Rivers of the Mind Episode 9: Locked Out

 

Episode 9: Locked Out

As I watched Megan tuck the tourmaline crystal that I had given her into her purse, her eyes bloodshot and anxious, I reached out into her mind and tried to speak. “Wait. Don't leave. I know this seems weird but please. You might be able to help me.” She gulped. Great. Now she was hearing voices. “You aren't crazy” I tried to reassure her, “The guy in the field who's screaming at the cows is named Mick. I got trapped inside of his head trying to convince him to take better care of his dad. When I pulled him into my head, like I did to your manager, I couldn't talk sense into him. I sent him back into his body but part of his mind got left behind inside of mine. It was his...his self control, I guess that's the easiest way to explain it. I got thrown out of my body. And now he's trying to kill his family. His dad doesn't want to call the police cause he thinks he can still talk sense into his son. His wife is hiding in a spare bedroom with his kids. The field is full of psychedelic mushrooms and they are trying to use an ancient ritual to punish Mick for stabbing a cow in the eye.”

Megan got out of the car. She could see the ring of cows, almost stampeding around the house. They made the ground shake as they did. It sure was strange. She stepped closer to the field. The mushrooms recognized her at once. “We communed many times with the monkey who now enters the field. She is wise.”

“You stole mushrooms from this field, didn't you?”, I asked.

Biting her lip, nervously, she nodded. The mushrooms reached out to her. She felt their strange language flood a deep part of her mind in the form of a muffled noise and a odd sensation of wonder. She watched with stupefaction as the cows circled further out into the field, disappearing behind the house before they charged towards Mick. Two big cows knocked into him and pushed him to the ground. Clamping down over his wrists and ankles with their mouths, four more cows held him by each limb and carried him away. The rest of the herd followed. Up above, the portal which they had opened in the sky swelled with blue tongues of fire and a strange black vapor.

Mortified, Gerry sprang out of the house, and fired his shotgun into the air, shouting for the cows to stop. Deeply saddened to see him upset, the herd looked back at him, turning around and lowering their heads. Suddenly, they were torn between the Lords of the Field, who had guarded them for so long, and their caretaker who's voice they so loved. The mushrooms feared that, if Gerry had been too hurt by the punishment they wielded against his son, that the old man would not return to sing to their flock. There was nothing worse that they could imagine. The old man once again abandoning the kind buffalo to the crushing loneliness of the barren pasture, alone to watch steel monsters clamor down the long flat boulder behind the metal sticks and sharp vines, longing for the old man's sweet voice to touch their ears. With the added feeling of guilt—no longer could the kind buffalo imagine themselves as victims. No, now the kind buffalo would have offended him, driven him off, and condemned themselves to a life without music.

The mushrooms reached out to me. “Friend of the Old One! Please speak to the bald monkey who lives in the brick abomination and explain to him the situation. Explain that we have opened the gates of the underworld to send his sons soul through trial, and that after seven moons have passed, he will awaken.” I did as told, and spoke to Gerry. He furrowed his brow. “Goddamn mushrooms sure as hell have some presumption.”, he shouted. “You know what? I done had enough of you. I'm gonna have a landscaper come and dig y'all up if you don't shut your yappers and mind your own damn business.” The mushrooms were saddened. “He makes noises of confusion. Perhaps you can invite him to commune with us. Tell him that we offer him our fruit—it will bring him death of the mind and a thousand kisses of light as he is reborn into ecstasy.”

“I don't think that message is gonna get through to him.”

“And what do you recommend? Does the one in the Brick Abomination not desire to know the mysteries of death?”

“Can I try something?”

The mushrooms stood idly by and waited. I reached out to Gerry's mind. He was righteously pissed the hell off and wanted the mushrooms off his property if they were going to act like they owned the place and make his cows go all crazy. But he also was worried his son was having a stroke, and now his cows were probably making it worse by attacking him. “Okay. Listen, I know the mushrooms come off a little strong, but here's what happened. I was talking to Mick and I could tell something was off about him. I know you've seen it for a while. He's been getting you the wrong food, every day. It turns out he's cheating on Cassandra, embezzling money from the bank, and using his position to take revenge on people. I tried to talk some sense into him, but he wouldn't listen. He almost killed me. I pushed him out of my mind, and part of him got stuck. It was his ability to fake—he had this whole construct of a decent person in his mind, and because it was so disconnected from who he really is, it got dislodged, and stuck in my body. Now I'm trapped outside.”

