D.E. Bartley Scifi sunday's with the Hipriestess

Archive for November 8th, 2011

Unveiling Earth Mother

The Universal Gods Seemed To Be Splitting their sides Over The Enormous Joke Of Existence

Recently, while transforming a day of relentless hangover into a sinking sort of Sunday, I was struck by a notion that beat me in the head like a non   stop pendulum .

I had spent the afternoon slumped on the couch, riding waves of nausea, when suddenly I noticed that the walls were moving, swaying like curtains in a soft summer breeze. Now this, in itself, was nothing so unusual. Having experienced this state on many occasions I was in no way alarmed, but I did, nonetheless, consider this and began to question whether the walls were actually moving or whether my eyes were playing mischievous tricks. I considered reaching out, touching the walls, in order to sense some form of motion, but stopped myself and began to think;

If my eyes are playing tricks on me how can I possibly trust my sense of touch?

It was then that I realized the idiocy of my predicament, that the senses are nothing more or less than deceptive unfaithful housewives, they cannot be trusted. And if I could not trust my senses then how could I trust the product of my senses? That is; How could I trust my past and present experiences?

I began to pick through the alleys of my mind, like some homeless saint, searching for something to recycle, any shred of information that might shed some light on these questions begging to be answered…

I found nothing.

10,000 years of the written word and nothing but cobwebbed histories.
10,000 years wandering circles, devising religions and endless philosophies.
10,000 years stumbling and crawling across the bones of graveyard faith.
10,000 years pushing stoically, headlong into nothing.

I began to question myself. And then began to question myself questioning myself. On and on I spun around, chasing my own tail, until I fell to the floor with nothing more than an empty throbbing head.

Reality is such a slippery fish.

It would seem , I thought, that nothing is real and existence is just a game we play, a costume party, masquerading egos, or a flower continually blooming, withering into the void of itself. Then the
Walls opened and I was in the company of Gods. Not God, but gods.

I sank deep into a reverie and chuckled at my dilemna since the ancient of days,

and then I laughed.

It seemed as if there was nothing left for me to do but to sit back in a fit of laughter and enjoy the whole fucking set up.

And so it was then and this is why I’ve turned my thoughts on nonsense, preferring that limitless expanse above the confining cage of common sense or science.

And so I’ve dumped my little portion of bland and meager sense, sitting myself down in order to dine on this bountiful feast of nonsense.

I was a little surprised when I first met the Earth Mother. Ok, so she didn’t call herself that, but this was a party for Gods only so I kinda figured it out…and I wasn now among the elite of the elites.  

Pan as usual was hogging the bar and some dude called Poseidon had just nearly caused a riot by proclaiming that he was one of the originals (never a wise thing to say in a room full of gods I can tell you.) So eventually we quit the joint and wandered out onto the cloudy top of Olympus.

Let me tell you straight from the outset that I was jealous of this one  broad, which is one of the reasons I didn’t mind leaving with her. I mean I was even ID’d at the door,  smacked right in the face, how embarrassing is that? You ask any modern kid today if he’s heard of Mythras and he’ll say huh? You ask the same kid if he’s heard of the Earth Mother, damn he’ll go out and hug a tree! So ok I was more than jealous, but I have to say she was not what I expected.

I’ll try and describe her here for you as you might want to say, I dunno, hello or somethin’ if you see her, or maybe just think of her a bit more. Look all I know when I met her she looked like she needed all the friends in the world!

She was not the smallest god at the party, but having said that she was not far off. She stood about 5 feet tall and (as a poet might say) she was slyph like, meaning that I personally thought she could do with a bit more meat on her bones. Her skin was unsurprisingly a pale green in colour shot through with darker greens and what appeared to be bruises. At first I wondered who had beat her up, but then I remembered seeing that leaking tanker on the way over and kinda understood. She was bare foot and her toes constantly twitched as if she was treading on hot coals. Her hair, well I guess you could call it that, looked more like thick ol’ roots hung down her back, starting a deep earthy brown and tapering into almost transparent thin white tendrils at the tops of her thighs. Her eyes were a deep sea blue and no I aint bein’ poetic! If you looked in them for more’n a few seconds (as I found out whilst shaking her hand), you began to see fishes. Now talking of her hands, they were long and slender like her feet and also like her feet were in almost constant movement, like she was conducting some hidden orchestra…which I guess she was sorta. Her face was slim yet open, a tired countenance that appeared to have seen a lot of pain and not enough celebration and a mouth which seemed to be always on the verge of smiling .

Being that she is the Earth Mother I was expecting fanfares and all that jazz when she arrived, but heck even Shiva got more attention. When I questioned her   about that her reply was simple, How often do the followers take Shiva for granted?
 As we continued to gaze from Olympus, I asked her why she never stopped moving. “You are seeing me from the perspective of the God’s, and not as a mortal…”

“The world turns,” she replied simply. “Every moment of every day, a life is extinguished which must be in turn balanced by a life created. A great tree falls, I must nurture a seed to take its place, the ocean is polluted, I must find new homes for life there, the air is filled with poison, I must try and convince the wind to move it on before too many are harmed.
“How then can you find time for parties?” I asked boldly.
“I must show up at one now and again,” she smiled slightly. “To remind them, motioning to the room behind us. That whatever they do to me, at the end of the day they are all answerable. From clay are we formed, to clay will we eventually return. “ “It is the circle of life, well…one of them.”

Stunned by this reply, I shot back “Then how come this is my first?”

“That is easy, you only just realized, you only become responsible when you are truly aware” she laughed, the sound of a tinkling brook. “Many years ago, you were believed in by only a few thousand close followers.”

You needed to tear the veil, have the walls come crashing in, get smacked right in the face to party with
The Gods!”

