The Amphitheatre and the Orb

Many years ago, when I was hiking through a forest alone, I happened upon an amphitheatre nestled in a natural bowl in the landscape. It was mere luck that guided my footsteps to the site…

The amphitheatre was ancient, centuries old. Its concentric stone benches had been worn to a velvet comfort by the gentle hands of time, and it was a euphoric experience to sit in quiet contemplation, absorbing the essences of ancient luminaries that had, I was sure, ruminated on the same seat.

An orb was cradled on a stone dais at the amphitheatre’s hub. The orb was approximately three meters in diameter, but its contours were only discernible as a subtle distortion of light. It was only at certain angles of perception that an elusive luminescence — a golden-green aura — was visible around its confines. I sensed rare perfumes seeping from the orb; exotic incenses from ethereal realms.

The orb also emitted a field; a palpable essence that rippled through the amphitheatre. The orb’s aura — the field — produced a sensation that is indescribable, indelible, and soothing, but I could advance no closer than a few meters from the orb, where a moderate, yet firm, resistance was felt (alike the force of magnetic opposition). The field was gentle, but its full power could be sensed. I endeavoured to break through the field — by anchoring my shoes in the soil and pressing enthusiastically with a shoulder — but I remained delightfully frustrated.

I sat quietly in the amphitheatre until twilight threatened and I was forced to retreat out of the forest. I removed my red tee-shirt, which I tore into strips to tie onto branches, to mark the way back.

The next day I retraced my steps, guided by the strips of cloth. A perplexing anxiety pervaded my being as I drew close to the site, as if I was about to lose something dear: but I pressed on, anticipation overcoming apprehension.

My heart sank when I entered the clearing.

There was no amphitheatre, no orb; instead, there was a dilapidated shack beside a pond that was fed by a meandering brook. Inside the shack there were signs of vagrants, rat droppings, and the poignant calling-card of skunk.

Had it been a dream, hallucination, or parallel world? There was no telling. Perhaps it was a unique experience, a gift to be appreciated, but let go, swept away with yesterday’s dust.

It had been a mistake, I decided, to try to return. I walked out of the forest, untying my rags from the trees as I went. A spiritual calm enveloped me.

I’ve never attempted to go back to the amphitheatre in the waking world, but I often visit in my dreams; and, when I do, I awake with new perspective; nothing tangible, but a feeling, an inner knowledge — a liberation— that guides me through the day.

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Fish dreams

Walking was drudgery.

The air slapped me with damp heat, which seeped through to marrow. Breathing was difficult; the air was viscous, heavy and claustrophobic. Fractal sunlight swam through the thick canopy dozens of meters above. There were sounds from all sides; jungle life, I reasoned.

I came to a clearing and saw a man: a native. He stared at me with a mixture of curiosity, fear and awe. I had walked about fifty meters and was nearly done-in.

He dropped his javelin, pointed at me and said “Hkzzt-t-t kumar, bonk!” looked at the sky, said “fioir kapuet regdt,” twirled his hand above his head and spat out: “Spthhht!”

And he was right.

Years would pass before it flew again…

 

Another dream

I was in an exotic market, full of the sights, scents and cacophony of an alternate reality.

I watched as a young woman paid for a handful of fruits that looked like miniature lichee-nuts, but  were a luminous yellow. Her forehead was long, she had no hair, and over a dozen earrings hung from each of her earlobes (which drooped several centimeters below her jawline). To pay for the fruit, she pulled one of the earrings out and handed it to the merchant: the earring was of a curiously, elegant design, bent at improbable angels.

The merchant pulled a brick shaped stone from the shelves of his kiosk and struck the earring on the stone, thereby producing harmonic tones; apparently, the value of the earring-coin was determined by the quality of the resonance…