Norman Allan
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Art and Fiction

 
Chapter Thirty

"Look into my crystal balls," said the Gypsy. "I see them. I see them behind the mists of Roaratuni."


In the daytime forest of Roaratuni butterflies flew round the child, Hallelu, as he led Chris and Zak and Ishtar through the maze of the boa.tree. He stopped to sit in a forked bole of the tree to look at a beetle with an embellishment of spires like a Russian church. "This is a ding dong dung beetle," he sang to explain how the ding beetle hollows out a ball of dung and rolls it round for days until it has just the right timbre. Then he presents it to a female of the species to see if she'll accept the ring.


Hallelujah led on through the jungle, across a lily-pond. Lily leaf studded the water like stepping stones. They crossed the lily pond with trepidation, but without incident. The chimpanzees, though, left them. "They fear the clacodents," Hal sang.

Not far beyond they came out from the shadow of the tree into a strip of grass land. At points the boa.tree bridged over, arched across with the other-worldly architecture, but for the most part the sky was free. Chris thought he saw a unicorn. They walked in the grassland and then quite suddenly, glittering in the sun, taller then many houses, they came upon a giant Coca Cola bottle!

"Whatís that?" Chris stammered.

"It is one of the septaradials that amplify the Node," Hal retoned explaining that the great Coke bottle vibrated in synchrony the earth and sky and Roaratuni airs, and that it also resonated hologramatically with the countless small vessels shaped in its likeness that were found everywhere in the out-world. (Countless, until the company twigged that something was going on and switched to tins.)

The mermaid put her ear to the bottle. "I hear the fin singing in the Sargassa," she lilted. (There are many bottles there.)

Christopher put his ear to the coke bottle and found himself in a kaleidoscope, falling through a hundred fleeting images. In particular he sensed the interior of innumerable refrigerators and refuse dumps. But he also found himself in a Tangerís basement flickering with sinister fire. "By God! the Berber's spirit is alive!" thought Chris as he leaped away from the Coke crystal to find himself, to his great relief, still in Roaratuni. "What is it?" he asked again.

"The radial vessels are a door for the tree to the world, and a beacon into space," Hallelujah intoned. "We willed it from the wood. We sang wood fire black, then danced it dense and clear."

"Diamond?"

"The boa.tree grows these crystals too. The deep roots of the boa.tree delve down even to the earth's liquid mantle where it is oven hot. The treeís magma roots have a nature quite different from the surface parts. They are crystalline." footnote*

"Did the tree grow the great Coke diamond in the depth and exude it from that deep womb?" asked Ishtar.

"No. Wajoju sung it to the tree to hear and see and sing."

"Such crystalline metabolics are not within the capacity of other known organisms," Chris commented academically.

"The rhythm of life, of evolution is much speeded in Roaratuni," Hal concerted. "This is due to the boogli."

"The boogli?"

"Put your ear to the bottle," sang Hal, "and listen... listen... for the beat comes from the boa.tree. There are three constituent elements to the paradise of Tuni," Hallilujah refrained. "The last was the Joju..."

"The Joju?"

"ImeWajoju," sang Hal.

"I thought you wereitzat."

"That too, as are all in Roaratuni. Even the monkeys are whereitsat. But we are Wajoju. Our ancestors evolved with the wings and the boo, and the secret of the wings and the boo is the boogli..."


Posit an animal which feeds on nirvana. Deofilus loves boo. If a Cabbage White Butterfly loves cabbage, how much more will a Nirvana-wing love nirvana? Deofilus cherishes and nurtures boo. For example: hemp seed are little round balls that fall out of their seedpods and lie on the ground. How are they to get around?
Where the ground's hard and smooth they could roll.
Wrong.
How is the hemp seed dispersed? Deofilus carries it. Deofilus cares for it. Deofilus loves boo, and so tends to it.

Now, cannarbinol (the "active constituent" in the boo) is a simple straight-forward complex chemical, just gets you high. But C.M.D.(Catalytic Mind Dust) is another matter. C.M.D. is a cannarbinnol derivative. C.M.D. resonates with, structuring prana. C.M.D. is also a subtle mutogen. It causes plants to metamorphose, to change in adaptive ways speeding evolution. At some point in its history Deofilus got into manufacturing C.M.D., became itself a changeling, and natural history ran riot. Boogli boogli boogli.

And that's just it: the secret of the mazetree arises from the boogli.

When a gi' me grub cocoons, it spins a silken girdle with which it attaches itself to the boo, but also, in addition, it anchors itself to the boo by its posterior clasper with a special gue, or glue: the boo glue or gli. The boogli is adhesive and affords attachment. It is an agent of drawing close, coming together, and as close as possible is a melding. The boogli runs together the end of the grub abd the beginning of the Nirvana. It is an elixir of love.

Hallelu plucked a little parachute seed from a dandelion-like globe seed-clock. "From this seed may spring the future masters of the universe." he loosed the seed to float on the winds of fate.

Chris imagined the Berber making the same speech: "From this small seed could spring the future masters or the cosmos," and throwing it into the fire.


"Tell me, Hallelu," Chris asked, "where do you Joju come from?"

"I'll show you," sang Hal and he started to sing. The butterflies in the clearing stirred. They began to dance and shimmer. Dust fell from their wings in patterns. Chris lay back entranced. Listening to the music, staring into the patterned lights, he lapsed into a dream.


Time: 3762 BC. Place: the central chamber of the Great Pyramid. In the centre of the chamber is an altar. On it lies a body. Around the body, following the lines of the acupuncture meridians, is a system of gold threads. The various strands come together just above the figure's head in a ball of complex weave, about the size of a grapefruit. The threads tand in such a way that they capture and resonate all possible frequencies. From the top end a single wire ascends to the ceiling. A thin core of gold runs up the pyramid to its pointed peak. The Great Pyramid is an astral projector.

