Holy is wholly.

“Teach me,” Begged the student standing before the minister of the Visionary Order of Spirit.
“What is the Vision?”
By the central fire in the woodland village, the elder began to teach. “Vision is
realisation, you already experience it you just don’t realise. It’s simple. All things are spirit.
Now that sounds hippie but I mean it truly. We are the spirit of what we consume, our body
is a network of energy that we have sourced from the outside and channel within.
Certain food gives certain energy.
Imagine you have walked for an hour to get home under a forty degree sun, your
spirits are low but when you drink that cool crisp glass of water there is rejuvenation and
your life is restored, water is a spirit – to us – of rejuvenation. Caffeine is a spirit of energy,
mushrooms the spirit of health, red meat the spirit of ferocity, wheat the spirit of
perseverance. Our need for carbohydrates is need for a spirit, protein too and fibre.” Zardak
explained.
“You make it sound like a drug.”
“Drug is a made up term. Often times the difference between so called medication and
so called narcotic or straight up poison is dosage. Would that be true, all substances that we
consume are drugs. If the dictionary definition is a substance that alters a person’s physiology
or perception – then that water after that long walk which gave you immediate calm and
mental clarity could indeed be a drug by definition, gives you strength and clarity, one can
overdose on water too. But speaking of drugs, yes, they are good examples.
“All nature is communication. Our humanness has not evolved to perceived certain
animal or plant communication. However, we may consume the food, the drink, the smoke
and from within ourselves can their spirit reveal their thought and vision.
“To smoke cannabis is to be possessed with the spirit of cannabis, also called, being
stoned, is indeed the spirit of the plant revealing itself to us and possessing us from within.
“Getting high is a stupid terminology. Becoming possessed would be more
appropriate, because yes, the spirit possesses us as we smoke.
“Sobriety is also a strange term, for all substances alter and possess us. If the
sugarcane spirit – in its refined form possesses us with hyperactivity, is that not a high? If hot
chamomile tea gives us soothing is that not an altered state?”
“Then what is the original state?”
“There is no original state, there is no sobriety. Consider fasting or sleep deprivation,
the psychedelia experienced is different from our base consciousness, but our base
consciousness is a manifestation of spirits from all that we consume. Perhaps one would be
calmer as a vegetarian, perhaps one would be more stimulated drinking a Gatorade, perhaps
chilli and garlic chicken soup cures a mild influenza, not only from the sweat of the heat but
the Vitamin C spirits attack the sickness spirits.”
“Whatever you eat or don’t eat alters our experience, there is no original state. There
are many who wish to find that however they consume no caffeine, are vegan, have no sleep
schedule, don’t use any so called ‘drugs’ from Panadol to DMT, an earthly diet who meditate
and focus upon their self – but even then, there are only fewer spirits for the body and mind
to experience.”
“So… what isn’t a spirit then?”
 “Nothing. Totality of existence is spiritual in every way, physicality is just the
surface. Imagine an existence of pure nothingness – in that nothingness there is a fluctuation,
a displacement, a ripple; the sudden distortion booming into an infinity that is the universe.
Well, that displacement was a conscious, felt, experience. Like God touching holy thought.
After that conscious communication, the echoes split and formed into unique forces in
constant interaction that expressed themselves into what scientists call physics and matter.”
“So the reason water exists is because the hydrogen spirit and the oxygen spirit are
expressing communication to each other by bonding and that is expressed with water?”
“Exactly! The universe is that is communication and connectivity. Our bodies are
networks of connected parts that communicate with neurons and synapses, each of which are
their own conscious communications.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Imagine I cut your thumb here to here with a dirty blade. What’s going on? Your
body is sending the appropriate organic material to organise repair all the while employing
whatever cells to do whatever immunity so our system doesn’t get affected. It’s like a
battlefield with our cells fighting the bacteria while attempting to close and heal the wound.
Who is organising the battle, rallying the troops, telling which cells to go where? Each
organic piece of material is in a way its own force of spiritual expression, and they all rally
together to heal the systems damage.
“Our experience is an amalgamation of infinite sensory interactions and memory.
“Everything is interaction, all that interacts is conscious, they are all micro
expressions of the mind of reality that is God, that is Krisha, that is oneness. It’s almost
laughably obvious but so few people experience it truly and yet they’ll wake up with a mild
hangover in a dark, cold room, but then wake up and drink water, coffee and eat chicken soup
under the sun – absorbing the holiest substance, Light – and feel replenishment yet not
conceive of the spiritual vitality occurring within themselves.”
“Well, if everything is spirit and each cell is its own consciousness – who am I?”
”You are the collection of the networks of organic communication. Your senses all
communicate to formulate an approximation of this moment, of your present surroundings –
a coordination of all bodily functions, and your thoughts, a mix of reaction, memory and of
course communication.
People say that their stomach speaks to them, saying I’m hungry.
Wounds hurt and say I need healing.
Emotions inform social navigation and cooperation.
Head aches ask for water.
Fatigue asks for sleep.

