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Bus Pass

Posted in Alternative Energy, Lucerne Village, Mystical Experience, Sacred Geometry, Unknown with tags , , , , , , on March 22, 2012 by javedbabar

Oh great, thought Kelly, I can pop into the shop, I’ve got 6 minutes. That LED sign is really handy. Before you had to stand around and wait for the bus, with no idea when it was coming, and according to the season: freeze your balls off, get soaking wet, burn to a cinder, or get your clothes blown off, with people driving by feeling sorry for you, laughing.

Then they erected this new bus shelter and the LED sign. The shelter’s a bit strange though – a grey metal box with diamond cut-outs. It looks more like a bear trap than a bus stop; less a convenience, more a cage. I could have designed something better in art class, and made it in shop class.

“Wass up?” said Tavish.

“Just going to the shop. Want something?”

“Nah, I’ll be here.” He was standing away from the bus stop, despite the rain.

A guy driving by in a Frontier scowled at them. Kelly had noticed this reaction since the new shelter was installed. Sure it was nice to have your own car, but it was stressful and expensive to drive it daily to Strattus, or the City. And you couldn’t read or text or talk. Much better to take the bus.

Kelly hadn’t moved yet. Tavish said, “Look at all those power lines, man.” Kelly looked up and around. He hadn’t paid them much attention before. They were just power lines. “Look how many there are, all up there. That can’t be good for our brains.”

“What do you mean? It’s the other end you’ve got to be careful at – the sockets.”

“You don’t know, man. Those power lines are bad for you. They send out radiation. They should be buried, not going through the centre of town. But the Authority is too cheap, or they want us to die. Keep away from them.”

“You can’t keep away from them,” said Kelly. They criss-crossed above the street, over-connected, heading everywhere. “Unless you live out in the bush.”

“You’re right brother. You can’t keep away here. But be aware. They can drive you crazy.”

Other people at the bus stop didn’t talk to each other, busy using their mobile devices. A boy listening to phat pumping tunes on his iPod, pushed out his lips and nodded quickly. A girl chatted on her Googlephone without breathing. Another chick furiously used Blackberry Messenger. A woman read Dan Brown’s latest marvel on her Kindle. A man Facebooked on his netbook.

The LED sign said “5 minutes”. There are two kinds of time in the world, thought Kelly – real time, and public transit time. One minute of real time takes one minute to pass. One minute of public transit time takes anywhere from minus one minute – when the bus or train has already gone, ahead of schedule – to infinite minutes – when it never comes at all. Who knew how long these 5 minutes would take.

Kelly changed his mind about the shop. It was raining and he may as well make the most of the new shelter. He nodded at Tavish – who stayed out in the rain – and took cover. The other five people – iPod boy, Googlephone girl, Blackberry chick, Kindle woman, and Facebook man – crowded in to make room for the new arrival, but did not acknowledge each other.

There was a flash of lightning, wasn’t there? Was that a small earthshake? Had something shifted? He saw the five people in the shelter in a different light. He saw their needs. iPod boy was in survival mode; he didn’t have enough to eat, and didn’t get enough sex; yet despite this latter lack, he didn’t get enough sleep either. Googlephone girl’s concern was safety; she worried about her health, her family’s stability, paying her rent, and her body image. Blackberry chick’s focus was society; she wanted to deepen friendships, find intimacy with a man, and be useful for her community. Kindle woman sought status; she lacked self-esteem and wanted the respect that comes from achievement. Facebook man wished for Self-Actualization; he had been accepted by his peers as an equal, and now sought to express his spontaneous creativity.

The LED sign changed to “4 minutes”. Something else shifted.

Kelly saw iPod boy’s life before him. He was a Child now, playing and carefree, running and laughing, celebrating all the joys of the world. He would soon be a man though, a Householder, with mortgage, and bills, and taxes, and wife, and children, and work; needing to pay for things, fix things, deal with things, accept his pathetic limitations, and live with them. He would fade into an Elder, an observer rather than actor, watching the confusing, and misguided, ways of the world, and withdrawing in stages. Then one day he would have no place in the world. He would become a Beggar – reliant on a modest pension, topped up by welfare, his family’s sense of obligation, stranger’s goodwill, charity do-gooders, and Lucerne’s health services to keep him alive.

The LED sign changed to “3 minutes”. The shelter was rattling.

He saw into Kindle woman’s subconscious mind. There was darkness within – deep forests and tight caves with unseen monsters. Then her conscious mind – a busy day in Strattus ahead of her, filled with meetings and an ongoing schedule of networking. He saw her superconscious mind, which held the brightness of love for herself and others.

The LED sign said “2 minutes”. The shelter shook slightly.

Kelly saw Googlephone girl’s dual persona – her animus and anima; male and female; girl and woman; goddess and whore; and yearning both to love and to die.

The LED sign said “1 minute”. The shelter seemed to glow.

He felt overwhelmed, and united, with everything in the world.

The LED sign said “Now”. The shelter was the shelter. That was all. An ugly grey metal box; a cage. The bus arrived, filled with more people. Kelly couldn’t handle any more connection. How much was too much before you were no longer yourself? He let the bus pass, and went to the shop, as he had originally intended to.

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Spinthro & Aquila

Posted in Mystical Experience, Sacred Geometry, World Myths with tags , , , , , on March 8, 2012 by javedbabar

Spinthro spotted a good hole in the snow. Pickings were slim in winter so he was glad for the find. He could have stayed in the trees for longer but that was getting boring; a hunter can’t stay cooped up forever. A spiderling’s got to travel – see the world – to become a spider. The dark bulk of Mt. Negra had called him forever, and it was time for him to go.

He spun an orb-web immediately. One of his proteins was a little off, and not mixing well with others. He tested it with a front leg – yes, it would intercept prey; yes, it would absorb their momentum; yes, it would entangle and hold them, ready for dinner. The web was fit for purpose. Within the hour, a cedar moth flew into the web. It struggled for a while but soon gave up, exhausted. Spinthro watched its terror increase through all eight of his eyes; he zapped it with venom, and flooded its corpse with digestive enzymes. Then he ground it down further with pedipalps. Dinner was thus served.