Plugged into the transmitter at the moment is one Benjamin Israeli, chief sage amongst the Joju (as "those-belonging-to-the-school-of- Joseph-of-the-many-colours" are called). Round this entranced form nine cantors sit cross-legged chanting. Into the chamber hurries a small white robed figure with curly dark hair and long plaited sideburns, and a yarmulke (that's a skull-cap). As he enters one of the cantors turns to him, puts his finger to his lips, "Sh!"

"I must speak to Benjamin now. There is no time for de delay."

"That's not possible," says the cantor. He's not due back for several hours. If you'd like to make an appointment. The transmission is at a critical stage. If we lose focus at this point and he may be lost in the clouds forever."

"Nnn no, you are guffing me," stutters the intruder. "Ca a a call him back. Things are very cri critical down here too. We are moving out tonight."

"Tonight! You revolutionaries are so impetuous. They'll turn on us, you realise. You must call off your insurrection, Moisha. Humanity is standing at a crossroads. It may be twenty thousand years before the stars allow us another such opportunity."

"No!" says Moses, adamant. "You have su sold out on your class and racial heritage. Your elitism stinks of gu Gomorra. I mu mu move tonight."

The cantor re-enters the meditation and the chant changes from a steady hum to a homing beep.

The figure on the altar stirs, sits up, folding his legs. He bends his head, fingering his earlobe, and looks impassively at Moses. "Well, frog conjurer, what will you plaque us with today?"

"Cu cut the c crap, Benjy. I have cu come to warn you. Paint all your doors and windows with a heg heg hexangular device. In ferric oxide. I have uncorked some very heavy demons. We are gu gu going to slaughter the first born..."

"Moisha!"

"They did it to us fu fu first."

An eye for an eye?... Moisha." Benjamin shock his head sadly. "Theyíll soon be no body left."

"You cu cu cannot influence me. I know what I am doing. I have a hotline straight through to the Creator, to Yaway Himself."

"Moisha, the first principle of the Godhead is Love, and your unutterable JHWH, great collector of forskins, doesn't seem much like love to me."

Moses' face reddens. His voice stiffens. "Do not mock the Lord of fu fu ha ho Hosts. We are going to slay their first born. It is a question of honour. Then we are s s s splitting."

"Moisha. Moisha. We've important work in hand. We've a chance to advance our evolution by ten thousand years in one jump. A chance to break out of this earthly cocoon, to reach the stars. And you'll trade that for a hero's stance, and lead some primitive blood thirsty tribes off into the wilderness, off into another ten thousand years of war and oppression. Moisha, they are not exclusively "our people". Our ties embrace the cosmos. Our work is out there amongst the galaxies. We are more than one small persecuted tribe. The Egyptians are our brothers too. Our work unites the universe."

"No, bu Benjy. It is you who are out of tu tu touch. You academics s s sit here in your sandstone tower dawdling and doodling with your obscure music and your fu fu philosophy of pu pu perfection. But outside it is the seer's lash that calls the tune. You are not working a sixteen hour day with no holidays for a bu bowl of ma ma millet."

"Moish, all you're going to do is to change the roles around. That's all you can hope for. You wander off into the desert, find your promised land, and see how you'll be repaid. Nothing will have changed unless you change the roots of consciousness. Man, here everyone's grabbing for the nipple: "Get out of my way!" But Moisha, here we're on the threshold of a new understanding, completely new regions of communication. A new way of life. The set-up Jo has established for us here in Egypt, we mustn't waste this opportunity

"The la la last dying fling of the bourgeoisie."

"... For the first time in history we're truly beginning to understand the fundemental nature of the human animal and the psyche. The power of the music we're making: you don't understand the potential of it. You're an apprentice yet. Oh, you can sing your snake into a walking stick, and cut stone with a tuning fork, sing up a plague of locusts. But that's nothing. And sweet Lord, killing babies: What sort of karma will you bring down on Israel?"

"Moisha, today I've travelled out beyond these spheres we've here around us. I met and merged with Powers and Dominions, and thus magnified I communed with the Seraphim out beyond before the gate of Ain-Soph, the endless. We are reaching here for paradise, not just a few blood-orange groves. The music we're making now, it's so almost there. We just need a little more rehearsal, a little more polish and we'll have cosmic consciousness in a simple ditty. We will be able to cool out this whole nation. Just a little more time. We can't just take these techniques and make war on the Egyptians. Nothing would have changed. The One True God is Love. He is the love that wills being. We canít allows these powers to be used for sectional interests, not even on behalf of the oppressed minorities.

"Oppressed minorities? These are the children of our fu fu fuck father. These are my people. Abraham's people. God's chosen people. "I Will Be" is Yarararway to me. It is you who do not know His power and His glory. I would mock Him less If I were you. Anyway, things are out of my hands. He leads. I follow. And we are hitting the road tu tu tu tonight."

"Benjamin," Moses continued. "You raised me, taught me, and I'm grateful. So, I've come to warn you. God calls the tu tu tune now. You had best split with us. The Egyptians will be very angry in the mumumu morning."

"No, we'll not go with you. We would only be swapping one game for another. Israel is not our people. They threw Jo in a ditch and sold him into slavery, and they'd do the same again to anyone whose talent and creativity showed up their greed and stupidity. All the people want of the scientist, priest and musicians is power, miracles and excitement. We'll not go with you."

"What will you do?"

"I donít know yet, but I think Iíve had enough of dancing to someone elses tune. I'll call the family together. Weíll sing about it."

"As you will," said Moses. "But donít forget to pupu paint the hexes."



illustration by Teresa Allan

Chapter Thirty One