A dark Terrestrial Vibe – Subconscious Data Cloud

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Cool, but not cold to the touch it was. The damp darkness of it. The rough readiness of it being hard on the skin and bones of his skull which suddenly felt even heavier on it. Sleeping on the carpet of sharp rocks and dust of years all trudged and worn away by small animals scampering by in a past time of shelter.

It takes time to make that kind of black. The black of a cave out of sight of the world.  So black that your eyes can only see nothing real, only see what they imagine to see. There is no light further back, but there is sound.

There is a vibe in a cave, if only you could hear it.

be quiet enough, and still your breathing…

solid until the vibe sound came through it.

Came through your chest instead of oxygen to hear it.

the solid sounds of the earth below it.

and the struggling sound of water trickling kindly in it.

through the cracks of stone above it.

He woke up thinking..

” Yes it’s quiet, but I keep all my data down here, my memories my private ‘cloud’ my stuff that I did in the past. No disk drives, no wires, no access, no one can actually get at the data except me.  On the off chance that in a million year, way past my lifetime, I need it.  It might be found. Found down here in the dark recesses of my terrestrial mind, down in the dark where the terrestrial vibe sounds.”

“Yes it is quiet, but why do I need to keep it ? Why keep it when I sleep to forget it, why keep it longer, than my own mind would need it.  Emails, Data gone by, links once useful, now dissappeared and irretrievable. Why keep it, if no one can get it or use it or understand it or need it.”

Water Dragon Red Fig Dreaming

So how would YOU like to wake in fright, with coloured dreams and waiting schemes of small water dragons red ? So how would YOU like to shake in the arm and not be alarmed when holding a spear to slay the red fear ?

I always feel such a mess of a mind at times and this year’s dragon dream was just not to comprehend.  I in a garden green of delightful flowers and you, my dear love were there with a thing in your eye.  I looked into it, you complained ‘why should you look in my eye’.  I said ‘cos there is a dragon in it’.  You said ‘actually there is something there, it’s bugging me a bit’.  I looked close, I could see a green little insect the size of a pin walking around in there.  I steadied my arm and picked up the little thing by it’s wing and plucked it from your eye.  Then I threw it gently into the breeze, whereupon it turned into a flying thing.

Then there was a rustling in the grass under the green leafy border.  There appeared to be a large sinewy root lying on the ground.  Suddenly it moved like a python and I checked carefully blinking against the sunshine.  “Look out” I think I said, ( if only I could be that heroic in real life) ‘there is a snake !’ but as I looked closer, it had scales like a fish, and lizard feet and a head like a crocodile. Coming in from the lake and hiding out under the shade of a pumpkin patch. “It is a snake, no crocodile eating a snake perhaps !” . ‘Never mind’ you said, ‘you must be dreaming’.

The waterfall was there, streaming down from the rocks in kind.  It sounded like a dragon was there just babbling to itself in a constant stream of conversation with the pool.  ‘The dragon must have come from over there’ I said, ‘just from that pool.. there under the waterfall’.

Waking, I turned and looked up, the fig tree had turned red, the color of the dragon, with those same sinewy stupid vestigial legs it carries around with the crocodile head and now there it was camped in a tree.

I crawled out of my sleeping bag in the early morning light and looked up at the fig tree, where moments before a ‘dragon’ was to enliven me.

Something happened at the new escalator…

盲人女子与陌生男子

'blind woman with a strange man'

How many of us know how to react to help a blind person – who may be training the sighted human race – one by one – in how to get along,  for just 3 minutes at a time ?

Central Station in Sydney is the large railway terminus for country trains to the city.  It’s grand design dates back to the last century and its connective power is great with 24 platforms linking country and city trains and people. Over the past year at least, so the flower seller tells, the Devonshire St. Tunnel entrance from the east side has been renewed, and of course today was the first day that the new escalator linking the street down to the tunnel had started operating.  I had seen the inspectors inspecting early that morning, and this afternoon, was the first chance most people had to try it all out for size.

A man’s voice  spoke in my left ear, standing at the crossing this afternoon.

“Can you take her to Central please ?”

I looked over – hating to comprehend [what, which her is he talking about?] – since Central was just across the road.

I saw her white stick – his epaulette – the blind girl standing there – the taxi driver at her side.

He repeated his request, waiting for my slow comprehension to get sorted out..

