“If then you do not make yourself equal to God, you cannot apprehend God; for like is known by like.
Leap clear of all that is corporeal, and make yourself grown to a like expanse with that greatness which is beyond all measure; rise above all time and become eternal; then you will apprehend God. Think that for you too nothing is impossible; deem that you too are immortal, and that you are able to grasp all things in your thought, to know every craft and science; find your home in the haunts of every living creature; make yourself higher than all heights and lower than all depths; bring together in yourself all opposites of quality, heat and cold, dryness and fluidity; think that you are everywhere at once, on land, at sea, in heaven; think that you are not yet begotten, that you are in the womb, that you are young, that you are old, that you have died, that you are in the world beyond the grave; grasp in your thought all of this at once, all times and places, all substances and qualities and magnitudes together; then you can apprehend God.
But if you shut up your soul in your body, and abase yourself, and say “I know nothing, I can do nothing; I am afraid of earth and sea, I cannot mount to heaven; I know not what I was, nor what I shall be,” then what have you to do with God?”
― Hermes Trismegistus
We like to wear the same clothes on the same days, and once a week we wear flannel button-downs and watch sci-fi movies, but only the really spiritual and informative ones. We’re writing a story together with two lead protangonists that resemble us. He takes me to resturants to eat Thai food and everyone stares at us. We are okay.
We plan appearances and then cancel them together, preferring to stay home and lay about. We can simply lay and whisper to each other. In our space, we throw blankets and pillows on the floor and tell each other secrets. We began the game with only a few secrets, but we realized that we could spend days remembering private moments . . When we were ashamed . . When our teachers embarrassed us . . When we felt alone . . Who we liked . . Who broke our hearts . . Times where we felt like God . . Times when we felt lost . . When we cried . . When we felt in harmony with all of the universe . .
We are cuddly and giggly. We look at each other when we travel around rooms. One looks and the other is smirking, waiting. Or we see each other at the same time and snicker. We stand up and sit down at the same time. We do things at the same time. We do things after discussing it in our heads. We read each other’s minds and spend quiet evenings under the moon, listening to music in the car because it has the best speakers.
We go on adventures. We feel it when it comes. We go far away. We hug each other. We dance and sing together. It makes us so happy. It gives us so much energy. We chase each other. We are at the beach. He is trying to tickle me. We lay in the sand. We whisper secrets about when we first met, how we struck each other dumb. We became one so fast. We are like one thing. We move together between places and between times and ideas. We are together always. We are easy.
We are laughing. We are laughing with tears. We are feeling our hearts spin open. We make each other vibrate. We can find each other. We move together. We dance similarly. We fit. We are easy. We’ve known each other always. The future is oneness.
What may be true for others
May not be true for some
So they say there’s no truth
And deem the job done
Swimming downstream into moral-less banks
Dangerous roulettes and tricky heart games
But could it be that “truth” itself
Has been given a poor introduction?
That perhaps truth really -is- the confusion,
the multi-viewed song of collective perception?
I had thought of the truth as a single tree
Until I saw the forest as one,
an interdependent ecosystem of truths,
And when I understood, the water touched the sand
And there was a blast, an impression
It was a vision,
A watercolor landscape of infinite possiblities
Burned fixedly in time as temporal truth
Directly from the mother of mysteries
To ripen but eventually rot and return to earth
"How can the future be fixed if there’s choice?"
I fool me once again, because I haven’t a clue
But I do see these paintings, and these paintings come true
I performed energy work for the first time, and my partner said she could feel waves of heat coming from my side of the massage table. Moving energy is so much more natural than I thought. I was so focused on my client that I felt entranced. Our breathing synchronized, energy points opened in my own body as I moved through her Jin-Shin points, and I felt the energy current blip just before my client’s body would twitch. My client said the experience was unreal. She could feel my electricity running through her. When he came to school, I said he would have been proud.
After clinic, we all went to Little Bird’s apartment to get high and go swimming. We walked to Safeway like a line of comical geese. He and I popped our collars and pretended to be Greasers, I carried the Lioness’ beer, and I raced Little Bird home, where we ate pizza. He wouldn’t eat. He apologized for leaving me so abruptly during a massage a while ago. I told him that I just wanted to know why. He skated around the answer, but said that he didn’t feel like he abandoned me because at the time we were “one”. I said that being one means he can’t just see things from his point of view, that he had to take into account how I felt too. He hung his head and apologized, and I told him that its okay, because he’s stuck with me. He was glad.
"We just got real for a second," I smiled. He grinned. "It was nice."
We smoked and drank beer and talked about judgments, reflection, projection, poverty and quantum physics. We changed into our bathing suits and went to the pool. We had cannonball contests, dunked each other and raced across the blue. We saved a bee carcass and prayed over it. And then, when the girls were talking, and Little Bird was floating somewhere, he (sneakily) pressed his body against mine beneath the water, and in the perfect way so that no one would notice . .
He wasn’t leaning against me, or simply near me— he was pressing against me. Maybe I should have called him out. Maybe I should have wrapped my arms around him and submerged us beneath the water. But all I did was freeze. No one was noticing. How could they? What was he thinking? Finally, when I had the strength, I said, “I’m moving over hereee . .” and began to swim away.
Except he curled his leg around my leg, so I couldn’t escape.