All of these are true, yet, we as a people have learned to ignore our inner voices. Alarms to
interrupt our sleep, medication to interrupt our emotions, we eat on schedule not when we are
hungry, we have made indoor suns and we avoid pain and discomfort, and, well, many are
not as in touch with their emotions, their self as they could be. How else do they get fat?
Addicted? Watch porn? Eat shit?
Simply take away all filters and listen to yourself within and yourself shall speak to
you and if you listen to and follow the command of your body – you shall take your first
steps into the visionary process because you will have yielded your mind to the ecosystem
that it is rather than control it with delusion, the delusion of self, of ego. Truth with come to
you with clarity then, this is the function of prayer and meditation.”

“I think I understand but my whole life has been built around the story, the routine,
the 3 meal cycle, go to bed by 11o’clock all that.”
“That’s not you. That’s your ego, that’s your persona, your outward personality, your
socially hierarchical position. Which is also important, without it, you may not please your
clan and continue your lineage in safety. But within that, is you, the organic mechanics that
you are, the instincts that give you motivation, desires and you are managing community.
Within us are spirits that we must channel, we feel them as instincts and feelings.
Our emotions channel the spirit of reality. Anger is the spirit of war, love is the spirit
of fertility, fear is the spirit of vulnerability, even boredom is the spirit of eagerness,
imagination the spirit of creativity; and we channel these spirits into our being but must
contrast the spirit with physical and social law.”

“Can one be void of spirit and purely earthly, like dedicate that ego to our people and
never open to this so called holiness?”
“No, but their mind can become so illusioned by the ego process that the self and the
instincts become lost and the experience of spirit fades, but they are not void; they are the
universe.
“We come from nature and return to nature. That is the meaning of the prongs, the
first long spike is before our birth, the small centre one is our life in the present and the third
long one is after our death; both long spikes would connect if they continued on and all three
are made of the same substance. We are Eco systematic and all nature is alive. Our delusion,
our humanness causes us to forget.”
“Even though the spirits commune with us, we tend to ignore that or shun that as
schizophrenia or a broken brain if anyone gets truly in touch with their spirit, their self, their
nature. Our society likes control.
We as the Visionary Order simply wish to return this realisation to humanity. If we
succeed, society will see it as a great shift, a new enlightenment, even though it’s already
here. What does it say in the Bible – Neither will they say Lo here or Lo there for the
Kingdom of Heaven is within already.”
“So when we wake, we are in a lacking state and choose which spirits we wish to
possess us that day?”
“Yes, well, there is no us, there is no you. It is an amalgamation of all the body’s
processes and communications fuelled by all that we consume.”
“What then are dreams?”
“Simply they are thoughts extended out to the fullest because we are not consciously
reacting to our environment, there is no change of light, temperature, sound, and we are
therefore free to think without interruption – our mind realising this – intensity of imagery
forms.”
“So nothing magical about them?”
“Well, where do thoughts come from? Once you realise that all things are nature, and
you are nature; that is the Vision.” Zardak looked over to the grey buildings of the city.
“Determination has clouded our vision.”
“Perhaps because we cannot see, to ordinary people it seems silly and mystical.”
Zardak offered the potion. “Drink.”
And the student entered the void.
Construction of the generator.

