The Man With The Brown Top Hat

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Picture by Rob Hain

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It’s dark inside, the air is damp, the birch wooden moldings of the room are as dusty as the huge amethyst geode lying upwards on the coffee table like a sacrificial bowl. The guy’s holding a knife towards himself, its sharp point pinching his breastbone.

Suddenly someone breaks in: it’s Coriander. James Coriander looks at the suicidal guy with apprehension. “What on earth are you doing?” James asks quietly but firmly.

“I’m ejecting myself. I’m tired, mate. I’ve chosen to contribute from another dimension, the 3D is exhausting.”

“You’re meant to be with us on Earth, you’ve signed the agreement with me and the others.”

“I know!”

“Sleepy humans have contaminated you, isn’t it? It’s your earthling avatar, the ego software-mind, who wants to eject. Look around you,” he waves his arm across the room, “no wonder.”

“I am bored, mate.”

“Because you’ve lost your connection!”

“Yeah, they cut down the Wi-Fi last month…”

“See?! You’ve swamped yourself in the density of matter.”

“You’re damn right,” he admits.

“Now, you come with me.”

“Where do we go?”

“Here. Sit.”

They sit on the leather couches, facing each other. Coriander dusts off the geode with a rag he’s found on the sofa, then he looks at the guy right in the eyes. “Breathe deeply. Once again. In,” he inhales, “and out,” he exhales. “Now, let’s regain your connection with an IBE.”

“IBE? I knew about OBEs…”

“As far as I can see, you’re having Out of Body Experiences most of the time, with all that thinking.” He giggles. “Let’s have an Inner Body Experience. So you’ll be able to reconnect to the Silence Underneath All Sounds.”

“Ooh- ooh, meditation, this reminds me of my awakening four years ago. I think I’ve grown to like duality, you know.”

“Enough to consider ejection…”

“Mmmh, touché.”

“Feel the energy that sustains your body. The vital vibration inside of you. Let’s bring our awareness to the feet, up to the knees, thighs, pelvis, belly, chest. Let’s climb the spine, up to the neck. Focus on your shoulders, down to the elbows, wrists, palms, and fingers. Feel your awareness lighten up the body. Feel your heart-center. Be present to your neck – enough to shut off the chattering mind. Breathe. Relax your face, deeply. The forehead, and the whole cranium. Now that you’re dwelling in your body, stay there. If the mind starts talking again, gently go back to the activated body.”

“It hurts, man.”

“That’s the Pain Body. No worries, observe it without labels. It’s not positive, nor negative. It’s just residue energy in your avatar structure that the conditioning has trapped in over the years. Observe it as much as you want, cherish it, witness it.”

Time dissolves. Their mind becomes less and less talkative.

“You’ve got to cultivate this space of non-thought to raise your vibe. We need you here, man.” He smiles.

“How did you know my address?”

“Well, simple. An old woman almost fell down the front stairs and dropped her grocery bags. I helped her and seen the painting hanging in the hall – the one with a woman dressed in red dancing flamenco. I got curious and I’ve chosen to step in, helping the old woman carry her bags at her door – she lives on the ground floor.”

“Oh, Mrs. Andersen. And why you came up to the attic?”

“Well, a kitten guided me upstairs with her feline winking. So I found myself on your landing; I smelled methane from your door, a lot of methane – let’s not turn on the lights, please.”

“Actually that was my first suicidal plan,” he sniggers, ”yet I chose to not make a fire parade to get out of here.”

“What’s your current name?”

“You mean the given name? George. But they call me Taro, like the Alt-J song.”

“I’m Coriander.”

Taro and Coriander walk out the door and find themselves in the middle of South Bridge. A smell of noodles hit their nostrils. The two descend towards North Bridge, where the Man with The Brown Top Hat is waiting for them. They can see him in the distance, like a ghost among the stream of people flowing back and forth on the sidewalk. His frozen eyes glow like a portal. The boys keep on walking towards him, without losing his glance-grip. At the same time, they are aware of everything around them and they can slide among the crowd like young salmons. They finally reach him. The electromagnetic field around the three of them becomes almost visible. Some eyes linger on the trio with curiosity. The old man, his silver hair rocking in the wind, lays one hand on Taro’s shoulder, the other on Coriander’s. Most of the people fade along, naturally repulsed by their energy field. Others stop for a split-second and have a momentary glimpse of eternity. The Man with The Brown Top Hat smiles and starts falling to his knees; the two chaps spring to help him up, but his face says no. The old man closes his eyes and the features of his one-day bearded face become more relaxed. His energy dims for a second, then it bursts and overwhelms Coriander and Taro. His apparently material body starts dissolving in the air in multicolour dust, and the seagulls sing aloud. The two feel incredibly energised and start to laugh and shout out loud. The crowd streaming around them looks at them with suspicion, and probably, a pinch of fear. Coriander breathes in the fresh afternoon breeze and watches the historical buildings; then he moves his gaze up to the Castle. Taro follows. Every image is so vivid, every sound so clear, every gust of wind so pure on the skin, every smell so definite; the coffee in their mouth lingers pleasantly. A couple of girls chime in: “Hey, Taro! Who’s your freshly harvested friend here?”

“He’s Coriander, Lindsay.”

“I love it in hot soups,” adds Madeleine with a touch of mischief.

They start walking together back to South Bridge, carrying their symphony of jokes, puns, and giggles, as the sun appears above the old building’s eaves, above the puddles, the trodden sidewalks, and all forms in existence.

 

Herons

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