Spinthro’s brethren hunted various prey – he’d heard of spiders eating lizards, even birds – but he stuck with insects and smaller spiders. Of course the most popular, proven method was using a sticky web; but spiders also lassoed prey with home-made bolas; to avoid detection they camouflaged themselves, or mimicked prey; ferocious spiders even ran prey down!

He thought back to web class. They learnt how to use their spinnarets efficiently to produce all six kinds of silk together; how to draw out their proteins smoothly and transform their structure; and how to harden them into the world’s strongest, most flexible, versatile material. It could be used for many things besides webs. Sperm and egg wrappers, and safety ropes. Girls focussed on nest-building; boys used silk to make parachutes!

Survival class taught them about peripheral vision; putting your eight eyes to best use. With dragonflies and birds around, this saves your life. They learnt about hydraulic repairs. Spiders’ limbs operate by fluid pressure; one leak and you’re done for. The most vital class was sex education. How to deal with females. You needed to create the right web vibrations, or mighty females may gobble you up. The Spider Code was instilled into all spiderlings: Be Patient, Be Scary, Be Cruel, Be Creative.

Spinthro knew he was a holy being of mysterious power. Spiders had spun webs to protect Muhammad, King David, and Robert the Bruce. He was Anansi the trickster god, and Spider Grandfather. In modern times, he was Spiderman. He weaved his web as humans weaved their lives. The Shaman he spoke to said that clever humans behaved like spiders, manipulating their thoughts and actions skilfully, like strands of a web. He had eight legs and eight eyes. Eight was the symbol of infinity. He was the spinner of the fabric of existence.

High above Spinthro sat Aquila. Though the spider only knew her as the moving top of a tree, the eagle had seen the spider clearly, crawling way below. Her huge pupils allowed in much light, and ensured minimum diffraction, leading to a clean, deep gaze. She sat in this perfect nesting site, a giant old-growth cedar with 360o vantage.

Both her eggs had hatched successfully, but the older sister had killed her younger brother soon after he appeared. This is a cruel world and females must get ahead whenever they can. Aquila had been sad to lose her son, but knew that this was the way of life. She had done the same to her younger brother. It was a wonder that there were any guys left at all.

Her mother had told her about her name. Aquila means dark, on account of her dark feathers. The similar aquilo referred to the north wind, whose thermals she rode. But their moniker bald eagle was misunderstood. Its derivation was from a word meaning white-headed, rather than bare-headed. The shamans she spoke to had told her that.

Many gods had adopted eagle form. Zeus became an eagle to attack and seduce others. Garuda’s eagle body was so massive that it could block out the sun. Muhammad’s black standard was known as the Banner of the Eagle. An eagle was symbol of St. John the Evangelist. A knight bearing an eagle crest would be courageous, a man of action and justice. Spread eagle’s wings indicated protection, as embodied by Holy Roman, Russian, and French Emperors. It was the emblem of the old lands of Egypt, Iraq and Palestine, and newer lands of Poland, Spain and America.

Aquila was proud of her noble lineage. It made her welcome everywhere in the world. If Lucerne’s lakes froze over this winter, she would migrate somewhere south. She could swoop and snatch fish from Mexican or Bolivian lakes. Her broad even wings created direct, fast flight; her heavy head and large hooked beak, strong muscular legs, and powerful talons ensured that fish had no chance of escape. How could they against a spiritual messenger of the gods? They had given her the gift of clear vision, and the ability to fly above life’s worldly levels.

Aquila’s keen eyes looked around. There was the little spider in the snow hole, in which it had built an orb-web; created its own little world. She could swoop down easily and have a little snack. It would be good exercise and worth the effort nutritionally. But she didn’t feel like doing it. He was working so hard down there. Let him continue to work the land, she thought. She would uphold her dominance of the air. The spider was the Actor; she was the Observer. Their worlds were different yet the same.

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The Debaters

Posted in Lucerne Village, Sacred Geometry, Unknown, World Myths with tags , , , , , on March 5, 2012 by javedbabar

It was Lucerne Museum’s Annual Debate. Dimpy (Dimples) was pleased with herself. Who would have imagined, five years ago when she became Director, that an event at the Museum could be sold out – jammed! There was a waiting list for tickets, even a small black market she’d heard. She was a natural bringer together of people. It was her gift from God – or gods if there was more than one.

Dimpy was inspired by many sources. She recalled watching parliamentary debates in her childhood. Though the subject matter was generally uninteresting, members’ logical strategies and emotional appeals were fascinating. She had always enjoyed the Massey lectures – presenting original points of view. Recently she’d been impressed by a radio show called The Debaters, where pairs of comedians tried to provide the best combination of “facts and funny”.

Topics of debate were chosen by the Museum Board. In the past four years they had included, “Is Lucerne Village an independent entity or a slave to Strattus?” It was felt that Lucerne was basically a big bedroom for the local resort town of Strattus. “Should Lucerne Village retain its capacity or double in size?” It was felt that Lucerne should double in size. “Should Lucerne Village support old farms or modern industry?” This was declared a tie. Last year’s debate was controversial: “Should Lucerne Village create population quotas, or remain laissez faire?” The audience supported gender, racial, cultural, sexual orientation, religious, disability, and age-related quotas. People asked Dimpy why she had promoted debate on such a divisive issue. She said “That’s exactly why. People should speak freely, and think fiercely.”

Today’s topic was safer. More abstract. “Who is the true guardian of Lucerne Village: St. Lucy or Cernunnos?”

It was traditional for debaters to dress up. They did not disappoint. St. Lucy entered. She had long, blonde hair bound in plaits, topped by a wreath of greens which held seven lit candles; she wore a plain white dress, belted by a red sash; she bore a golden platter on which were small biscuits shaped like eyeballs. These symbolized the eyes that she had herself removed to be rid of a pagan suitor. She offered the biscuits to audience-members. Dimpy felt that this may be unfair, but let it go. Being eight months pregnant – the less effort expended today, the better.