Quora
Quora sat on the dewy grass outside the laboratory door watched the black sky
above wincing at the intense yellow around his peripherals. Damn these
floodlights, our earth dies of pollution and they still wastefully use energy. I
want to see the stars.
Between slow breaths, he blew out hazy smoke; amused at the grey as it
billowed into the low fog. Anything to taper reality. As bliss settled, the alarm
he’d set an hour earlier buzzed in his pocket and returned him to attention. And
with a final long drag, he threw the filter away, puffed out the last, stood and
pulled opened the heavy grey door and walked into the chamber to don his hazmat
before descending into the basement and stepping into the poorly named
interregnum room to armour himself in hazmat equipment, before descending the
stone stairway to the basement.
Quora stepped inside and noticed Clifton Brown upon the upper level
watching as they worked, and shrugged him off. Creep’s always watching. What’s
he planning?
“Five minutes until activation.” Doctor Yinszk greeted, his voice
momentarily broke the trace of incessantly tightening the hazmat’s goggles that
Professor Quora Vora had lost himself in. “Five minutes.” Quora repeated as the
doctor pulled the pre-activation levers. The machine buzzed to life; its vibration
echoing, buzzing everywhere.
Between the sound and the radioactive light shone yellow against the dark,
Quora winced at the overstimulation and burped from nausea; the claustrophobia
didn’t help. The Professor of Physics plugged his helmets vacuum into his flask and
took a long drink.”
“Really now? Do you need a drink as well?”
“I hate this.” Quora confessed. With renewed exhilaration however, he
fixated upon the completed ‘infinity’ machine in scientific awe. Drawing power
from the weird fractalized meteorite that, all tests concluded that was an almost
supernaturally dense substance despite its light mass, it vibrated violently with a
disgusting consistency.
Quora twisted on the spot, pushing the balls of hit feet into the floor to
ground himself and brace and with furious intent he stared at “earth’s only hope”.
Success would, evidently power an indistinguishable amount of clean energy could
be harnessed and used to power the world. His eyes flicked to the student who
lazed on the sofa, then fell to the schematics he held. Nervous, he checked each
page with the corresponding parts of the machine to be confident that all parts
were connected and optimised. Wrongness fills my soul. Quora shook his head and
focused more intently on the project.
“More of these strangely twisted asteroid fragment things had been
discovered lately.” The student read from his tablet in a bored tone. “Reports of
mental deliriance from exposure have increased. There’s been a legal lockdown;
all sightings must be reported so that they can be removed. Possession is highly
illegal for non-approved people. Jesus, they make it sound like a drug or
something.”
“Deliriance…” Quora murmured. “Wouldn’t call it that.”
“What would you call it?”
“Clarity. Our world’s collective mind has become distorted – feels like this is
clarity.”
“Well we may be at the forefront of major paradigm evolution,” Yinszk said.
“Here we are at the brink of a new age, your fantasy friends have served us well.”
“What does that mean? Have you become delirious from… that?” Asked the
student, pointing at the black gem-like meteorite that hummed in the generator.
“May be. But if my delusions prove to be scientifically correct, then maybe
they aren’t delusions after all. In my twenties, when I first encountered this,”
Quora lifted his necklace (worn outside the suit) and showed an amulet made of a
strange meteorite fragment that he had found as a child. “I came to a realisation
that deepened my thoughts and disillusioned me to my life and this reality I
suppose. I hated myself. I considered that concept, I realised there is the I; who
hated upon the self – I seemed to be complete while my self remained malleable. I
wondered where my thoughts originated and paid attention. Then something
strange happened. Clear voices no, images, sensations overcame me, as if there
was another presence that presented ideas and became the origin of my thought
and showed me the completeness of mathematics and I opened myself to them.
From that information I concluded that matter is the surface of a deeper
substance; a plane of energy and physics that when tightly compacted and
activated; the tip of that iceberg is matter. If we can access what is below we can
break that into substance and manipulate fundamental reality – and ever since –
the voice has remained with me, exposing truths to me. And look at what they
have shown me.” Quora gestured to the Infinity Machine.
“Do you think you’ve connected with God?” asked the student.
“No, why would God want his secrets revealed?”
“Maybe he entrusts us with divine holiness now that we have matured
enough.” Said Yinszk.
“No.” Quora gazed at the glowing darkness.
“Wonder if it’s some eastern chemical experiment.” Said the student “A
mind altering bomb with nuclear power like a radiant drug?”
“It’s just a meteorite, guys with elements we are not familiar with. And
we’re using it to generate clean energy.” Quora insisted to himself.
“We’ll find out whatever it is soon enough. It’s time.” Yinszk stepped over
to the handle and powered the machine on. And immediately the entire research
station’s energy supplies overcharged with maximum energy levels.
Yinsk observed their success with awe, even the student sat up in
wonderment. Quora watched them with cold calculation in wonderment of the
significance of what they had just done.
He attempted to smile with pride but the doubt in his soul deepened.
Two
Dying of the Light

