The Light Society - Ch 9 - Water Blessing





CHAPTER 9: The Great Reformer


Outside in the garden, near the smell of good food, the six with the woman in white, found in their wild delight what was once perversion became ordinary, what was once fetish became acceptable. The wickedness had disappeared.


“Always draw the next breath,” said White.


“Lets visit the lake where the sunflowers grow,” said Yellow while putting on her robe, trying to avoid bursting out laughing, a great orgasm still quivering in her throat. “Let’s light the lamp of night, awaken the vast shadowy army. Turn on that which vibrates in the night sky amongst the snatches of sleep.”


“Then follow me past the plum trees,” said the radiant woman in white, her body moving like rainwater among the bluebells toward the forest. Side by side the seven ran hideously past the plum trees to where, in the heat on a striped beach, the angelic servants were combing the sand.


“I thought we sought a merrier lot,” said Green dropping his eyes and pulling a cane of driftwood from the shoreline.


“Understanding can not be forced, the eyes open then close on servants of sciences, peasants and serfs, on westernizers while the godfather of communism shouts from the onion domed palace his great riots of color,” said White. “Under the windows of stars a great war of equivalence, of octopus arms that send desires screaming along the breeze, ringing out icy strings of moral codes, trimming plants into decorative shapes, the specter that makes everything else seem reversed.”


“Events in one realm are often an occasion for events in another,” interrupted the woman in violet, the message coming finally from the dark caverns of her throat.


“If only the shaking of her breasts could be stopped,” said the man in Red while watching the lips of Violet as she spoke.


“Take your body to the edge and see if it flies. See if it emits powerful rays of light,” said the woman in yellow to Red. “Take the living wound and erupt the hair from its eyes into the air,” said Yellow, turning to face the lake.



"There are angels among us

Leading us to the Water"

They all joined in chorus


A flock of angels riding high on a wave of wind descended from the twilight clouds singing in polka dotted tongues a song of death by street orange, of triangle fires that take Russian girls from factory windows while still asleep in their beds blankets up to their chins.


“Borders are almost always crossed illegally,” said the man in green. “Only after they have been completely caressed and addressed by big black men wearing firmly closed mouths, who couldn’t make a decision without a television, watching night create the day, with a slight affection for opium and choir boys.”


Gloom was in vogue and White rose against the gigantic pygmy minded. “How does one describe the behavior of light, running parallel for a while and then into oblivion for the evening?” she called out. “In dreams the letters were flying at me and they were maybe spelling something. I saw the great communicator.”


“Just think that maybe you were spinning or something,” said the woman in blue.


Yellow looked over to the woman in blue on the sandy beach. “Pretty little care taker,” she said to her. “She couldn’t even wait till morning.”


“Its already old news anyway,” replied White.


“Hopefully I’ll leave on the noon plane a little juiced up then,” said Indigo dipping his toes in the lake.


White dropped her robe to the floor and began to walk out into the darkening water. “It might take a million years to gain one measurement that might make all the difference,” she said walking in deep and dipping her face underneath.


Red and Violet followed her in. “The funeral, the sun’s corporeal punishment,” said Red.


“Shall I gather shelter to buffet its railing rays, or travel turgid,” said Violet into the sun as it touched the horizon’s falling.


“I do not believe it best to follow ceremony,” said Indigo removing his robe.


“I admire the braveness of stalkers,” said Yellow still standing on the beach. “Maybe a being without reluctance has some ripening to do. I do not know you well but saw something in your eyes. To that which is brilliant there are no goodbyes.”


“If the sun and moon should doubt, they’d immediately go out sang a great man,” said Green. “Exuberance is beauty ready to defend against the ever ominous darkness,” he continued, following the group entering the void.


“We drubbed those devils, to ceaseless knells,” said Blue following.


Yellow alone in her robe on the beach said meditatively to the lake: “Quite the verve tonight. The rocky sound of luggage being dragged over tile, souls among souls, dancing to the scraping of ice off frozen airplanes, the tolling between legs of time resting as a ruler would just long enough to break the jaw bone. What speeds are reached in its flight,” as she spoke a bee seeming to rule the world landed in her hair.


The six in the lake took hands and formed a new marriage of form, a messy mix of rich and opulent circles, searchers on a trip to the moon.


“Shall I enter this swamp?” Yellow said.


The servants, the harvesters of dreams came singing: “This is called sweeping without knowing who is here or who will appear in the deepest and sleepiest of sleeps sweet sleep.”


“Nothing anymore depends upon this giant saw machine, with its soft tongue breathing metallic dust,” said the women in yellow, while dropping her robe to the sand and ringing out her blonde hair. “To enter the dark energy and become the fresh water fish with the sectorial mouths, and gain cosmic shamelessness,” said Yellow growing deeper in the water.


Shadows followed her as she crossed deeper into the dark. They watched her naked body, stripped to the night sky, displaying its many open lips, its liplike organs escaping too successfully the moon rider disentangling the dawn. “I can enter the lake with my mind, go deep into the soul of it,” she said dipping her head down underneath and admiring the great black miracle.


Underneath she saw a village of openly libertine light angels, lust drunk on superstitions, weaving and eroding elaborate shapes of color with tiny intergalactic dimensions.



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