system, making her a cost rather than an asset to the museum. She couldn’t help feeling that there was also a vendetta at play between herself and the Board of Trustees. They wanted her out.

Having to support her one-year-old daughter Tasha by herself meant there was no time to feel sorry for herself. She had to take action. She had committed to presenting the Spatial Studies course and had better now think of a lesson plan.

“It’s the study of space,” she’d told the college administrator. “A multi-sensory approach to the element that surrounds and defines all material objects. I’m sure you know that the universe’s building blocks are 99.9% empty space.”

“Of course,” he’d said. “Yes, it sounds like a wonderful course.”

Teaching the course though was a different matter. She would have to convince the students.

She had a bright idea – maybe that was the answer: to ask the students. See what they wanted to learn; explore gaps in their knowledge. There was plenty of information out there on the internet, on TV, in book stores, and on cell phones. What was lacking was cohesion and integration. Maybe that was the space she should explore with students. What they had right now was a ladder with missing rungs, through which to fall, and possibly even missing rails, meaning never climbing at all.

The turnout for the first class was good: thirty students. She only needed fifteen to make it viable for the college. The administrator introduced her. “This is Miss Dimples Kashi who will be teaching this course in Spatial Studies. It will cover a wide range of disciplines and set you thinking, and may sometimes give you a headache. So keep your thinking caps on! Miss Kashi, they’re all yours.”

“Okay, class, who can define space for me?”

No hand went up. She pointed to a boy at the back. “Hello, what’s your name? Tom? Okay, Tom, what’s your understanding of space?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Excuse me? This is a class in Spatial Studies, the study of space.”

“The study of space? Like outer space?”

“No, it’s broader than that.”

Another boy said, “I thought it was Special Studies. I thought it would be easy; that’s why I came.”

There was a chorus of “Me too.”

A girl said, “I thought it was something like Physical Ed.”

More calls of “Me too.”

Oh dear, thought Dimpy. Maybe her lesson plan of limited dimensions, infinite extents, and linguistic and mathematical gaps must wait; as for theories and practice, objective and subjective views, symbols and archetypes, and the concept of a room in which to do all these things – those must wait too.

The bell rang, and shoes shuffled immediately. Bags were snatched and students arose. She called out, “Your homework is to remember your homework.”

They stopped and looked at her. She’d created a small space.

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No Knowledge Without College

Posted in Lucerne Village, Mystical Experience with tags , , , , , , , , on July 15, 2012 by javedbabar

Since being appointed Museum Director, Dimpy (Dimples) had really brought the place to life. There were no more dull exhibits and long-winded labels, strange opening hours, and bans on food and drink.

Lucerne Valley Museum had become a destination! Young people now came here and brought their friends. Old Fashioned Friday was a monthly dance night that drew people from the City and beyond. A few things had been broken, and others had disappeared, but that was the cost of doing business. You gotta break some free-range eggs to make an organic Western omelette.

The annual Debaters night was also a hit. Last year’s debate between the horny old world god Cernunnos and lovely St Lucy, both wanting to be named “Founder of Lucerne”, and Dimpy’s going into labour and giving birth to her daughter Tasha right there, had become local history itself.

Dimpy had also made peace with the trustees, though they would not forgive her for discovering Lucerne’s great secret. The Old Families still kept it locked in the museum safe.

She had salvaged an Upper Valley cabin about to be torn down – the owner was convinced he was a bear; he had been hospitalized and his property sold – and she had conceived the concept of the Future Museum celebrating technology. Artificial Intelligence, programmable matter, nanobots, cold fusion, and space solar power, would all one day affect Lucerne as much as any place.

Overall, visitor numbers had quadrupled. Dimpy was pleased with herself.

The Chair of Trustees, Mr Roseman, came by one day. He said, “Can I please see you in the boardroom?”

When she entered, she saw that the whole board was present. Mr Roseman said, “I’m afraid I have some bad news, Dimpy. We all agree that you are doing an excellent job. However, The Authority’s new accounting system requires us to look at the CPV: Cost Per Visitor, for every aspect of the museum. As you know, we are all volunteers. You however are very expensive, and don’t fall within acceptable parameters. We have no choice but to cut your pay or let you go. What do you wish to do?”

Dimpy had maintained regular contact with the trustees, and attended all scheduled board meetings. This was the first time that anything like this had ever been mentioned; it was a total shock. The scheming swines! She had to think quickly to keep her post.

“What if I remained on the same daily rate but reduced my days?”

Mr Roseman said, “Well that is another possibility. Is that your preferred option?”

