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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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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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Deepest Desires

Posted in Lucerne Village, Mystical Experience, Unknown with tags , , , , , , , on June 26, 2012 by javedbabar

Guru Baba had retired as a holy man three years ago. He’d announced to the world that he would withdraw from active spiritual life, and live simply in “that lovely little village with the white mountain above it,” known as Lucerne.

In those three years, however, he had learnt that one can never really switch off from the spirit. Once you connect with the heart of life there’s no way to stop vital force pumping; you are forever part of the flow. Sure, you could have the spiritual equivalent of a cardiac arrest, but those at one with life rarely died in such a fashion. There were usually other factors involved such as mental illness, aggravated genetic conditions, or political intrigues.

For some time now, he’d felt strange energies at play in Lucerne. He couldn’t quite point his finger at them, but they tingled his palms. He had known this place was rich and holy – that’s why he’d come here. The black and white peaks at opposite ends of the valley, the silent red forests, the icecap to the west and desert to the east, the pale rivers, dark lakes, and mysterious ancient places, all came together powerfully. They held energetic lines converging, forming zones of pure potential.

Guru Baba’s young assistant, Sami, brought regular reports of mysterious happenings; “Strange goings-on” as he called them. There were scented bubbles at a natural spring, a Tea-Jay using ancient herbs and rituals to entrance vast crowds; a girl and her uncle lost in the realms of their own drawing; Botanical Gardens with evil-minded plants evolving; a seniors centre where lost lovers cast new souls; a dark harp whose vibrations brought down buildings; “light water” revealing heavenly constellations; healing machines that mixed patient’s intentions with technology; even reports of android spiders from Mars. The latter was probably a product of Sami’s imagination.

Such strange occurrences were usually seen only at temples or in the presence of prophets. Guru Baba didn’t mind saying though that he’d seen a few himself.

He phoned his office at the Transparent Temple – nickname for their community centre – and said “Sami, please bring the truck.”

“Why, Guru Baba? Should you not be resting today?”

“I wish to visit the natural spring you told me about.”

Guru Baba spent an hour there, its ginger-honey bubbles popping around him. He was infused with passion and reverence. Time and space dissolved…

He returned to the truck only when his deepest desires were fulfilled. Not those of being young again, or world peace, or for an end to hunger, or for all people to be equal and happy. Those were superficial. His truest desire was to be here now. What more could anyone want?

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Bricking It

Posted in Classic Sci-Fi, Lucerne Village, Sacred Geometry, Unknown with tags , , , , , , , on June 24, 2012 by javedbabar

It was always fun to play in the forest, and now they had paintball guns it was better than ever. Running through the trees and crawling through bush, they were warriors with semi-deadly weapons, each ready to kill or be killed.

Hiding in tree holes and ditches was also fun, getting to know the bugs and spiders, picking their legs off, one by one. There was a tipping point though, and you could only wait for so long. If nobody was available to ambush, then they were probably creeping up to ambush you themselves.

“What about that pile over there?” shouted Sami. “Let’s take a look.” It would make a good fort. However as they approached it, they saw that it wasn’t a wood pile, but a squat brick building, ten feet square, completely enclosed with no obvious entry point. Vegetation around it was disturbed and some trees were smashed. It looked like it hadn’t been there too long. Who had built it, and how?

Sami did a full reconnaissance. There was no door, no windows, no chimney, and no drains. No warning signs either. The building’s only notable features were eight brick buttresses – one at each corner, and one at the centre of each side. He’d seen such features when visiting French cathedrals.

Boys with guns and anonymous buildings, it was a good combination, and there was only one thing to do. The building became their official target.

They made a range on every side. There was a swamp range, shooting uphill through rushes; a mountain range, firing downhill through roots; an east range, aiming through tree trunks; a west range, blasting across flat, rocky ground. They agreed to have a shooting match each day, with teams moving around the ranges.

Four teams of two were established and given different coloured pellets. They counted out one hundred pellets per person. At the end of four days, the differently coloured hits would be counted and the winners declared. If people were caught in cross fire, so much the better!

Sami and Jonah were blue brothers in arms. As they started shooting, they heard noises within. “There must be some machinery inside,” said Sami. Should we stop?”

“No way”” said Jonah, and they continued firing with a pretty good hit rate.

On the third day, when the building had been hit exactly 1,028 times, it suddenly rose up and the buttress roots emerged from the ground. The android spider had been very patient, but every creature has its limits. 1,028 hits, coming from all directions, were a sure sign of attack, and it was programmed to defend itself. It squashed one fleeing humanoid with each armoured leg, and fed them into its underside. It had been resting for too long and was feeling damp and kind of rusty. Their fats would provide good lubrication.