“Slow down, son. I'm 87 years old for Christ's sake. Now what's got the cows acting all screwy?”

“Gerry, Mick stabbed one of the cows in the eye and he wants to kill Cassandra.”

“Okay, listen. Have the cows bring him over here, and let me talk to him, okay?”

“Gerry...”

“I am not gonna let some high and mighty mushrooms tell me how to live my life, okay?”

Meagan listened to Gerry and I converse from inside of the brush, only hearing one side of the conversation, an old man seemingly talking to a field of psychedelic mushrooms and an invisible voice in the air. She thought it was bizarre, but oddly amusing. But she froze up as the cows presented Mick's twitching and flailing body to Gerry in a parade up to the porch. Panting, and in agony from the strain put on his limbs by the cows and the portal opened by the mushrooms, Mick groaned. “Son, why don't you sit down and talk to me? Sounds like you've been...” Mick spat at his father and growled under his breath. Gerry frowned, gulping. “I'm gonna kill you!”, screamed Mick, creeping towards Gerry. Gerry backed up slowly, his face awash with agony. “Listen...I know you're...” He didn't know what to say. He really didn't know what was happening to his son, only that all this was certainly not something that surprised him. He froze, in disbelief, holding up his hands and trying to find words to reason with Mick. In a desperate bid to protect him, I swung my astral body against his hands as hard as I could, knocking them to the side. Just as I did, Meagan jumped out from the brush, a rock clutched in her hand, which she swung against Mick's ear. It bloodied, and he fell down to the ground, dropping his weapon. The cows mooed in admiration. Meagan was brave, the mushrooms thought. “Get inside, get inside.”, she urged Gerry, taking him by the shoulder and helping him in. “Who the hell are you?”

“I'm John's friend. I'm here to help.”

As they made their way up the steps, Mick regained his balance, and charged back at them. Terrified, I lifted the knife from the grass where he'd dropped it when the cows took him away, and, uncertainly, waved it in front of him, shaking as I suspended it in the air between us. Mick stopped in shock as the tip of the blade skimmed his forehead. “Let go of her.”, I commanded, in a voice that pressed in on every side of his psyche. Gerry looked back at him and fumed with a rage, feeling deeply betrayed and wounded. He shouted out at the field. “Fine. Have it your way. Do your worst.”, he said to the mushrooms. The cows grabbed Mick by his arms and legs again and carried him off down the field in a long line. Meagan followed Gerry into the house.

Shaking, Cassandra peeked her head out the door as Gerry stormed in. Had she really heard what she thought she'd heard? Her husband threatening to kill his father? Her entire world was unraveling. Everything she thought she knew. Something demonic must have happening. She knew it since that drugged up homeless guy—Joe or John or whoever-- staying in Gerry's house was still rocking back and forth by the wall, acting all possessed. The cows had been stampeding around the field—they must have known something was afoot. She wished, for a moment, that she was not impure—that her prayers could mean something—but they never did. Her mind was too corrupt. Somehow, all of this was her fault. She just couldn't find the words to say it. Meagan surveyed the room quickly as she walked in, glancing over the artwork and the furniture. “I'm Meagan.”, she said, “I'm sorry to--”

“No, no--”, Cassandra said, gulping as she tried not to look at Meagan too closely, “He didn't hurt you did he? I don't have any idea what's come over him.” Meagan approached Cassandra softly, not letting any of her anxiety peer through her poised and confident exterior. “I'm fine. Are you okay?”

She choked back tears. “No...I don't know what's going on.” Meagan put her hand on Cassandra's shoulder, “It's okay. Let it out. We're going to get it figured out. Have you called the police?”

