We Are Among You: Episode 3

4199307_0 (2)

Picture by Insane Brain Products

*************************************************************************************

*************************************************************************************

 

It’s Kimi’s turn for make-up. The new document reads “Oswald Finches”. He looks very shabby; his rock star clothes maintain some degree of style in spite of bruises and tears. “Let’s see what we can do with this handsome mess of  a man.”

He cleans up the unshaven face, grows a goatee at the bottom of his chin and a curly mustache above his cheeky grin. He moderately inflates shoulders, biceps, and pectorals of the otherwise cocaine-slim torso of his avatar body. He brightens its complexion and darkens its light brown eyes. The hair shortens in a neat and elegant chestnut wave. The devilish appearance fits his flippant humor. They both look at their mirrors and morph the picture in their passports with their index finger as if it was a portrait.

“Well, I can say you’re on the level, Oswald” comments Juma, visibly satisfied. “Before being interrupted, you were talking about the download from the Source…”

“Yes. There was a golden plate, a historical building and a seagull flying by.”

“Let’s go, then.”

“Wait a minute. Let’s check if there are any clues here.” He starts fumbling about in the loft. He stops at the bookshelf, and the church bells ring from outside the window. He grasps the sign. “Ahhh, there you go. Going To The Big Something Out Of Skye. It’s a short story, says the author. And here, you find: ‘The salt is in the air, the seagulls guard the land…’ They must be coastal birds.”

“We’ve got to go to the seaside.”

“Yes, a seaside town with historical buildings.”

“Mmmm, could it be Skye?”

“Maybe… Oh! I saw humans satisfying their curious minds using tablets at the cafeteria. You’ve got a small one in your pocket I can see the bulge.”

“You eyed my pants very carefully, he?”

“We’re on a mission,” she slaps his bum where phone protrudes, “come on. Check.”

“No, it’s not Skye. The buildings are more like… ehm, it must be a city… one of these… Oh! Look, this one: Edinburgh.”

“Quite close to the sea. Good enough for me. Shall we teleport?”

“Nah, I will take the train. It’s only four hours away. You can teleport there if you wish. I will explore humanity a bit… and feel on my skin what they call ‘waiting’.”

“See you there. Hey,” she grasps his chin and stares at his eyes, ”don’t get sucked by the 3D. Remember: be present, stay centred in the heart.”

“You too.”

“I’ll check the place for us.” Juma’s skin sizzles impressively while her mouth makes funny barking noises. A second later she sparks away.

“Woah, this body feels different without Juma around… Anyways. Oh, what’s that?” He reaches out for the acoustic guitar hanging on the wall. He touches the strings and feels amazed by the harmonic effect: “Oooh. I must show this to Juma.”

Linda Harriesmouth – a.k.a. alien in disguise beyond suspicion – appears suddenly above a tree on the slope of Edinburgh Castle. She levitates for a second, then plummets in a maple canopy and rolls downhill spectacularly. Tourists run to her rescue. A middle-aged Chinese man with his camera croaks above her: “You good? You good? Call ambulance, call ambulance.”

“No, no it’s fine. No call. I’m good.” She lifts her butt up. “Edinburgh, right?”

“Yes, you hit your head miss?”

“Nope, thank you, my friend.” She produces a 20£ note and gives it to the Chinese man. He’s confused by the unnecessary generosity while the woman throws herself down the slope. Once in Grassmarket Square, she notices the seagulls flying idly above her: “This must be the place.” In the polyglot crowd, she glimpses a tall, old man wearing a brown top hat staring at her. He suddenly disappears: “Wait!” That guy must be a clue. She gathers all the stillness she can, then focuses on her third eye, but nothing. Time to eat; she smells food everywhere, her belly starts to sing like a whale. “Now I see why most of them are asleep… Overstimulation of the senses! It’s everywhere, in the sounds, in the colours, these delicious smells!”

“Pardon me, lady?” a middle-aged worker with an orange gilet is puzzled by her monologue.

“No, never mind,” she smiles and hands him a 20£ note.

“What the f…”

“Don’t worry, I have many of those, I find them there,” she points at an ATM, “get yourself some, you can get food with that,” she winks and walks away smiling. The man is speechless.

Juma finally finds a pie shop and have six of them – it’s worth trying them all, she figures.

Kimi’s on the train with his guitar case. Suddenly the guy in front of him starts socializing with the girl sitting beside him. He perceives a peculiar kind of energy: the fresh vibe of a new encounter. Kimi’s fascinated and spontaneously asks the guy interrupting them: “Do you play guitar?”

The guy didn’t expect Oswald to guess it. “Yes, I do,” he answers with his Spanish accent.