Cernunnos danced in to cheers. He was dressed head to toe in a woolly brown goat skin, and bore twisting black horns. His long black boots gave the impression of hooves, and both arms and legs bore heavy golden bracelets called torcs. He carried a goatskin bag of liquor, and criss-cross belts filled with shooter glasses, which he rapidly filled and passed to audience-members. This was definitely not allowed, but Dimply also let it slide.

It was time to begin. She addressed the audience. “Welcome to the Museum’s Annual Debate. As you can see, we have a pair of very engaging characters present this evening. So without further ado, let us debate the motion of who is the true guardian of Lucerne Village. There will be four rounds in total. The first is their Arguments.”

St. Lucy wondered why they were even discussing this topic; the answer was apparent in her name. “Lucy comes from lux,” she said, “meaning light. What is more welcome in this land of long, cold, dark winters? Lucy brings light and warmth to your frozen souls. In Central Europe on St. Lucy’s day, bands of fortune-telling boys sing her songs of life; in Scandinavia, eldest daughters make warm breakfast for their families, and join processions of moon-girls and star-boys, lighting up the streets. Her Italian form, Juno, is goddess of childbirth, bringing babes into the light; and throughout Christian countries, she is the kind-hearted patron of the blind. Wherever she goes, Lucy brings joy and light.”

There was great applause from the ladies in the audience. Cernunnos made obscene gestures and leered, before beginning his Argument.

He said, “Cernunnos is a mysterious god. He moves in dark ways. His name comes from kornan, the Gaulish word for horn. His having horns or antlers shows his kinship with beasts, of whom he is Lord, and he sits cross-legged, surrounded by stags, bulls, serpents, dogs, and rats. His horn is both a ceremonial trumpet and military horn. He loves all kind of adventures, and the wealth they lead to – both as tribute and as experience. But most of all, he is horny, period. His horn shows his love of life – symbolizing its cycles of birth, death, and rebirth. So good people, be horny and vote for me!”

Every man present cheered. St. Lucy averted her eyes.

Dimpy said “Now the Bare Knuckles round,” This became pretty heated, with Cernunnos calling St. Lucy a prude, and her calling him a pervert. He didn’t seem to mind this moniker and made further obscene gestures. The Firing Line round involved questions about Lucerne Village. St. Lucy fared better on social issues and family affairs; Cernunnos performed well on leisure and economic matters. Then their final Summations: St. Lucy spoke of brightness, faith, and culture. Cernunnos extolled self-expression, darkness, and nature.

When Dimpy asked the audience to vote, there were big cheers for both sides. She requested a re-cheer. Again it was impossible to decide. A third and final round of cheering caused her water to break and her labour to start early. Fortunately Dr. Bungawalla was in the audience and took charge. It all happened in a flash, and a babe emerged before them.

St. Lucy said that as goddess of childbirth, this miracle was hers. Cernunnos said that as a fertility god, the credit was all his. Dimpy ruled that the baby was crying out for them both. Lucerne Village was a place of light and dark. They were both her newborn’s guardians.

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Lightcone

Posted in Classic Sci-Fi, Mystical Experience, Sacred Geometry, World Myths with tags , , , , , on March 2, 2012 by javedbabar

Albert worked in the Lightcone. It was all he’d ever known. The hard whiteness of the Highest Light broke into fragments far above, and bounced off crystal walls. It created a spectrum of infinitely clear hues, which filled the cone with endless brightness, like the heart of a jewel. Everything was illuminated everywhere, and shadows were simply not possible. The Highest Light seemed a vast jewel itself, so intense was its fire.

“Howdy, brother,” Albert said to his fellow worker.

“Howdy, brother,” the worker replied, and bumped Albert’s right fist, then his left fist. This was the only interaction encouraged between workers. It was a hard job seeking the perfect jewel; casual distractions and unnecessary affiliations were forbidden. The penalties for disturbance were not harsh, but the shame was strong, and the knowledge that you had lost a week of searching; a week in which another worker could have found your jewel.

Albert’s job was seeking, selecting, and grading the finest jewels. They had flaked off the crystal walls for millennia, and lay scattered in patches around the cone. Access to these areas was restricted to Jewellers; strong men like him whose fathers had done likewise, and their forefathers, back to the beginning of the Lightcone.

Each Jeweller had a general purpose and also a specific one. His general purpose was to serve society by offering it the finest jewels, used in factories for cutting weapons, traded for spices and metals, and used to decorate holy temples and shrines. His specific purpose was to search ceaselessly for his personal jewel. Some jewels – not necessarily the biggest or brightest – held the same vibrations as people, the same awareness as their soul. Albert’s life would be complete once he found his jewel. He would take it to the Temple to be tested and approved, and then begin the great journey to the top of the Lightcone, the journey that was the highest honour and greatest ordeal.

He recalled the pride he’d felt when his father had found his own jewel. “Son, I have completed my life’s purpose,” he had said to twelve-year-old Albert. “The priestess has confirmed its vibrational match and blessed my life force. Now I will climb to the light, as my father once did, and all of our forefathers.”

Albert recalled the dark, muscular figure, clad in short white tunic, begin to climb the rock-cut steps around the Lightcone’s rim. For three days, they saw this white speck rising higher, reflected as multiple specks in the crystal walls. It was as if his father had become many fathers. The higher he climbed, the more he multiplied, till it seemed to Albert that the cone was filled with fathers, all looking down. When he drew near the Highest Light, he diffused; he lost all separation and definition; he merged.

Albert’s mother had comforted him, saying, “Come son, let’s go to the Transparent Temple. There we will look into the Great Jewel. Maybe your father will send us a message.”

“I don’t want to go to the Temple,” Albert had said. “I want to go home.” In truth he wanted to run up the rock-cut steps after his father, and join him in the Highest Light. But it was a dangerous way on slim paths, along loose cliffs, through jungles, past waterfalls, along rope bridges, and where they were broken, crawling and grasping across gaps. Only a man who had found his jewel – and within it, seen his holy vision, and heard his holy vibration – was ready to go. Not boys like him.