“No. I—I can't have Mick going to prison. Or losing his job. He—he--”

Meagan bit her lip, grimacing. She'd been thrust into this situation—it was above her paygrade—but she felt a compulsion to stay—to help her. “Breath. Breath”, she told Cassandra. Tears started coming from Cassandra's face, as Meagan led her to the couch, flicking off the TV. Cassandra caught the smell of weed coming from off of Meagan, and wrinkled her nose—but she appreciated having someone to talk to.

Floating inside, I watched the pair briefly begin to discuss the crisis at hand, before I slinked into the room where my physical body lay crouched in a fetal position, overwhelmed by the rush of psychedelic emotions and crippling awareness of the universe at large. I settled like a tiny storm on the ground, seeing my wide, purple astral form barely move tiny pieces of dust. I focused my energy onto my body, reaching up to its skull with tongues of energy, to make the persona to glance up and look my way. Head trembling and eyes bloodshot and panicked, my physical body looked up at me, mouth gaping. It could see me there on the floor, and recognized me as well. “Please. Let me out of here.”, it said, clawing at it's face with its hands, “I can't take it anymore. Just don't make me go back to him.” It was difficult to exist, when you're used to being pretend. But it was difficult to give it up to. Feeling him lose resistance, I pulled the person from my body, seeing it emerge in a thick grey water, before it solidified into what looked like a glass Mardi Gras mask. Having freed my body from it's other occupant, I slowly returned into my own head. Being suddenly anchored to the physical felt surreally new. As mysoul reconnected with my brain and my brain reconnected with my body, I immediately missed being that spinning cloud of energy—I felt contained, almost imprisoned now. I stood up, shaking, seeing Mick's persona grow fainter and fainter, sobbing as it did so.

I couldn't let it die. I couldn't give it a taste of existence, and then leave it to die here in this room. I pulled it back towards me, feeling it regain a sense of light. “I don't know how you do it.”, the persona said, “It was terrifying—so many thoughts and images running through my mind all the time, I couldn't bear it.” I wiped a tear from the persona's eye. “It takes practice.”

“What are you going to do to me?”, the persona asked, shaking.

“I don't know--”, I said.

A million different ideas were racing through my head all at once. Maybe I could put him in a lamp, and he could be a djinni. Maybe I could just keep him in my head so he could be my friend. Maybe I could give him to the cows. Maybe the mushrooms would let him join them. Holding the persona carefully by my head, I looked around the room.

“What are you doing?”

“I don't know where I should put you. But I don't want you to disintegrate.”

Just then, I had an idea. I slipped out of the room, and made my way to the window. Meagan and Cassandra looked at me with confusion. I took the Topaz crystal down from the curtain rod and dangled it in front of me. Focusing my energy, I tried to break the persona down—it screamed as I wound, curled and strung it out into what looked like a brilliant white stream, as thin as the hair on my head, a stream that orbited me in a fluid and manic frenzy. I concentrated intently on the center of the crystal, shooting the wild and chaotic ray of light into the transluscent blue gemstone. The persona flowed between the spaces in the molecular structure of the crystal like water flooding through a thousand dried out rivers; the persona was preserved, it stretched to the very edge of the rock before tapering down and glowing with a pale light. I hung the crystal back on the window, peering inside to watch the persona dream.

“Are you John now?”, Meagan asked. Cassandra's eyes shot up at her, then darted back to me, suspiciously. What a weird question.

“N—now. Yes. I am.”

Gerry looked up from the kitchen table, where he'd poured himself a cup of coffee, and now sat staring at the phone. He couldn't believe that it was true. Cassandra stood up and stomped towards me. “What the hell happened to Mick?”

“He—he--

Gerry gulped. “Johnny here found out Mick was--.” he stopped himself, doubling back to look at me.

“What?”, Cassandra screamed.

Meagan stood up and inched closer to us, cautiously.