“Would you play something for us?”

“Here, on the train…”

“It would be amazing!” chimes in the blue-eyed French girl and the freckles on her face glow candidly.

“Ah-han,” winks Kimi handing him the guitar.

Fernando confidently holds the classical guitar and gradually becomes one with Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven before Kimi’s amazed eyes. “So this is… music.” He gasps.

 

Herons

 

*************************************************************************************

*************************************************************************************

 

Click the title of the song to listen to the version of Moonlight Sonata by Ludvig Van Beethoven that has inspired this story.

 

Advertisements

Going To The Big Something Out Of Skye

https___cdn8.bigcommerce.com_s-cfdb8_images_stencil_1280x1280_products_844_999_skye3__44699.1439738612

Picture by Andrew Peutherer Prints

*************************************************************************************

*************************************************************************************

 

Sit back, relax. I want you to feel your body, I want you to feel the vital energy that activates your limbs. The energy in your toes, ankles, calves, knees, thighs, pelvis. In your belly, torso – breasts if you happen to have a couple – shoulders. In your fingers, hands, forearms, arms. In your neck, feel your neck. Ultimately, the head: full of thoughts, worries, desires, fears, ambitions. Get rid of those, please. It’s easy: just be aware of the electromagnetic energy in your head, in your whole body. Now feel your chest, feel your heart-center and feel it as the core of your being. Close your eyes for a while. Try to maintain your awareness on that subtle electric sensation in your whole body as long as you can.

Now you’re ready to read this.

James is ready to leave. The bags are packed, the sails are tacked. Tina is waiting outside near the sailboat, she looks astounding in the grey light of the firth. She smiles. She’s looking through the window glass at James who’s making sure everything is turned off. One thing’s already for sure, the vibe is everything except off. They are flowing. Flowing through the game of matter, since they gained access to the fourth dimension. Life is a dream – repeat it a couple of times, life is a dream. They are right where they need to be, which miraculously matches with where they want to be. Or maybe, they finally got it. The two things always match.

Tina stops James’ enthusiastic boarding by clutching the edges of his coat. She looks at him in the eyes and kisses him. “Now, you can go.” He smiles and carries all their luggage below deck. “Wait! The moca coffee pot!” he yells.

“I’ll take it. You set the sails, love.” She jumps off the boat and almost breaks her ankle – she giggles. The wooden house still glows with the light of the small portion of existence they shared there. Tina plucks a bunch of buckthorn berries before going, they might come in handy. They cast off, James reaches the helm and adjusts the course. The salt is in the air, the seagulls guard the land – they’ll make sure everything carries on well while they’re away. Tina and James exit the firth and its pines. They sail on to the Isle of Man, then make a stop in Bangor. Finally, they reach the Isle of Skye. From there they will cross the ocean. But let’s focus on the now, the only existing moment.

Portree is just gorgeous. They stop and sit in the colorful harbour with their guitars. He repeatedly strums a chord in the gentle breeze: D minor. She starts elaborating an intricate arpeggio in accordance with the gulls’ song. Then they switch abruptly, she picks up the rhythmic role. James’ fingers dance through the scales and bends of his blues-rock solo. The tourists who appear along with the flowers in spring – some of them actually look like bizarre flowers – groove to their random music show enjoying the beauty of the scenery even more. They play Stand By Me by Ben E. King: she sings the background vocals with gut-shaking precision, he lets his voice come out as if it was running water from a mountain spring. Everybody gather around them; even the bagpipe player from the other side of the wharf decides to come over, perhaps he was a bit tired and needed an excuse to stop. Afterwards, they play the homonymous song by Oasis, Wishman by Trevor Hall, and Ice Cream Man by young Tom Waits.

“We have a last song now, from our friend Herons, it’s called The Valley.” says Tina.

James strums a series of long chords. F major sharp, D major, A major. Tina decorates the sequence with some high note drops. So they start singing in unison: “Way down to, way down to the valley… Way down to, way down to the valley…” and James shouts, “One, two, three, four!”

The rock song echoes in the bay, fresh and uplifting. And, surprisingly enough, no-one bothers to record it. Tina and James thank everybody wholeheartedly. People throw coins and notes in their funky hats. However, paper and metal discs will serve no purpose in the ocean, they’re better off spending them for more supplies and a bottle of gin – you never know.

Dawn bursts purple on the horizon, the seagulls salute them as they cross the billows like street acrobats. The show is set. The symphony plays wild. It smells like thunder and lightning, but it doesn’t matter. Death is just like falling overboard and melt in the sea of creation, or at worse, bump on a new boat.

 

Herons