I flailed for a bit, and then he used his other leg, and pretty much had me in a leg lock. I couldn’t keep afloat because we were in 8ft, so I thrashed my arms about. Next thing you know, we were both laughing, and I used the window to finally swim away. I didn’t bring it up for the rest of the night . . but I remembered while we sang Pocahantas back to the apartment.
We talked about the invisible world, our mentor, and sex. When we went around the circle and asked when we each lost our virginity, I said that I still hadn’t had butt-sex and everyone laughed with me. Dare I say, I felt accepted? Little Bird says that the perfect guy will come, and I’ll be glad that I waited. I thanked her. She also said that she understands what its like to want and want and wish and wish and be impatient. I just smiled.
He said he wanted to draw me a diagram, because he felt like I would understand it. It was a diagram of “the sea of perception”, our perception, the perception of others in the area, universal perception, and the third dimensional reality. In the car, I told him about meditation. I said to go deeper. In a world of metaphysical inexactitude, having our inner guide is invaluable. He said he was in touch with his previous incarnation. I mentioned that his guide’s “scope” can be even broader. He said he liked our energy, and then he went home.
In my dream, he met me in a dark empty lot between two buildings. We had selected a time to meet in the dream. In the dream, it was one o’clock. When I saw him the next day, I asked how he slept. He said that he stayed up really late, because he felt bad that I had to get so little sleep. I asked if he specifically intended that. I asked squarely. He said he did, and I told him about my dream.
What will become of us? I care so much for someone that I can hardly trust. Just when I think we can finally just be friends, he does something to demonstrate that whatever “this” is isn’t over. What am I to do but surrender? What am I to do but let Source have Its way with my feelings? It was my Higher Self that told me to keep quiet when he pressed his body against mine in that pool. I’ll just keep listening. Source can do the “doing”. Just play me the Smiths . . and sing me to sleep . .
— Elie Wiesel
Sailboats on Pluto
Sail east to go west
So to itch his own feet
He scratches his chest
He jumps into crowds
To reflect and to think
And stuffs poems down drains
To wash down the sink
Atlas can suffer without using his arms
Wishes, intentions, and gold occult charms
Legendary tendencies demand morals and bone
Yet no psychic pillar should be left alone
The leonine nymph yanks the fruit from the vine
With moss-colored eyes that are just out of reach
She closes the door on the perturbance of time
And indulges in jewels and what’s good to drink
She stalks through the jungle with pillows and mugs
With cutting-cunt language and languishing hugs
The dry mouths suck on stones of salt
Love can die, it’s not her fault.
During guided meditation, I was in the in-between stage between asleep and awake, and I saw Muir Beach, and all my friends. Deeper, the vision became like wallpaper, and two technicolored lizards flew across my inner-sight. For a glimpse, I saw Eve and someone else outside the dojo, and when I came out of meditation, I thought, “How odd. I can’t want to tell Eve what I saw.” Except Eve wasn’t in the room. She had stepped out of the dojo during meditation, to talk to Janet.
Later, I used acupressure points and guided a classmate through a similar meditation. I had her build an island, then sit in a garden, and I told her there was a visitor. The visitor had a gift. Then I told her to take the gift to the ocean. This was all done very slowly. When I brought her out of trance, she held back tears. The visitor was her father, and the gift was him asking for her forgiveness. She became a five-year-old girl again, and watched her daddy disappear into the ocean waves, and she waved goodbye.
When she guided me through a similar meditation, just before she pressed my third eye, I felt a tug on my crown chakra, and I heard my name spoken by multiple voices. She pressed my eye and the tug vanished, but came back when she let go. I told her, and she said I must have felt her hesitation, because she wanted to touch my crown at that moment, but didn’t want to mess up my fro. So amazing.
As I drove home, the little woman in my tummy told me to see my friend Lars. I obeyed and rang him up. We got lunch. Lars and I have known each other for years. He’s my psychic buddy (and I’m realizing I have lots of those). We’ve been on so many adventures, been through so much, and he’s so kind. So gentle. Always bearing gifts. Always using his gifts to harm none. He goes to some extreme “places” in meditation and sees strange things, but he’s harmless as a dove.
We bought pitas and he asked me about school, so we went to the roof of a parking garage, and I told him about ****. And in middle of my story, he stops me, and he tells me that he’s bisexual. I had always suspected that Lars was bisexual, but I always wanted him to feel safe enough to discuss it on his own, and he did. We talked about sex, chastity, psychic perception, confusion and heartbreak. He said to be compassionate and see ****’s confusion through ****’s eyes. So kind. So gentle.
He told me about when he hooked up with a guy. He had met a man at his work, a black man who was into Reiki. Lars went over his house where this man showed him stones, gave him massage, and then . . beyond. Lars said no one had looked at him like that, other than me. He said that he thought of me during the experience. He thought that if he were more open, he could be more like me. I played the moment very cool, but I remembered.
The next day, he almost ran to the mountains to be with this man, but his parents stopped him. I realized that bisexual confusion doesn’t have to be so messy. It can sweet and honest and safe. It can be understanding. It doesn’t have to be so mean and manipulative. Today, **** was late to school and I asked him why. “The girl I’m sleeping with turned off my alarm,” he says. It’s so cold, how comments like that can still freeze me to the core . . and yet, a shade of my heart smiles . . because there are men like Lars in the world . . who would never hurt me that way. I’m reminded . . that the world is still a beautiful . . and soft place.