Albert knew that it would be unforgivable of him to not attend his father’s rites. He went to the Temple with his mother. His extended family sat around the Great Jewel; the younger members an even mixture of boys and girls, but the older ones mainly women whose husbands had already undertaken their holy journeys. They looked into the Great Jewel together. Maybe they imagined it, but as the Highest Light poured onto the Great Jewel, they witnessed Albert’s father lighting the heart of the gem.

“He’s made it,” said a Great Aunty, hugging Albert’s mother. Other Great Aunties did the same.

Twelve years later, still a young man, Albert found his jewel. It was a fist-sized, grainy gem, with clear streaks running through its core. It seemed to throb with the same vibration as his heart. When he looked deeply into its clear channels, he saw his father walking and himself as a child crawling behind him, rising within the Lightcone together, towards the Highest Light.

“Don’t tell anyone,” his mother said. “You’re too young to go.”

“But mother, I have had my calling,” he said.

“But you haven’t found a wife or had children yet. It’s too early. I won’t tell anyone. Just put it back somewhere. No one will know.”

“Mother I will know. It must be so.”

After bumping fists with his fellow workers, Albert said farewell to his family and began to climb the rock-cut steps. He rode the slim paths on loose cliffs, went through jungles, past waterfalls, along rope bridges, and crawled and grasped across gaps.

When he reached the Highest Light, he realized that there was no light there. It was the Lightcone itself that was the source of light, reflecting itself endlessly. He had emerged from the Lightcone, which was now a glowing well beneath him. The realm outside was one of darkness, where the only light present came from his glowing hand. Holding his jewel before him, Albert wandered into this strange gloomy landscape. He now understood the higher purpose of his people. It was to spread their light here.

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HEARTH

Posted in Classic Sci-Fi, Sacred Geometry, Unknown with tags , , , , , on February 29, 2012 by javedbabar

Amy and David were excited by their new HEARTH home. An enhanced home had always seemed out of reach, so when they heard about “50% OFF” this January – making it as cheap as a regular home – they jumped at the chance.

They knew that they were the man and woman of each other’s dreams, and their next step was making a home together. But everything was so expensive – how could young people afford anything these days? Well they could if they were happy to live in debt for 30 years. David said that they shouldn’t have a mortgage. He invoked the symbolism of Jesus upturning the money changers’ tables at the Temple. People didn’t realize that everyone borrowing money simply meant that everyone had more money available, and supply and demand – basic economics – ensured that prices went up. So ultimately, borrowing money was worthless. In fact, with inflation, it was less than worthless.

They used their savings to buy a plot of land, and lived in an RV there for three years. Their house fund built up quickly, and they were set to self-build, so visited the Ideal Home Show for ideas. That’s where they saw the HEARTH home.

“Darling, let’s go in there,” Amy had said. “I like the look of it.”

“Doesn’t that one look better?” said David, pointing to a glassy structure with pronounced, angled timbers, which gave the effect of ascending and expanding.

“It looks like the Transparent Temple’s unwanted child.” said Amy. “You know what happened to the budget of our beloved community centre. Let’s not go there.”

“I just don’t see the attraction?” said David. “It looks like a shiny black box to me; hardly West Coast architecture.”

“Darling, I’m drawn to it,” said Amy. “Can we go see?”

They were dazzled by their walk around the HEARTH home, and booked a full demo at the City factory, which was followed by a bubbly sales lunch. This was where the salesman had mentioned the “50% OFF” promotion for “selected customers” like them. The only condition was that they had to choose from an existing model. They were allowed minor modifications, but no structural changes, or they would be back to “50% ON”.

Amy and David were the first people in the Village to own a HEARTH home. They required a month to lay the foundations and get utilities primed. The HEARTH home was delivered on the Monday after. Its components came on four tractor trailers, and the eight-man construction crew completed it by Friday.

They were told to stay out for the weekend to allow adhesives, paints, and varnishes to cure. The HEARTH home would require a further month of commissioning, giving time for the structure to settle. “There will be thumps, cracks, snaps, creaks, ooh’s and aah’s,” said the salesman by video call. “The house needs to get to know you. It needs to understand your physical movements, and your personal behaviour. Our structural work is the easy part. It is the house that does all the hard work.” He beamed hugely. So many teeth, thought Amy. “It is filled with components that you’ll never see – there are heat, sound, respiration, odour, electromagnetic, and tension sensors, plus as a bonus to my favourite customers I’ve authorized ECG and EEG feedback loops, that pick up your heartbeats and thoughts, which become the house’s heartbeat and thoughts. Can you hear them?”

“The sensors pick up our thoughts?” said David. “How do they do that?”

“I don’t understand the details myself,” said the salesman. “Only the principles. Once your personal pattern is established, the house identifies key emotional stages of your desired outcome, and then works through them progressively. It’s all very subtle though, very natural. You won’t even know. In Ancient Persia, every house had a hearth at its centre, a holy place for offering sacrifices and prayers. This is what we have recreated in this modern house. You are its hearth.”

Even within its first few days, the house functioned beautifully. Rooms lit up as they approached them; just the right music played; beautiful fragrances created delight; micro-cleaners didn’t allow a speck of dust or a stain to remain; the water’s temperature was perfect always, both in the kitchen sink and in the bath. The HEARTH home ensured that their dinners were awesome, their conversations sublime, their yoga divine, their work productive, and their sex out of this world.

The HEARTH home never got in their way. It took them to where they wanted to be, and left them to continue alone. “Darling, this is perfect,” said Amy. “This is how I wanted our life to be.”

“I guess you were right about the house,” said David. “It’s helped us to become more ourselves.” He kissed her passionately, causing classical guitars to play, and roses to scent the room. “Our neighbour’s houses have taken over their lives. They live for their houses. They spend their weeks working to pay their mortgage, and their weekends scrubbing and fixing them. Here we can just be ourselves.”