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Archway

Posted in Conceptual Art, Lucerne Village, Mystical Experience, Sacred Geometry, Unknown with tags , , , , , , , , , , on June 23, 2012 by javedbabar

Sophie loved wandering in the Botanical Garden; it was a great way to wind down after work. She knew the main path well, but there were always new side-trails appearing. She often crossed paths with this haven’s creator, The Gardener, and young crews who, he said, were studying Extreme Gardening.

She’d been upset by her argument with Danny. Last night had started well. He’d bought a cheap but surprisingly good wine; they’d cooked together, watched a movie and gone to bed. After making love, he’d brought up the subject of marriage. God knows why. Wasn’t that the girl’s job? He’d said, “Sophie, do you want to be with me forever?”

She’d said, “Let’s take it slowly, love. We’re only just getting to know each other.”

After a brief silence, he’d said, “But don’t you think that when you know, you know?”

“Well, maybe, but I don’t know yet.” That had been the end of the conversation and the start of the fight.

Sophie saw an arch in the distance, covered with red flowers. It appealed to her anger, and she walked towards it. What kind of flowers were these? Their petals seemed as if made of glass. She was afraid to touch them in case they shattered. Their red was hot, evoking power and anger, also passion and danger, and blood.

Sophie sat in the garden for a while. The sun appeared from behind dark clouds and the flowers on the arch seemed to change colour. They were now yellow, making Sophie think of summer, gold and joy, and the wheatfields of her uncle’s farm in the prairies, where she’d spent so many childhood summers. Wasn’t it amazing how colours changed your moods?

The sun continued its daily journey, now slipping beneath the tree canopy. There was a new coolness and freshness. The flowers on the arch appeared to be green. What neat shadowplay there was in this part of the garden. These strange verdant flowers cast a spell of fertility upon her filled with health and youth, and if it was too late for that, at least renewal.

The sun dipped below the horizon. Sophie realized that she’d been here from six to ten pm – four hours! She better get home; she rose to exit the garden.

The flowers on the arch now seemed blue; the colour of sea, sky and mountains, also of deep space. It was a colour that brought peace to her soul. Calm. Stability. Harmony. A colour of acceptance of the larger things in life; awareness that she was a tiny character in a vast cosmic story.

As she passed through the archway, she saw movement ahead. Danny was rushing towards her.

He said, “Where were you, babe? I’ve been looking for hours. I was worried.”

“I’ve been here,” she said.

“You missed dinner. I couldn’t get hold of you. I feared the worst.”

She looked at him with kindness. He really cared for her.

He calmed quickly and said, “For some reason I thought you might be here.”

The archway’s colours had transferred from the outer world to her inner realms. She said, “You were right. Now I know.”

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Eternal Antiques

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

Danny wanted to buy a nice present for Sophie. They’d been dating for three months; there had been some bumps but overall their relationship was progressing well. Because they’d first met at Lucerne’s Botanical Garden, Sophie told people it was “blossoming”.

He was strapped for cash; what could he get her? She liked cooking, maybe some pots and pans. The good ones in the hardware store cost $200 per pan. Who pays those prices? Someone must. He’d noticed that her boots were tatty; she would appreciate a new pair. He went to the general store to find similar ones; they were also $200. Maybe something special to celebrate their relationship? The best bottle of fizz in town? It was $200.

“Isn’t there anything cheaper?” he asked the cashier.

“Sure there is, pal. We’ve got beer at two dollars a can.”

On his way home, Danny noticed that the thrift store’s For Sale sign had been replaced by a new sign saying Eternal Antiques. He’d never seen any staff the few times he’d visited, just piles and shadows and an honesty box; no wonder it went broke. The “new” place may be worth a visit. He wandered in.

There was a good selection of books, clothes, games and sports equipment. Downstairs were house wares and cookware. Danny rummaged around but didn’t find anything special. On his way out he heard faint music and followed it to a room, reached by pushing through a rail of coats and dresses.

Suddenly the music seemed loud and dramatic – bassoons and drums, like elephants trumpeting and running. “Hello,” said a woman from amongst deep shadows. “I’m Sybil, the new owner.”

“Oh, hello, I’m Danny. It’s quite the shop you’ve got here. Did you have it renovated?” He realized this was a silly question. Yes, there was a new sign outside, but only more old stuff inside, including all the stuff the previous owner hadn’t sold in years.

“No, why would I?” she said. “My business is preservation.”

