I wait for the moment. I can sense it, the meeting, growing closer – like a tingling in my veins. I shall remain in this powdery bed of nectar, until I meet that which I have awaited for forgotten eons.
The wind has left me coated in a sweet scented slime. It’s been strong for a while now, the wind – rolling and swirling and shifting like a vast sparkling ocean, floating through the sky. It’s thick jelly vapours cling heavily to my delicate fuzz. Perfect conditions for the event of course- in dry air, the jungle of towering spectral flowers grow limp, bowing down as if they were sleeping, with their firm leathery leaves hanging in downy, delicate cascades. Curious entities.
The flower I sit in now sways frightfully in the swirling wind, and has even leaned to a point where I had to quickly snatch a grip on a furry tentacle to save myself from plunging to the distant ground below. Quite a terrifying experience, when you consider the blanket of slippery slime clinging to every corner of the land. But in these moments, these flashes of terror and exaltation, I bear witness to a spectacular scene. The dense floor of the jungle is alive, thousands of paces below me. Snared and entwined with vines and creepers, and bushes of broad leaf foliage and a spectacle of dazzling flowers. And all this life below glows in a shimmering, phantasm radiance. It pulsates softly in perfect unison, even though there are not two, consistent rhythms throughout.
The phosphorescent light swells into the black sky, and the jelly wind vapours come alive with infinite, tiny, sparkling lights, reflecting through the infinite crystal droplets of jelly. The swirling winds appear as if they’re sparkling, dancing spirits, formless shapes moving as gracefully as life- and perhaps they are. Possibilities are always possible. I think the winds are dancing to the rhythm of the jungle.
Soon these towering flowers will commence their spectral show.
Sometimes when I lay here and gaze upon the infinitesimal infinite lights, I drift off, and I feel like I float away and stand in the eternal black, before them. Pictures appear in vivid clarity and detail behind the lights, as if unseen lines appear. Certain hazes of light grace the images, leaving the illusion of three dimensions. The origin, or origins from which this light comes I cannot say, and I’m not sure I would, if I did know. The pictures often seem to move in some unknown sequence, showing disconnected themes that ultimately lead to some unsettling, unsuspected final image. And this final image somehow draws a perfect conclusion to the seemingly random arrangement of the spectacle.
But there is something more to these visions. Something more bizarre than the visions themselves. Something that happens in the moments to come. Occurrences strangely recognized as the theme of the visions, themselves, united. This brings rise to another very curious question. If these visions foretell messages of things happening in the physical realm, then where are the messages coming from. Could it be possible that they come from within my own self?
There is something beyond the lights in the sky, I’m sure. It communicates with me. Feelings, strange sensations indescribable and almost so seemingly normal they’re easily missed. It seems to show me things I would have missed, had my attention not been strangely drawn in that exact moment. I really cannot explain with any known words- The Presence.
Why are the lights in the sky formed in such curiously familiar shapes. I think it’s a map. What it might lead to I’ve no clue, but I do intend to find out.
The luminous, phantasm glow radiating from the ground far below seems to have grown slightly brighter. The wind has faded to whispering, swirling wisps. The strength of the current will soon begin its climax. The tentacles rising out of the center of the nectar bed have taken on a ghostly phosphorescence that shoots out a prism of light, in thin lines of colour. The colours flash as the ooze cloak shifts. The tremendous, tongue like, leathery petals have begun to grow quite pale.
The luminous incandescence below has begun to pulsate heavily. The tiny points of light and remaining wisps of wind dance in tune to the pulsations, and I’ve noticed that the temperature seems to be fluctuating in the same, deliberately structured rhythm. I can feel a hum tickling through me, a buzz flooding over my nerves- so I lie down in the powdery bed and stretch out my limbs to take in every sensation.
The petal tongues have now undertaken a quiet, colourless glow.
The excitement of what’s to come trembles through me furiously. I lay here silently and stare blankly into the phantom sky, wondering how the moment will come to be. Will I know it when it comes? Will it come to me as if a dream, or will it be as real as the flower that holds me tenderly in its powdery nectar bed.
I shall wait, in any case.
A sound is howling across the air – a ghostly wailing, fearfully close to the resonance of a voice, in an intense, incoherent song. The pitch is a constant low drone, with strange, sweeping notes. A structureless structure, if that’s at all possible to conceive. There’s no doubt in my mind, however, that this strange voice is singing to the phosphorescent jungle.
The steady pulsations seem to pour through everything, dancing to the rhythm of the currents. They soak through me as easily as they pour through the air, and the effects have left me unbalanced and quite dizzy. My tingling nerves have begun to roar, my head swims and blurs, and my stomach rolls uneasily. I’ve tried closing my eyes to ease the nauseating currents, but it changes nothing but my view. I feel as if I’m spinning away.
The spectral show is igniting.
The towering flowers’ petals have begun to swell in spectrums of bewildering colours. Each petal swells in bright streams of light, then fades away to a colourless glow, and the next petal swells in perfect succession. The tempo is increasing, building on the rhythm of the pulsating jungle. This spectral show leaves me rapt in hallucinatory confusion. The fluctuating colours of the petals give the illusion of motion, and it grows so intensely, I can scarcely tell whether the flower is actually spinning madly or not. My thoughts are spinning more madly than the flower, and I’m sure the crazed images I see now flying before me will surely drive me to lunacy.
I must wait.
I want to sit up, but I’ve found I can’t move- fused to the nectar bed, melted into it like liquid. I feel weightless, or formless– no longer a figure to touch, or see, or smell, or hear. But I feel. I see without eyes– visions beyond vision beyond comprehension. The screaming buzz in my veins has numbed me to oblivion. I have disintegrated, been removed from myself, and if I don’t soon take back my grip I fear I might soar away. I crave to howl, but I don’t seem to control a means to allow such a performance. I must not fall asleep.
And I soar.
I’m falling. The lines of physical reality have grown fuzzy and nearly entirely obscured by the brilliant light of whatever delusion my mind might observe. Disoriented and stumbling, dissolving to a depth far beyond the phantasmal jungle, and beyond the physical foundations of reality. I’m soaring through spaces between spaces unknown, through tunnels without walls- a crack on a wall that isn’t really a wall– and pouring past faces that hover along with a ghastly fluorescent glow. I feel as if I know them, these faces. So familiar, yet sure I’ve never even conceived such a face. They feel as though they connect to me somehow. I know them, like I’ve known nothing else. Know that, for I know of no words that could explain.
And it seems as if forever the faces fall past me, or maybe I’ve been falling past them. Yes – tunnels and visions and impossible things. I’m falling.
Into – or out?