“Cassandra...”, I said, unsure of myself as I looked into her mind. She looked at me, her eyes trembling and her face streaked with tears. Her anger had been building up. It needed somewhere to go. Normally, she could find somewhere productive to channel it—with her bible study friends, for instance, maybe she'd channel it towards the gays, or the liberals, or the illegals. When she was at home alone, she'd channel it into the television. She could only direct her anger at her self for so long before it overflowed. Our eyes locked with one another—she froze still, and I felt myself become conscious at once of her feelings, her breathing, her heart rate. It felt familiar to her—she tugged away, and so I pressed outward with my consciousness, enveloping her more assertively.

I found myself more gentle than before, having been made aware of the intricacies of any one mind and the damage that could be done to myself and others by simply yanking or shoving as I saw fit. Having spent so long outside of my body, I could see the energetic aspects of my soul shooting out from my skin like little flares, the exhaust of tiny nerve endings—and the formation of what looked like planetary rings around my vision. Our two psyche's locked and began to tug against one another in a dizzying spiral of centrifugal motion. I felt the terrain on which we both stood sway and swing, we brushed against each other like the ends of magnets. Carefully, almost surgically, I dug through her mind to uncover the layers of thoughts and memories she had laid hidden underneath her psyche. She looked up with awe, as they danced around her like a psychic constellation. I tugged at the pieces of her mind, trying to urge her to pray. She frowned at me, confused. I urged her again. She did so, reciting the Lord's prayer—the frames through which the words trickled appeared entirely visible, as they climbed and climbed into the Ultimate. I knew not what she saw, only that she felt a wave of compassion for herself overtake her. The memories, in their unsteady and dissonant layers, shivered. Somehow, even if everything she believed told her she should hate herself, the universe was at peace with her. She was loved as she was, there in that exact second, one which felt timeless. She tried to reason with it—I gently held her still, urging her to let go. As she did, layers of memories and momentary feelings of shame floated away like tiny balloons. Her eyes shut, and she smiled.

As I pulled away from her mind, she sat there, staring placidly at the ceiling. Gerry frowned, scratching his head. Meagan had taken a seat next to him, and he was explaining the situation, as she listened intently. Apparently, the old man said, his son wasn't any good. He'd always had a suspicion. “I figure if he's really done something so bad that the mushrooms and the cows are teaming up to teach him a lesson, maybe I shouldn't bail him out this time. I mean he's not 16 anymore. If he offends some kind of psychadelic spirit world or whatnot, he needs to be an adult and suffer the consequences. But I figure after all the ballyhoo the cows have been putting down on him, I should call the ambulance.”

“Maybe the stress has just got to Mick.”

Cassandra looked down at the table, “Don't give him an out. Call the fucking police.” Gerry looked up at her with shock, glancing with suspicion at me. “Oh, go ahead. Look like you're so fucking surprised to hear me say that.”

Mom said a bad word, thought the three kids almost as one, who, in the midst of this crisis, had taken up the iPad. They always did this when mom and dad fought. Cassandra snatched the phone from the table, dialing 911. Gerry almost stopped her, before he resigned to let things happen as they would. There was no use enabling his son. He suspected I'd told Cassandra that Mick had cheated, and he knew, if nothing else, that hell has no wrath like a woman's scorn. There was no use being an enabler.

“I should check on him though.”, I said. Gerry looked up, gulping. He felt guilty, but did not want to budge, only to stay there. His soul, his heart, his body—all turned to stone. He became a statue, solemn and unmoved, clutching his hands together and sitting still just as he had when Gavin came out to him and Miranda took his side. There was no way to cure him when he got like this. He could stew for months over a grudge. “I'll come with you.”, Meagan said, standing up. The two of us hurried to the door and went outside. “What's happening with the cows?”, Meagan asked, “Hell, what's happening with everything.”

“Uhm...like...I--”, I really didn't know how to explain it, “Well, the mushrooms are upset.” We walked past a cluster of them. They sparkled with a vague purple glow. In their reality, I knew that much more was happening. Meagan raised her eyebrows. “Those mushrooms huh?”, she smirked, “Guess the cops are coming though, otherwise I'd pick some.” I stared, vacantly. “I—I—uhm.” I focused my attention over to where the cows had formed a circle around Mick's flailing body.

“What are they doing?”