Dimpy had heard that Lucerne Valley College had received a grant and was keen to start new courses. Maybe she could do something there – teach a course in Museum Studies or Basic Archaeology. Maybe World History or Cultural Anthropology. Or something crazy like The Evolution of Human Consciousness and Development of the Bicameral Mind. She would think of something. But she also needed to keep what she could of this job.

She said, “Yes, how about three days a week?” The trustees said that they’d discuss her proposal and respond tomorrow.

That night Dimpy meditated upon her favourite mantra – Be Here Now.

Two words appeared in her mind – Spatial Studies.

She didn’t quite know what to make of them, and fell asleep wondering. The next morning she opened a book of quotes she kept by her bedside. St Augustine said, “Since you cannot do good to all, you are to pay special attention to those who, by the accidents of time, or place, or circumstances, are brought into closer connection with you.”

Dimpy realized that Lucerne was the space she occupied now. She could teach and study its living treasures.

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Reality TV

Posted in Lucerne Village, Mystical Experience with tags , , , , , , , , , on July 11, 2012 by javedbabar

The man in black with a silver crew-cut and tiny beard said, “Hello, I’m Frank, TV Producer.”

That’s more like it, thought Bobby. I couldn’t really see myself with the previous two people – a lawyer and an accountant – but I could probably hang out with a TV producer. That was the whole purpose of the New Ideas Show’s Speed Networking event – to meet the kind of people you wouldn’t usually come across, and share your backgrounds and goals. You never know what these new relationships can lead to.

“Pleased to meet you, I’m Bobby. I’m new in town and looking for work.”

“Excellent,” said Frank. “I always need new people. Do you watch much TV? What skills do you have? Are you single? Are you politically engaged?”

“That’s a lot of questions,” said Bobby. He wondered how he was expected to answer.

“I’m sorry; it’s the nature of my business to always question. I mainly produce reality TV shows and am always asking Who? What? How? When? And What For? Have you seen Lonely London and its spin-off Lovely London? The First One In? Why Should I Live Like That? What? You haven’t seen any of them? You’re not much of a viewer.”

“Don’t take it personally. I’ve had a lot going on in my life. There’s been no time for TV.”

“Not to worry,” said Frank, running has hand over his silvered head and stroking his tiny beard. “I’m looking to base a new show in Lucerne. I think it’s the perfect location with rich natural and cultural assets. There’s the Old Families, logging and farming for five generations, and new families escaping the stresses and expense of the city; there’s poor kids barely making a living, and billionaires building holiday homes; Anglo-Saxons and Natives, with Chinese and Indians coming in…”

So that’s the modern media business, thought Bobby. Take a trend and put your own spin on it. Make it distinctive. “What do you have in mind?” he asked.

“I’m still developing the idea. I’ve ruled out hidden cameras and hoaxes; this town is too small for those, and job searches and sports are mundane. I’m focussing on ethnic, supernatural, self-improvement…” he thought for a moment, “and maybe dating themes…”

Bobby couldn’t help interrupting. “How about helping Guru Baba,” – a famous holy man who had retired to Lucerne – “to build his karma and find a new wife in his next life?” He couldn’t believe he’d said something so ridiculous; it had come from nowhere.

Frank nodded his head, amused. “I don’t think that’s it, but I like your thinking. Look I’m in real need of story editors and segment producers. It doesn’t seem that you have technical skills, but you are a creative thinker. There are all kinds of things that need to happen behind the scenes; we need to script action, manipulate events, influence audience voting, re-stage scenes – create sensational television by whatever means. Maximise the voyeur-wow-factor to increase viewers and maximise advertising revenues.”

“But that sounds quite contrived. Don’t you make reality television?” said Bobby.

“It’s all about sex and money and twenty-four hour surveillance – how much more real can you get?”

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The Asian Children

Posted in Global Travel, Lucerne Village, Mystical Experience, Unknown with tags , , , , , , , , on June 30, 2012 by javedbabar

I’m used to them now, the little rascals, thought Albert. Much can change in a week! Last Tuesday he’d been doing his school run, same as ever, and there they stood, twenty-four Asian children, by the side of the road. He didn’t know for sure that they were Asian, but that was his and everybody else’s best guess. Even the ethno-linguists and social workers were not certain. “Indo-Tibetan” was their best notion.

Who they were, and how they’d got there, were burning questions. The story however had been kept out of mainstream media, The Authority believing it would inflame the immigration debate. It remained a local, word-of-mouth story.

Albert had stopped for them immediately but then been stumped. Should he pick them up now, or leave them here and seek guidance in town? He was out of cell range so couldn’t call the bus company or cops. Albert made three decisions that day.

First, he decided to pick them all up and take them into town.