But one day they had a silly argument about cheese. Amy said that it was still alive, and David said it wasn’t. And because it was a silly argument, the house didn’t know how to behave. Rather than reason, its response was passion. Red colours flashed, whisky smells filled room corners, rap music thumped harder, the air became hotter and steamier, and chilli tastes heightened their emotional disharmony into physical distress. Amy grabbed the cutlery nearby. The HEARTH house played The Ride of the Valkyries, and she became a winged maiden choosing slain warriors. “God help us!” cried David. Both his and their home’s heartbeats stopped together.

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Leaving Party

Posted in Mystical Experience, Sacred Geometry, World Myths with tags , , , , on February 25, 2012 by javedbabar

“Hey, I’m glad you could make it!” said Anna. “You’re just in time!”

“It was nice to be invited,” said Max, stepping into the third-floor apartment. “I’m sorry to hear you’re leaving. We’ve only just met really.”

“Never mind, I’m sure there will be other occasions. Just come in and make yourself at home. What can I get you?” Max saw a well-stocked bar behind her – there was beer and wine; whisky, vodka, rum, and gin; ports and sherries; some mysterious bright bottles of Mexican liquor. He also noticed many different smiling photos, likely friends.

“Just a beer to warm up, thank you,” he said. “I’ll pace myself.”

“Hey man, don’t be shy. Me casa es su casa! Here’s a cinnamon whisky – cheers!”

Max became conscious that he was the only guest present. “Am I too early?” he said. “You did say around nine didn’t you?”

“No, you’re right on time,” said Anna. “I’m not sure who else is coming tonight. I have a leaving party every week, so people don’t come every time.”

“You have a leaving party every week?” said Max. “Where do you go?”

“Well I don’t go anywhere really. But I could go. That’s the point.”

“Huh?” said Max. He wondered now if coming here was such a good idea.

Anna looked at him closely and said, “I have a medical condition. My kidney – I only have one – has reverse functionality. Instead of cleaning my body, it makes toxins which seep into all of my organs. So every week I am full of poison, and on Mondays I go to the health centre; they hook me up to their computers for checks.”

“Whoa, babe!” said Max. “That’s pretty heavy stuff.” She smiled at him broadly. “Well, I guess you’re right to celebrate… I think.” He scanned the bar again. “But what’s with all the booze? Wouldn’t it be better to cut back on that a bit?”

“I’m just like most people,” said Anna. “I do my drinking at weekends. But the difference is that I have a check up every Monday morning. Pretty responsible of me really, wouldn’t you say?” Max could only nod. “Hey, wanna help me with a jigsaw? I need to get it done by tomorrow.” He nodded again, and thought, what a strange girl I’ve met. She seemed so normal when we chatted in the library, and now its reverse-kidneys, full-bars, and urgent jigsaws.

Anna handed him a banana-rum, and led him to the dining table. Upon it was a giant goddess jigsaw, mainly completed, whose capacity was difficult to gauge. The image was of a starry woman floating in the heavens; so it had cosmic scale. However its physical size was the same as the dining table – so about human-size. The starry borders had been completed first, and pieces worked inwards from there. The outline of the goddess was finished, as were her limbs. The space within her however required completion.

“So what do you think?” said Anna. “Pretty neat puzzle, huh?” Max raised his eyebrows. “Well, shall we start?”

“Looks like you’ve done most of the hard work already,” he said. She looked at him strangely – nervously, he felt – and handed him pieces from the remaining pile. He spread them out; they all seemed approximately the same shape, and somewhat pinky-blue. Was there any real difference between them, he wondered? Were they interchangeable? He noticed the pieces’ strange texture – they were slippery to the touch, maybe waxed.

He hadn’t completed a jigsaw in years. It was a good test of patience, and exercised your peripheral vision, he knew. But it seemed pretty pointless. Instead of re-making something that existed already, why not make something new and better?

Max knew that the shapes were formed of rigid cardboard, but they also seemed malleable. He squashed them between his fingers. Anna was perspiring and looking dazed. “Are you ok?” he said.

“Actually, I’m feeling a little dizzy,” she said, “and a little silly. Maybe you were right about the booze. Do you mind if I go and lie down for a while?”

“Er, sure. Do you want me to go home?”

“No, please don’t,” she said. “Can you help me to finish the jigsaw?”

“I think I’m getting a feel for it now. I’ll do my best.”

Anna poured him a cherry gin, then went into her bedroom and closed the door. Max continued toying with the waxy, squashy pieces. There seemed to be too many to fit into the space remaining, and their shapes were strangely ill-defined. They sort of fitted together, but they also didn’t. The more he tried to squeeze them together, the more rebellious they became. Some popped out again after he’d fitted them; some slid into new arrangements; some were just plain impossible to fit. After an hour – maybe – he’d managed – amazingly – to squeeze them all in, though he was not sure how. Well he’d done as requested, and had better go home. He finished the lemon-flavoured firewater he’d poured himself, and put on his coat and shoes.

As he was about to go, the bedroom door opened, and out came beaming Anna. “Boy, I feel good again!” she said. “Thank you!”

“Me?” said Max. “What did I do?”

She said, “Please don’t be scared; it’s called sympathetic magic, used for thousands of years. What you did to the goddess, she did to me. You helped me to rebuild myself, piece by piece. Those clinic people can never believe that I’m still alive. I have my friends to thank for that. For me every leaving party is a living party; the day that no-one comes to my party is the day that I die.”

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100%

Posted in Classic Sci-Fi, Mystical Experience, Sacred Geometry with tags , , , , on February 24, 2012 by javedbabar

BBC is a global brand, thought Ram, so this BBC10X must be a good product. His friend Amir always gave him good stuff. But printing was misaligned on one side of the box, which was itself a poor fit for the contents. He’d heard that private corporations were putting heavy pressure on BBC funding. They said that state-funded broadcasters had an unfair advantage and stifled healthy competition. Was cheaper packaging the BBC’s way of saving money?