Danny saw she kept the better stuff in the office. There was rose-patterned bone china, cracked old paintings, ancient books, and objects that could be obscure cutlery or implements of torture. “Can you help me please? I want to find something for my fia…” He realized that she was only his fiancée in his mind. “For my girlfriend.”

“Close your eyes,” said Sybil.

“Why should I do that?”

“Because that’s the best way to find anything.” Her eyes smiled.

“Okay, they’re closed,” said Danny, holding the corner of the desk for support. “Now what?”

“Spin around and point to something.” He did so. “Good, that’s it.”

Danny opened his eyes and saw a fat, blue, dusty bottle. He said, “What is it?”

“It’s a potion for young lovers. That will be a dollar please.”

“What’s in it though? I can’t just take a random medicine.”

“You’re right. You can’t.” Sybil removed a small, framed painting from the wall and handed it to Danny. It was a radiant Christ with sacred heart. The heart had wings on either side and a crucifix above; light poured from it in all directions. “The potion has intention, and the painting has love. They work together to make heavenly magic. People today don’t like the word religious, or the idea of God. They prefer to say they are spiritual and chant OM. But it’s all the same old stuff. Intention and love. Wish for what you want young man, but there is one downside that I didn’t mention.”

Danny became scared. Was he meddling with dark forces?

“The painting is two dollars. So that’s three bucks total.”

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Ivories

Posted in Conceptual Art, Lucerne Village, Unknown with tags , , , , , , , , , , on June 20, 2012 by javedbabar

Donna felt swallowed by Christmas. It was meant to be about a lowly manger, a guiding star, three wise men, and a saviour child; add to that a huge turkey, your family, and good cheer. But all of this was eclipsed by present buying, which was all that anybody cared about these days; what I bought you; what you bought me; was it a good gift; did you get it cheap from somewhere; was it a fair exchange?

She decided that the best way to get unusual gifts at good prices was to visit winter markets. They followed the same ethos as farmers markets – you must grow, make, or bake it yourself – but with more focus on making than growing. She often bought consumable goods such as jams, cakes, and cheeses; soft things that she could also try herself; her dentures didn’t like toffee or nuts. She also got some items that lasted, so people would remember her gifts.

Lucerne’s winter market took place two weeks before Christmas, featuring a mix of artists, sculptors, farmers and housewives, and students and single mothers supplementing their incomes. “Hello there!” said a woman selling jewellery. “Would you like to try on anything?”

Donna cast her eye over the stall. It wasn’t quite to her taste – irregular beads strung together; some matched in pairs of ascending or descending sizes – but the style seemed somehow familiar; also the woman seemed familiar.

Donna said, “I feel I know you from somewhere. Do you live in Lucerne?”

Rather than smiling, the woman looked worried and turned away, saying, “I’m not from Lucerne; I’m just a visiting trader.”

“But it seems like I’ve met you before. Were you here last year?”

The woman saw that Donna wasn’t leaving so decided to distract her. “Why don’t you try on this necklace?” she said.

Donna examined the white chunks strung on a slim golden wire. “What beautiful stones. What are they, chips of marble?”

“Erm, not quite.” It seemed that the woman wanted to talk, and not to talk, at the same time; she had something to be proud of and also to hide. Donna persisted with questions till she had no option but to tell the truth, which is always easier than lying. “I make jewellery from teeth,” she said.

“Teeth!” said Donna. “Those are all teeth? What kind of teeth?”

“Well, all kinds of teeth. I get them mainly from vets and zoos, and people send me teeth when their pets die, to fashion into sentimental items. Did you want to try this on?”

Donna was not so sure. “What’s it made of?”

“It’s sheep’s and goat’s teeth. I stain and polish them individually, that’s why you thought they were marble. But stone quarrying is a dirty business; mine is entirely clean; there’s zero carbon footprint.”

Donna had to admit that the necklace looked good on her. The teeth together looked like the crest of a wave, or a small mountain range, curving over her bosom.

“What’s that one?” she said, pointing to a bracelet.

“That’s made with dog’s teeth, and the next one is cat’s teeth. I’ve even made one with mouse teeth for a girl with cancer.”

Donna tried on some shark’s tooth earrings, then some made of dolphin’s teeth. The woman said, “Teeth aren’t all solid you know. They’re made of multiple tissues of varying density and hardness. And herbivore’s and carnivore’s teeth are very different – being used to chew and grind, versus hunting prey and tearing meat. Different species can have one, two or many sets of teeth, and you can tell the age of horses from their tooth eruption patterns. Elephants’ tusks are specialized incisors for digging up food and fighting. Narwhals have one giant unicorn-like tooth, containing millions of sensory pathways…”

Donna wondered why she was talking so rapidly, telling her all of these strange things about teeth. Was she feeling nervous about something? Maybe her jewellery was junky. Donna returned the items and walked away.