I took her proffered arm, she looked around – like with beautiful blue misdirected eyes – still with expression – only one way.  Perhaps trying to reassure me – that there would not be a problem.

“Take my arm then !?”  she suggested, as buses were flying past, and the green man came on the crossing light.

We walked – she talked about not having come from this direction before – with the cane touching the pavement all over – and standing listening carefully all the time – I told her – ‘it’s all new, all of it’ == wondering what else == ‘whats your name ??’ .. she told me .. I was struggling to know how fast, how slow or what was the right way to walk, talk with a blind person.

“Well there are new stairs just here, and a new escalator over there to the right ? Do you want the stairs or the escalator ?”

“Lets go for the escalator” she said.   I must have been so stupid to ask about the stairs, but my sense of choice is stronger than my understanding of what a blind person might practically want to do, and up until today there was no escalator anyway.

We made it to the brand new escalator – down – round to the ticket gates – at one point I simply walked off – then with embarrassment realized she was standing still – confused – ‘Why had I left her standing there on the concourse ?”

I rushed back – stupid guy – then guided her over to the gates –

“No the wide gate! ” she said..

I felt so strange – no blind human had ever needed this much attention before – from me – who had not been trained of course.

We finally rounded the corner, and into the entry tunnel. I said to her – “have a happy Christmas”, after she said she would be fine from here – in the safety of the railway concourse and down toward the platform.  I left her, edging her way over to the tunnel wall, and avoiding people with the cane.  It seemed a shame in some respects, that we could not try the whole experience again, and I’m sure I could have done much better a second time.  But life is often that way.  You just get one try, not a second try, so

make sure to switch brain in gear

next time you hear a voice in your ear

your new experience about to begin

just once

take care

jump in

One of us on a Tricycle

Yes, in the early days of my life, I recall we got a tricycle for a  birthday or Christmas present.  It was a present that we often had to share, all three of us.  We actually didn’t mind sharing presents, it saved our parents looking stupid for buying 3 identical, or different coloured presents, and it also saved them the hassle of fights due to buying different presents, which would always be compared in fine detail to determine exactly who of the three of us were being favoured.

The metal tricycle we got, was pretty ok.  Usually only two of the three of us wanted to play with it at anyone time, and with three, you could have 3 variations on a theme of two people on a bike at anyone time.  The other resting in between turns and laughing like hell about how awkward the other two would look.

But pure serenity, when the other two were off somewhere, and you could take full command of the tricycle for yourself, your own bell, your own destination, and your own time.  Of course, this led to higher risk elements, and no one holding you back with criticism.  You could wander off into the bush, on a bumpy bush track and try not to crash too hard, with a bell to compete with the galahs hanging around in the trees, and the flies, and lizards wandering in and out of view. The three wheels were ok going slow, but instability increased with speed, resulting inevitably in cuts and scrapes and blood and slight bruising, which of course you would pretend did not happen.

Eventually tired and most probably sore, you would just sit, and listen, leaning on the handlebars, waiting to get your breath back, not talking, just listening, and soon more wondering at the bush around you.   The quiet of the bush on entry would start to give way to more and more sound as the pain gave way, as though your hearing were amplified.  Each chirp or rush of wings, or screech of a cockatoo would impinge on the waiting mind, and become more random, more a total soundscape.

After a while you realised, that the chaos of the Australian bush is not something the eye fathom’s real well.  However the ear is perfect.  Stereo listening with eyes closed gives you the panorama of life and what is happening.  If the wind shifts, so does the sound.  If the light shifts, so does the sound.  You wonder what happens when it all goes silent, and you open your eyes, and blink, looking around to see who or what happened, and even what will happen, as though the bush life can sense something coming, like an earth tremor, or like a storm, or some change in the weather

But you would be sitting on the bike, as if to own it, and to prove to the natural world around that you, man, machine, were one, and ready to hike off back home at any point in time. Ready to return to the world of compromise and cooperation and sharing and scrapes.

Close your eyes. Longer than a minute, and listen to what is happening around you. It will inform you of a reality far beyond sight, which is much better suited for other things, like riding a tricycle.

Note:  The sculpture featured in this post is by Stephen Gregory.  If you happen to be near Goodwood UK you can visit the Cass sculpture park and talk to the all hearing tricycle rider sitting there, who itself is trying to fathom by listening, just what is going on.