Second, he drove right past his usual pick-ups, making some of them cry. Their parents had rung the school to complain. Under the circumstances he felt his actions were warranted. He needed to get these lost kids to a safe place. His usual charges had a safe place already, and it was best they stayed there for now.

His third decision was to take the kids straight to school rather than to the cops. It felt more appropriate. Teachers would know how to handle troubled children; cops would likely frighten them. He’d spent too much time with cops in his life, and never enough time with teachers. His life had been so fucked up from the beginning: his violent family, his mixed-up head, his abused body, everything. It was amazing he was still living and breathing, here and now in Lucerne. Okay he was single and had few friends, but so what?

It was decided to house the Asian children at a local Bed & Breakfast, but many of them began to scream, till they were taken out again. They didn’t like town at all. They preferred rural areas or wilderness. They also hated being separated. Efforts to divide them led to more screaming.

The village council held an emergency meeting, and decided to accommodate them in the old school house in the Upper Valley, twenty kilometres out of town.

The Asian children didn’t mind coming into town for school though. They liked seeing the other children, though they were not yet ready to engage with them. Albert having found them on the Lucerne Valley Road, was asked to drive the Asian children back and forth. They liked to sit together at the back of the bus.

They were silent for the first few days, but then one said hello to Albert while he was driving. Albert said hello back, immediately after which the bus was filled with sniggering. He turned his head and saw that there was no one standing in the aisle or sitting in the front rows of seats. Who had said hello?

“Please keep your eyes on the road, Mr. Driver. You’ve got our twenty-four precious lives in your hands.” There were many more sniggers. “We are telepaths. It is a very useful ability in the mountains where we lived. We didn’t need to cup our hands and shout while climbing.”

“How did you get here?” Albert asked aloud.

“It’s hard for us to explain that. Why don’t you tell us how you got here?”

Albert realized that this is a very hard thing to do.

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The Pattern

Posted in Lucerne Village, Mystical Experience, Sacred Geometry, Unknown with tags , , , , , , , on June 29, 2012 by javedbabar

Terry tumbled while climbing Mt Negra. Jen had told him not to climb it. “My dad was a mountaineer,” she’d said. “I know how fit you should be; how much training you need; how you should never climb alone.” He’d hoped that she wouldn’t go on about it but she had. “It’s great you want to do something special for your thirtieth birthday. If you‘d have thought of it last year, and we were well prepared, I’d say, ‘Woo! Let’s go there!’ But you thought of it last week. It’s stupid. It’s ridiculous! There’s no way I’m climbing that mountain, and neither should you.”

He’d said, “I told you already, babe. I’m going.”

“Well I’m not going to hang around, knowing you’re going to kill yourself. I’m pregnant. I don’t want the stress. I’m going to the city to visit my parents.”

He’d only made it half way up before he slipped on gravel and rolled down thirty feet. Thank God it was only that. If he’d fallen on the dark ledge further up, he would most likely have ended up as a corpse in the river. He’d suffered only aching bones and heavy bruising.

His bones needed hot baths, yet the bruising called for cold packs. Which would be better overall? He went for the full bath treatment, with classical music, mineral salts, and candles – like he’d seen Jen do. He should have told her about his accident, she’d have come back running, he knew; but it was his own stupid fault; let her enjoy getting spoiled by her folks.

Terry emerged from the bath and noticed that his veins were visible, like they are after vigorous exercise, but more so. The veins stayed raised all night. His skin looked like the underside of a gnarly blue leaf. Maybe his bath was too hot. Jen had told him often to cool down the water. He should listen to her more. It was hard to take her seriously though, like when she was talking about “bad energies”.

“What are those?” he’d asked her.

“Evil spirits and black curses,” she’d said. She should be more rational; they didn’t live in a fairy tale.

Next morning he seemed more tired than usual. He woke up late and wandered straight into the shower. When he emerged, the raised veins were still there. The shower was quicker and cooler than the bath, yet had caused the same effect, or had the veins never gone down?

He put on his glasses and looked himself over. The veins were raised all over his body. He looked like a rolled net, or a very old cheese. They could be map contours, or crazy etching. He was reminded of his visit to a surgical museum where he’d seen a baby’s corpse, its blood vessels were filled with red plastic, and all of the flesh removed. It was a curious exhibit, showing the flow of life but also its stagnation.

Terry’s blood vessels branched outwards from his heart as if reaching for life. But unlike the baby, all of them were blue. There was only used blood returning from everywhere; none of it being oxygenated, rejuvenated. The dark mountain at the end of the valley had coloured his blood and claimed him for her own. Was he now filled with bad energies?

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