The woman was relieved that Donna hadn’t noticed the case of platinum rings set with human teeth. She had briefly dated Lucerne’s dentist last year, and persuaded him to do her some favours, like extracting teeth from patients to order. She’d once pulled on a surgical mask and acted as his assistant, telling him which ones she wanted. Was this the woman he’d persuaded to have all of her top teeth removed?

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White Matter

Posted in Lucerne Village, Mystical Experience, Unknown with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 18, 2012 by javedbabar

Sammy poked his head around the door. “Yes, Doctor? You wanted to see me?”

Dr Bungawalla looked up from his desk but said nothing. There was something bothering him. Then he said, “Yes, yes. Please come in. How long are you with us for, altogether? Ah good, a month. So you go back to school in September? Perfect.” He pushed his chair away from the desk, pulled it back in, and shuffled papers.

“I was wondering if you would help me with a project. I think we can complete it in four weeks. It is not something mentioned on the internship documents; it’s more of a personal project. It will be helpful research to me.”

Dr Bungawalla had been the village doctor for forty years. Sammy recalled his always being nice to him, especially as a child, giving him snacks and sweeties, even pop. Good job he had become a doctor not a dentist!

Sammy nodded to indicate he would help. When someone’s just lost his wife, you should do everything you can for him.

“Oh good. I’m sure you know that the brain is composed of grey matter. Well, did you know that there is also white matter? It’s lipid tissue veined with capillaries; actually pinkish, but let’s not worry about that. It was previously thought to be passive tissue but now we know that its main function is to transmit signals, acting as a sort of relay, consolidating communication between different brain regions. It has an important role in processing and cognition; it plays a role in both our function and dysfunction.”

Sammy nodded along and said, “Is white matter your special area of interest?”

“Yes it is. Specifically, there are areas called White Matter Hyperintensities which show up as bright signals on MRI images. No, they are not really dangerous; like most things, they are essentially neutral, and it depends on what you do with them.”

“Can I take a seat?” said Sammy.

“Ah, yes, yes. So sorry, I was going to stand up but then forgot. Please take a seat.” Dr Bungawalla explained his strange request to Sammy. It seemed like a good way to spend his month here. They would both learn something useful.

For the first week, Sammy ate a Mediterranean diet. He stocked up with fruit, vegetables, fish, grains, nuts, and olives, and drank strong coffee and smoked cigarettes. Dr Bungawalla scanned his brain with the EMU (Electromagnetic Medical Unit), and recorded the changes. His chief interest was in the effect of olives; olive wood had been used in Greece to make statues of gods. There must be a reason for that.

The second week, Sammy ate pulses, macaroni, rice, beef and pickles. This Egyptian diet had fortified the builders of the Pyramids and Sphinx. Dr Bungawalla was especially engaged with the nourishment provided by lentils; these tiny seeds were a source of total nourishment. He saw that Sammy’s Hyperintensities had decreased in volume.

The third week, Sammy consumed an Indian diet. He added plenty of coriander, cumin, chilli, turmeric, garam masala, mustard seeds, salt and pepper to his meals. He also ate curds and sweet fried pastries. The chilli made him sweat and activated other nutrients he’d consumed. Spice fires the soul. Dr Bungawalla saw that this diet was boosting his antibodies, with no detrimental effects on Hyperintensities.

The fourth week Sammy ate Chinese food. He ate mostly vegetables and rice with a wide variety of meats, including pork stomach and trotters, beef brain and tongue, chicken gizzard and feet, and snake guts and heart, all washed down with pearl green tea. Dr Bungawalla saw a reduction in the volume of Hyperintensities. After further examination, he saw that it was not caused by food; it was caused by pearl green tea, which calmed the spirit and created fluidity. From now on Dr Bungawalla would drink this tea in the hope of slowing down his Alzheimer’s’ Disease.

Dr Bungawalla never assumed that modern medicine was best. He believed one should try traditional cures, beginning with your daily food. Hyperintensity Volume was a marker of small vessel damage in the brain, a reduction of which leads to a reduction of strokes and cognitive decline. But he also knew that it wasn’t just diet. There were associated memories encoded in White Matter, those of family joviality. Any of the diets that Sami had tried – Mediterranean, Egyptian, Indian or Chinese – would help Dr Bungawalla if rather than eating alone each night, he could share them with someone.

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