Zin

Zin read from the Visionary Texts:

Holiness IS that which vibrates everything in sound and light.
In cosmic splendour, creation bloomed consciousness that it could love
itself.
From outer aeons, across the infinity of infinities came the shadows of
sorrow, the blight which sought to blemish holy love and leave only the mechanics
behind. The tempter of fruit, the bringer of fire, the unholy crafter of
mechanical dreams.
And the divine dimmed, faded; and the Love died and could no longer be
felt by the bloom of experience.
And from the depths of Unrest, the divinity beheld the degradation of its
creation, and with holy might cast back into the universe what holiness could be
found.

Discomfort overwhelmed the holy apartment-dweller. He put the book down and
disappeared into imaginings of the woodland mud hut that he had fashioned the
other weekend, and the curing ox meat that he had left there and the new fire
wall he had constructed. The vision filled his essence but he did not rest.
That was where he felt truly at home and disliked that he still could only
camp there on occasion and focus upon hallowed wholeness and Bhakti.
Saturday dawned, the day to doze after a long week at the postal
administration office but Zin could not rest and despite the many comforts that
surrounded him, he found no ease.
The busyness of his work routine caused his passion, his reverence to lax.
The past months… his dreams had consisted of only realistic worldly
situations; as if the universe within faded. The magic he once experienced, the
awesome wonder, the colour, the fantasy had greyed. Success in the real world
brought less joy despite its necessity.
Journeys to Sona Nyl upon the White Ship were no longer sailed; visits from
Yithian body swappers now never took place – no more did he view the colour of
heaven.
But he had been too occupied with his routine to heal.
Restlessness stressed him out; but something else was deeply wrong.
Something had shifted in the spirit of reality.
He wondered if others of the Visionary Order in the village had felt any
change.
Without a second thought he put on his warm robe and bearskin cloak,
fetched his moon-pronged staff, the mushroom and hurried toward the walking
trail in the woods that led up Zedyka Hill to his favourite place to meditate: a
small flat outcrop at the mouth of a shallow cave.
Here, away from distraction, he sat, ate, and sat lotus and searched for
holiness.
He reached out for the magic of togetherness and felt it there.
Despite the chill, warmth glowed within. He could see that some from his
community had gathered and were preparing for the evening. Meat roasted on
spits above smoking pits; he could see the light, smell the smoke, even feel the
heat if he allowed himself to imagine, the village was alive and the community
connected.
Cold rain fell from dark clouds and bitter winds swept through the valley
echoing deeply.
Zin shivered and pulled the bearskins tighter over his shoulders; chewing the
blue stem. Between his hood’s teeth he saw a break in the sky and the pale
moon’s glow shone through. A smile of relief reflected the peace he felt within
and holy connection with the earth and with the cosmos in which the earth
resided; Krisna Consciousness began to form. As the moon controls the tide; it too
controls my blood. I am part of this nature, this ecosystem, this realm of space
and time. My senses are my portal to creation, I am the Light. With ease he
released himself to the infinite sensation.
All creation opened up to him, with him and from him.
Then there was a flicker. Far beyond, there was bleakness and a wave of
ultimate agony.
Zin’s eyes opened and he gazed into the storm that formed into the night.
Coldness snapped through him.
Uncontrollable tears fell from his cheeks. Sudden bleakness cut open deep
hurts that he had been nursing.
Why am I here? He wondered. My lonely life brings me no joy. Curse my gift
of holy power. Why pray to divinity that denies me love, the ecstasy of passion.
Curse this cold! This wet. The storm shall be terrible. The magic died, the animal
within realised. Our world is broken, humanity has destroyed it all – and I am part
of it, I am of those that destroy. Dismay set in.
Such sudden bouts of depression had been frequent in the recent years, but
Zin had never experienced such absence of love ever before. Voluntary social
solitude brought him to fear, which led to anger and then hatred and so he had
built meaning in that suffering to bear it; a place in the Order.
Now, it seemed absurd to worship an idea of a togetherness when survival
depended on self-preservation and egotistic materialism. He hung his head in a
shame of celibacy and tried to feel something that he could heal with.
Without food in my body; I shall die; eating will be better than starving to
death, the instinct growled almost in spite. Damn, that meat has been marinating
for fourteen days, will be delicious. Excitement for the juicy, seasoned cut
roasted over the open fire to a medium rare, bloody and fatty.