Installation was straightforward – you just plugged it into your computer. The instructions recommended using your laptop rather than your smartphone, whose screen was too small. If you used the latter then expect reduced results. For a big brain you needed a big screen. A plasma TV or screen projector was even better.

The software self-loaded and started immediately. A dark graphic of a human brain began sparking red in various locations. These red sections lifted up and were brought together at the front of the brain. Their combined total area was much smaller than expected. A graphic appeared saying “1%”, and then, “Only 1% of your brain is used at any moment!”

Is that all, thought Ram?

The sparking expanded and came together again; its combined area once more smaller than expected. A graphic said, “10%”, and then, “Only 10% of your brain is ever used!”

That’s it, thought Ram?

Then the whole brain sparked like a coal that had become a firework. A graphic appeared saying, “100%”, and then, “With BBC10X you can access 100% of your brainpower!” There was a disclaimer saying, “BBC10X can only multiply your brainpower 10X. 100% target is conditional on user having 10% current usage. For 5% usage, maximum brainpower will be 50%.”

A gallery of “Successful Users,” showed portraits of Albert Einstein, Thomas Edison, Sir Isaac Newton, Buddha, Jesus Christ, and Lao Tzu. Then another disclaimer saying, “These geniuses all used advanced brain training methods of their time. BBC10X is the modern equivalent, but has only been available since 2010.”

Ram noticed that the “Successful Users” were scientific or spiritual geniuses; people whose notions had changed the world. Is that how they did it – by using 100% of their brainpower?

Three selection screens required completion. The first was a choice between “Religion” and “Science”. Ram thought about this for a while. Both were paths to knowledge of a sort – science to testable, provable knowledge, and religion to knowledge inherent in faith. Both sources were trustworthy if you believed what they had to offer was worthwhile. Ram was drawn towards mystical experience over rational experimentation. He chose “Religion”.

A quote appeared saying, “Credo ut Intelligam: I believe in order to understand.”

The second screen was a choice between “Introvert” and “Extravert”. This was a tough one, for Ram liked to spend much time alone, but also enjoyed laughing and joking at social gatherings. He was by nature a friendly fellow, but if he didn’t have quiet time alone, he felt his life was one of pointless activity, never alone with deep thoughts. He liked being both but had to choose, so clicked “Introvert”.

A quote appeared saying, “Solitude is essential to man.”

The third screen was a choice between “Reason” and “Passion”. This was probably about being a philosopher versus a poet. He’d never liked philosophy – endless navel-gazing – so he chose “Passion”.

A quote appeared saying “Nothing great in the world has ever been accomplished without passion.”

It was time to begin the process. The exercises were simple initially – just matching words and numbers. They got faster and harder, and moved onto colours, shapes, and sounds, which became faster and harder, and began to include smells and tastes. Ram was immersed fully in the process. He didn’t stop to think how he was performing smell and taste tasks through the keyboard with his fingers. There followed purely mental tasks. Objects appeared and disappeared on screen; he was somehow receiving and sending thoughts. All of his senses were united. He was aware of a medical condition called Synaesthesia, where people “smelt” sounds, and “tasted” colours – but that was mixing pairs of senses, not all of them combined. Ram felt that he knew everything, all at once, without need to either ask or wonder. His brain had expanded to its full human potential – which included the instincts of many lower animals: our ancestors; and the intuition of higher beings: our descendents. Once you had reached this plane there was no returning to the realm of ordinary mortals.

However there was one final choice for him to make within his soul, now with full awareness. Having witnessed the unlimited possibility of the universe, did he wish to become its Supreme Enjoyer; an eternal hedonist in a world of light? Or having also acknowledged the ultimate pointlessness of existence, did he wish to declare himself a nihilist in a world of darkness, and become an Extinguished Soul?

There was really no rush though. He had eternity to choose.

Brain Box China, makers of BBC10X, were unhappy with their new product launch. It was their highest performance gadget ever, and they thought that it would sell really well. But not one customer had recommended it to their friends, or become a repeat buyer. Trying to pass themselves off as the real BBC clearly hadn’t worked. They’d better sell off their remaining units and develop something else.

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Free Living

Posted in Sacred Geometry, Uncategorized with tags , , , , on February 23, 2012 by javedbabar

Sandy didn’t think of himself as homeless; he thought of himself as nomadic. Like great peoples of the ancient world – Mongols, Tibetans, Bedouin, and Hebrews – he moved around. He accepted that his “people” numbered only one person, but every people has to start somewhere. The great peoples were herders, and moved with their beasts. Sandy did too till his dog ran away. Now he was both herder and beast.

He spent much of his time in the forest. He’d found a good spot a little ways uphill, just out of town, to place his sleeping bag nightly. There was a deep rock ledge there, almost a cave. He was comfortable enough from spring to fall, but wintered elsewhere – usually the City – where they had better facilities and wealthier people – not that he ever begged. But if people wanted to give him five bucks to make themselves feel better, that was their business.

His rock ledge in Lucerne was near the park. Friendly runners passed close by and often said, “Good morning,” though an increasing number were now saying, “Gooday”. That was another tribe of nomads – Australians. A tall Aussie girl – she must be a six-footer – ran by daily. Today, as always, she beamed a huge smile and stopped to chat. “Gooday,” she said. “Did you sleep well last night, Forest Saint? Any great dreams?”

“Well actually I did,” said Sandy. “I dreamt that I was a very lucky man living freely in the forest, chatting to pretty girls.”

“Well it looks like your dreams have come true then!” she said, and bounded off like a doe.

He chatted to East Indians. The best thing about them was their food; and of course the fact that they offered it freely at their gleaming temple, which used to be a church with a holy congregation of seven, but now held fifty turbaned warriors. They called him Sandy Sahib – which means Sir Sandy. He loved their steel platters filled with steaming food, followed by sticky cubes of dessert, and hot sweet tea. The elders told him about their journeys to get here from rural Punjab, but they were immigrants rather than nomads. Their holy book was installed in the temple, and they were staying put in Lucerne.