Glancing back to the room where I could see Melchizedek arm wrestling Kali, with four arms I sighed. “Is it always this rowdy?” I asked.

“Yes.” She sighed and I heard the wind in the trees. They spend that much time bickering and fighting amongst themselves that they have little time for anything else.”

 ”Much like their followers no doubt.”  I returned.
Yes. There was a finality in this word that put me in mind of mountains collapsing and the earth opening up to swallow all life.
 Eventually she spoke again, I will go in there soon and remind them again. She said as if stealing herself. Where they come to  form and where they will return too should they not help me.
Will it change anything? I asked glancing at her slight form.
 I hope so. Again that sigh.  Hope springs eternal.
.
“Surely though, I said thinking of my own few followers. Should you not be telling those below?”

“I have told them in so many ways..” She began. Suddenly her face turned ash grey and I started forward as she leaned heavily on the parapet. As quick as it had changed, it changed back, resuming that faint pale green hue. I apologise, She breathed deeply and coughed a couple of times.

“Forest fire. “ She finally breathed in explanation.
Her fingers which had stilled momentarily, now began twitching again with great ferocity. Burgeoning seeds into life even as their brethren perished in flame. Determindly she breathed, “There must be..
Balance in all things” I finished for her.
. She nodded back towards the room, were even now Baccus was belting out yet another a drinking song and glass could be heard breaking.
 I was about to ask her more questions when the now familiar tug of a summoning arrested me.   “I am sorry I must leave.”"
 ”I know,”  she sighed.   “And I must stay to try again. …We may meet again. She half smiled as she turned to re-enter the party.
Gods and mankind willing! I will show you my divinity within the forest….where I am at home.

At the back of the forest, a mysterious silhouette hinted through the silk canopies of ash, All nature awaited with baited breath as that enticing shadow moved forward. I sipped mycoffee slowly, more to keep my hands busy and hide ny mouth for fear of revealing far too much. A guarded and suspicious person I came to be,  used to keeping my own counsel, ny own secrets, letting no one in, letting nothing escape.

Tintinnabulation heralded her entrance, bells strewn across her voluptuous form. The unobservant eye would have only seen a woman of exquisite beauty dancing slowly down the dais. But the perceptive eye would have seen the majesty, the pride with which she carried herself as she lived the music. No trained slave or hired help was she, as her body swayed and shimmied in the rhythm of the belly-dance. She chose to dance for all within the forest, , of her own accord. She was no servant to the patron’s lust, instead, they were her audience in thrall, entranced by her power. She was like a goddess, unapproachable by mortal man.

All eyes locked upon this goddess of the dance. Men wanted to possess her, but no one could ever own a woman such as she. The women wished to be her, to entrance and control the male heart, yet such a divine ascension was beyond them. Yet for all their futility, they could not resent her, all could only hold her in awe.

This mistress of the dance, and mistress she truly was, writhing and sliding her nubile body as if under the ardent attentions of an unseen lover. In her proud, defiant eyes, she took what she wanted, yet was willing to give back pleasure in turn, on her terms. The temptation to return to her is just too great, I fall for her again and yet again.

Dr. Benjamin drives a rust-colored 1961 Chevy step-side pickup. His elbows poke out when he steers the wheel.
He likes the Las Vegas desert, it is the ideal city where men become gods, gods become
rich; and everyone loves a winner.

After a time he speaks: “I need to check out an old television.”

Dr. Benjamin takes a left on the old highway, there are sand berms, buried tires, debris from a former war,
it is a dumping ground.
His Chevy step-side has a bench seat that smells like
wd40. He turns off the truck and turns to the rider. “Why don’t you show me something beautiful?”

The student squirms in all shyness, and moves far away from the driver. The old man’s eyes gleam, a
reincarnation of possibility for young cotton and the smell of shampooed hair.
The windows are open for the passing dust swirls.
Dr. Benjamin doesnt like the radio. He stretches his right arm across the bench seat, shuts the music off, props himself up,
then falls over everything as he tries to undo a zipper.

There is no radio and so Dr Benjamin will sing the words in his head,

“Holy Jesus, why do you smell so sweetly?”

The real-life sounds are only grunts, too low to describe the old man’s passion. He never takes off his pants, but the shirt comes untucked in the slow thrusting.
Dr. Benjamin’s potbelly is cold. Hes in a hurry, pushing so fast between thighs that he forgets to command directions.
The voice of the teacher hisses sharply between gritted teeth he shakes the sweat halo all over the bench before the student finally pushes away.

As an eight-year-old boy, I told Dr. Benjamin that I had to go pee very badly. I told him that I couldn’t pee in the truck because,
“Its not very ster-ile. He would have to continue his lessons later.

There was relief in getting out of that truck, even though I had nowhere to run, no one to yell for. The runaway was stopped. Only five miles outside of the city limits of Vegas and there’s not a damn thing to hold you except a cactus. After staring at the desert till the sun made three yawns, I returned to the philosopher king and his Chevy.

“Guess Im done.” I kicked a blue pebble.

Back in the truck, Dr. Benjamin reminded me that I wanted to hitch with him all the way to california and find my father. It was important for me to do this, He said, “The heart has its yearnings.”

An hour before I tried to lean west, now I couldn’t. The longing was over. Dr. Benjamin drove back to town, too proud to say that he wanted to shoot a load over my face. The cabin was quiet until we came to a 7-11.

I pointed in a hurry at the 7-11, saying that the throat was dry. Then I gagged to form a guttural sound. The teacher licked his lips and pulled right over.

After pulling a wedding ring, lint, and several bullets out of his pocket, Dr. Benjamin handed money so I could buy two Slurpees. I filled the cups with blue ice and sugar, trembling. I had just given the clerk a hard earned dollar as the fucker drove away.