“It's--”

I stared up at the looming void which they had torn into the sky. Resolving that this entire ordeal would be greatly simplified if Meagan could simply see what I was seeing, I turned to face her. Our eyes locked, and our consciousnesses pooled, fluidly. Holding her still, I reached for the part of her brain which remembered, with great nostalgia, having taken mushrooms. I summoned the feeling from her mind, reducing the walls between dream and reality in her brain, unleashing a chemical flood. Her stomach sank, the colors around her flashed into a vibrant new spectrum like a camera scanning through filters, as her senses took on a wider, more expansive flare. “Holy shit.”, she exclaimed, yawning, “What the hell did you just do?”

“This will make it easier. It's hard to explain when you're not tripping.”

“I'm going insane, I swear. Holy---”, she held up her hand in front of her face, twisting it around and delighting in it's distorted proportions, “This is crazy!”, she said. The ground around her appeared to shift into a twisting and intricate knot pattern. The life around her breathed and cried out to her. Before she could run into the field and answer the urge to dance, I gripped her by the arm. She laughed at me as she saw how gravely serious I looked. The mushrooms noticed that she had joined them, and called out to both of us together, “You have chosen to commune with us at the perfect time. The ritual we perform at present has not been performed since the first of us granted language to the bald monkeys.”, they said. Overwhelmed with awe, Meagan looked up at the sky. “Behold, Xibalba”, roared the Lords of the Field. Trembling, we both stared up into the void. It called to us, shivering with a sterile black emptiness. Through the vortex, one could see into the depths of an infinite, smoldering black fire—the cows, all of them pulsing with energy, provided harmony to the softly singing mushrooms in the field, contorting into a cosmic hymn. A wave of crackling energy sparkled across the night sky, rippling against the stars like water. Cracks appeared, like melting ice, as down from the vortex came a thousand tiny tongues of fire, each one with a surface like a tornado.

Meagan's mouth hung open—she touched her face as she tried to reconnect with some sense of reality, feeling herself teeter into the emptiness above. Her thoughts raced just as fast as mine—I couldn't keep up—our brains were spinning like two galaxies, feeding off of one another. A deep anxiety shattered the initial feeling of wonder, and I found myself gripping for her hand. She stared back at me, looking profoundly disturbed. A memory hung before us. The crack in the universe. They were doing it again. The two of us contemplated stopping the mushrooms—but how could we put it to words? The Lords of the Field could not be questioned. We moved closer to the ritual, at a glacial pace, the world around us seemingly melting into a great and chaotic river of molten praries and powerlines. The air pulsed around in circuits, flashing in an intricate binary-the cows bled into one solid circle, in the midst of which was a soul, burning like a five spoked wheel that turned and turned against the tide, rising up towards the twisting body of nothingness and existence colliding. Mick's mind was slurped up like spaghetti, flopping and contorting against the thousand tongued tornado as it drug him into Xibalba, the place of fear. He was gone, but it was not over—the two of us waited, in patient agony, adrift in a solid stucco sea of polygons and shimmering energies. Our minds had spread into machines, which ran against each other and fed pulses of light into one another's wires, jitters of motion between gears. We stared up into the sky as the cows dispersed, leaving the comatose body of Mick breathless in the field. A bright blue crack appeared in the depths of the void. All life, for just one moment, paused. Meagan and I looked at each other, knowingly. The Beyond.

Commentary
Xibalba is a Mayan term for hell. In this story, it is an alternate dimension located one dimension below the fourth dimension, which is where we live. The mushrooms are capable of sending someones mind into Xibalba. They also shoot a purple lightning, which is not actual ionically charged lightning, but which instead only impacts someone's conscious mind. The purple lightning effects spirits or trans-dimensional entities more profoundly than it effects humans or the material world.

Streaming Links

http://riversofthemind.libsyn.com/locked-out
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dNV7cO2gBas
https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/rivers-of-the-mind/id1278391177
https://play.google.com/music/m/I5obttfukzok6ggklvb5umo2mgq?t=Rivers_of_the_Mind

All episodes by Timmy Vilgiate. No drugs harmed in the making of this podcast. Nothing in this is real. Nothing at all is real. Everything is a lie.