Sandy had no travel costs; he hitchhiked everywhere. Today he fancied heading up the Valley, and was picked up by a South African guy in a blue Tacoma. “Howzit?” he said.

Sandy had accepted rides from South Africans before, and knew that the answer to this greeting was not, “It is truly fine Sir, and what about yours?” The appropriate response to “Howzit?” was “Howzit?” right back; like he’d been taught by kids in the park that the answer to “Wassup?” was always, “Wassup?” as the answer to “Wag1?” (What’s going on?) was “Wag1?” There were only ever questions with some people. Everything was left open.

Sandy bathed daily in the spring – but of course downstream from where people filled their 18.9L gas station water bottles. Refill them once and you’ve repaid your deposit, and after that, its water free forever. Isn’t that how life should be always – free?

Sandy’s life previously had not been free. It had at times felt like a cauldron burning dry, and at other times, a roof leaking in many places; and now and then, somewhere in the middle; and too often, both at once. It was exciting to live in the City for sure; a world of commerce, industry, and architecture; untold opportunities; power lunches and grand dinners; urban music festivals; blockbuster action movies; dramas, operas, ballet, and modern dance. But there were also millions of other people chasing those very same things, leading to endless noise, overcrowding, pollution, traffic jams, bad tempers, no time to smile or talk to strangers, pushing and shoving, clock-watching, trying to succeed at your job and keep your head above water. The City was stressful. Those people weren’t free at all.

One day he’d said to his boss, “I can’t do this anymore.”

His boss had looked at him oddly and said, “You never could.”

“What do you mean?” said Sandy. “I always did well here. I hit my targets and achieved my goals.”

“You know what I mean,” said his manager. “This was never the right place for you. You should have married into a gypsy clan, or worked for the circus, and spent your life on the road.” He’d shaken his head and said, “I like you, Sandy, but you will never be a respectable member of society. You don’t believe in any kind of structure or fair exchange.”

Leaving full-time work meant that he could no longer pay his mortgage, and his house was repossessed. His wife was not impressed by this turn of events and left him soon after, moving far away so he couldn’t see the kids. He began to wonder whether families provided synergy – making everything better for each other – or were merely parasites – sucking each other’s life blood. Anyway, he was free of them; so that was that.

Sandy’s goal was to live in the now. Not in the past or the future, but only in the present moment which truly exists. And who existed really? In truth his consciousness extended only to himself. So maybe only he existed.

He began talking to himself more: the only True Being. He said, “I am living freely, without baggage, with neither obstructions nor obligations; I have no money and need no money; this world is generous, bountiful, and abundant. This moment is perfect, and I am free.” But in a secret place, a little voice said “Am I a star, alone in outer space? A ship cast adrift on the ocean? A forsaken lizard creeping through wasteland? The last snowflake on a sunny day? Am I no longer a herder but a beast?”

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Dicewoman

Posted in Sacred Geometry, Unknown with tags , , , , on February 20, 2012 by javedbabar

“May I ask you a silly question?” said Martha to the shop assistant.

“Of course, Madam. I am at your service.”

Martha relaxed. “Ok then. Why do some people call a dice a die?”

“Die is singular, Madam, and dice is plural.”

“Ah!” she said involuntarily. “That solves the mystery. Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” He waited for a further question; when there wasn’t one, he busied himself with arranging figures in a minutely-detailed miniature castle.

Martha realized she had another question. “Excuse me.” The assistant half-turned and looked up. “Is the word for this….er, gambling device,” she flashed a smile, “related to the word for a…. metal mould?” She looked unsure of herself. “The one you use to make models; you know, when they say something is die-cast.”

“I’m sure that it is, Madam. Do you have an interest in models?”

“Not really,” said Martha. “But my brothers used to play fantasy games. I remember their ugly little monsters; they used to scare me.”

“There’s no need to be scared, Madam.” The assistant smiled kindly. “It’s only a game, after all.”

She also wanted to ask if die and dice were related to the word for the end of life, but felt embarrassed. All she wanted was an ordinary die to replace her lost one, so she could play Snakes and Ladders with her husband. Their bedroom routine had been disrupted. Most nights they played quick games of Snakes and Ladders, Chess, Ludo, and Strip-Poker; took all of their clothes off and then put on their pyjamas. On Saturday nights they kept their clothes off. She hadn’t got pregnant in eight years yet. Her husband had given up, but she felt that there was no harm in still trying.

Martha looked at the display case and said, “Could you please tell me about the different dice?”

“Certainly Madam.” The assistant opened the case. “These ones are common Western dice. See how their spots are widely spaced out? These Asian dice are smaller and rounder; their spots are closer together; notice how the ‘one’ and ‘four’ are coloured red for good luck. These clear ones are casino dice. Their markings are drilled, rather than moulded, then filled with similar density paint – so differing number of spots will not affect their performance – then polished and given serial numbers.” He threw the casino dice and scored double-six.

He pointed to some others. “Now these ones you may know already,” Martha nodded. “Role Playing Game dice with ten, twenty, and one hundred sides.” She hadn’t seen the latter before; the assistant passed it to her and said, “It is called a Zocchihedron.”

He indicated what appeared to be mathematical and biological models. “These Platonic dice are collectors’ items; each has a different number of sides. These talus bones from Sudan are the original form of dice used in ancient societies. This set of three, twelve-sided dice – used for astrology – are printed with planets, lunar nodes, and astrological houses. And this single-sided die is a joke die; nothing but a sphere with the number one.”

Martha had never seen so many; she was dazzled by the dice. Knowing their purposes enhanced her fascination, but something was bugging her. This huge variety of dice had one thing in common: their outcome was random. If that was the case then what was the point? She said “Is there any kind of die which is not random?”

The assistant gave her a severe look and said, “There are many kinds of loaded dice – mercury tappers, those with melting resins, and electromagnetic kits – but this is a reputable establishment, Madam. We do not carry any of those.”

“Oh,” she said. “I wasn’t trying to break the bank of Monte Carlo. I was just curious.” She looked around the store and eventually returned to the dice counter. “Ok, I’d better get what I came in for. Just an ordinary dice please, for Snakes and Ladders.”

“An ordinary die?” He reminded her of her grammatical error. “I’m afraid there is no such thing Madam.”

“I mean that one there with six sides, and one to six spots.”

“That is a die, indeed,” he said. “But it is not an ordinary one.”

“What do you mean?” said Martha.

“Madam, every style of die has its own magic. I wasn’t entirely honest with you earlier when you asked about non-random dice. Just take a look at this Western die. See how the spots are arranged? That’s right, numbers on opposite sides always add to seven. That’s because of its internal vertex, where all possible outcomes merge, and are then manifested according to the moment’s needs. There is in truth no randomness in dice.” He stared at her intensely. “Don’t you imagine that Indian and Greek gods, Biblical prophets, and medieval knights used them for a reason? Your Snakes and Ladders, by way of example, is an ancient game revealing the journey of life; each ladder is a virtue and each snake is a vice; which your soul must experience, and learn from, on its royal road to perfection. The outcome of every game is known. The die merely starts the action.”

Martha fingered the dice nervously. He continued, “Take this die as a gift from us, Madam. Use it to play Snakes and Ladders tonight. You may be surprised at the outcome. I think you know already. We look forward to you returning soon to purchase some children’s games.”

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Another Day

Posted in Alternative Energy, Mystical Experience, Sacred Geometry, Unknown with tags , , on February 18, 2012 by javedbabar

Was it morning already? wondered Marcus. God, it seemed like he had only just gone to bed. Was it something to do with yesterday? What a rotten day! The break up of yet another relationship. “What is wrong with me?” he said to himself. “Why don’t they last?”

Still, it was nice to sleep alone again. There was no grunting or snoring, no hogging the duvet, no rolling around in the middle of the night, no huffs and puffs, sudden arguments, or crying. Relationships were hard work. And besides the obvious – bill and rent sharing, occasional laughter, and regular sex – he wasn’t too sure what the benefits were. You put a lot in, and you got out – exactly what?

Yesterday’s conversation went something like this:

Marcus: “How was your day, honey?”

Squeeze X: “Why should you care, idiot?”

Marcus: “Because I love you, sweetheart.”

Squeeze X: “Well it was worse than yesterday, and better than tomorrow, asshole.”

Marcus: “Don’t be so cheerless, love.”

Squeeze X: “Well what do you suggest, you donkey?”

Marcus: “Don’t be so mean; it doesn’t suit you, beautiful.”

Squeeze X: “Fuck off and get out of my life forever, you total dickhead.”

Who could understand women? thought Marcus. Maybe he should put an ad in the paper to form a male support group. Maybe start Fight Club in Lucerne? Or maybe just continue to focus on his brain training. There was no girl now to send his waves astray.

Marcus got up and thumped across the wooden floor. He splashed his face, eyes, and nose with warm water, and did some gargles. The splashing water was comforting and refreshing, and put him in a new state of mind. Like tides washing over him periodically, he felt the long motions of Delta waves.

He pulled on a T-shirt and sauntered to the kitchen, where he filled his old-fashioned kettle from the repurposed 18.9L gas station bottles he used to bring home bubbling spring water. The kettle boiled slowly; its bubbles appearing gently, and then ascending; moving faster than the long tides earlier; now slow Theta waves.

He mixed half a cup of oatmeal with a cup of water and a cup of milk, added a spoon of sugar and a pinch of salt, and turned up the heat. His signature porridge took a while to heat up, but soon got busy. Within two minutes it was bubbling like crazy, making loud pops, and throwing out droplets of searing mush. A steamy fatness filled the air. His relaxed state of mind responded and was fully awake, in flowing Alpha waves.

Marcus followed his usual routine, but this morning felt different. Things were somehow easier and lighter. Waiting for his porridge to cool, Marcus performed his regular stretching routine: a mix of athletics and kung fu warm-ups. Their easy movements required concentration, producing Beta waves.

He wondered if this mental state could have caused his girlfriend-till-yesterday to respond differently today. Here was the rerun:

Marcus: “How was your day, honey?”

Squeeze X: “Oh, it was alright. Why do you ask?”

Marcus: “Because I love you, sweetheart.”

Squeeze X: “But it made me so sad to spend the whole day away from you.”

Marcus: “Don’t be so cheerless, love.”

Squeeze X: “Sorry, but compared to you, my warrior-prince, every man is a warty toad.”

Marcus: “Don’t be so mean; it doesn’t suit you, beautiful.”

Squeeze X: “Come and kiss me right now, my heart burns for you.”

He felt a strange power developing; not instant power, but latent power. Charges were coupling and building, like a storm arising. While twisting his body, reaching his right hand across to his left side, the hand didn’t stop and kept going. Then his left hand, reaching across to his right side, also didn’t stop and kept going. His hips kept circling clockwise, even when their direction reversed. When his arms rotated like propellers, they didn’t stop either, even when their directions reversed. His shoulders kept moving in opposite directions, and his head rotating both ways. He felt like a circus performer, spinning hoops and plates. There was a little too much going on for his liking; crazy chaos all around; a jumbled whirlpool spinning outwards, with centripetal force, in an endless flowing. These Gamma waves were too much for Marcus to handle.

Whether he slowed the motions, or they slowed of themselves, he couldn’t say. They acquired gentler rhythms; he became restful; though they continued spinning somewhere beyond. These were his natural Mu waves.

Marcus had run a full Wave Test this morning; the first one in weeks. He had moved from slow Delta, through drowsy Theta, relaxed Alpha, active Beta, into crazy Gamma, and appreciated the background testing of Mu waves.

His relaxed solo state this morning was a blessing. It allowed him awareness of his full cycle of rhythmic and transient activity. There were fewer biological artifacts – her bothering his eyes, heart, and muscles in bed – and environmental artifacts – interference from her laptop, cell phone, and iPod. Now his girlfriend was gone, his brain once more exerted centralized control over his body’s organs.

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