The vision of deliciousness mustered a modicum of motivation.

With effort, Zin opened his eyes and gazed upon the dull moon.
 And fear stiffened him. Contemplation of immediate suicide filled his
thoughts. Unprepared for such a barrage of extreme despair, he tore himself from
the haze and forced himself to a shaky stand, confused as to what had broken
within; what had broken outside. He clutched his necklace, the gem upon it,
prayed upon it for hope but found none.
Zin painfully pushed himself step by step down the hill pass, toward his
home where he could fade himself out with a strong herbal brew after eating – if
that failed to relax his distress.
“Lah Oombade Dumamu!” He chanted to keep his mind blank lest the self-
destructive thoughts manifest into ideas as sober clarity set in. I am here now,
going there then.

He arrived at home and found his firepit wet and the clay to his house disformed.
His meat muddy and sodden.
“Will chanting childish songs fix this? Oomptydoodmudah! Damn it!”
Frustration seethed through him. Didn’t solidify the base, storm broke my sail and
my roof – of course it did. Rushing materials, neglecting myself – to sit and be…
lazy. Anger at himself for his own impatience caused a momentary barrage of fury.
Zin destroyed the rest of his sail with a hard kick, it toppled; causing a section to
fall on his sandaled foot.
He yelped in pain, in immense irritation. Deep within, he felt the pull of
animal madness; pure frenzied fury, the ‘seeing red’ zone. Zin fell to his knees
and attempted to force his energy to fade. Oxymoronic paradox. Quickly his anger
transferred to sadness. Defeated, he limped toward the common space where he
saw a large flame burned bright.
Zardak met him with an offering of tea.“There will be council tomorrow,
tell us your fear then.”
Zin took the brew and saw horror and compassion in his elder’s eyes.

God’s wrath.
The following morning, after a dreamless doze, Zin felt worse and went to sacred
grove to be away from all sensations of stress.
The magician sat in quiet contemplation below the altar as he waited for his
friends. All remained dark and quiet in the meadow. Warmth of the sun soothed
his soul. Fresh earthen fragrances filled the atmosphere. Zin breathed in the cool,
damp air and enjoyed the vitality natural world.
Yes, the earth is alive. His senses confirmed that, but I cannot feel the
Light – the spirit has faded. Despite the beauty around him, no joy flowed in his
blood.
He examined the black gem he wore from an amulet around his neck. God’s
thought. Fallen from a sky flame. A perfect, black gem that once glimmered with
love but now it did not vibrate or glow. It remained cold and drained. Where is the
Light? He wondered sadly; it did not shine.
“Zin? You’re here already.” Zin recognised Alys, her rosy cheeks and blonde
hair glowed against the dark hood draped over her head, almost like a veil. Beside
her walked Feri and his initiate, who led ten others. Very last trod Zardak, his eyes
gazed upon the moon that greyed in the west.
“Yes.” Zin, the magician, said. “Couldn’t rest.”
“Oh Zin, you look much worse than that, what’s wrong?” Alys approached
and knelt by him.
“I saw the Light fade; felt it as I sat upon Zedyka.”
“I did too… as I floated in my spa.”
“What has happened, I don’t understand? God is dead?” Asked the initiate.
Zin met Alys’s eyes, together they looked at Feri, who sat in deep thought,
and gazed at Zardak.
“The great consciousness cannot die. Holy power has weakened; but shall
return.” Zardak said.
“This has happened before, hasn’t it? The Age of Dark” Asked the student.
“Yes. Long before our time. Divine essence came to us from the sky – and
with careful prayer and unity we restored the Light.” Feri explained.
Zin held the cold amulet and gazed upon it.
“Shall we begin the ceremony?”
“Yes, let us all sit” Zardak sat. “Feri would you began preparations for the
potion?”
Zin watched as Feri boiled a cauldron of soaked herbs and spices over a
small log fire.

Once the potion was ready, Feri took a sip and then placed it on the altar slightly
to his left.
When it was placed in front of Zin, he too sipped the foul concoction before
setting it aside and sitting in silence.
Time disappeared, a dark emptiness opened up and Zin peered within.

Zin awoke, laid upon his back in the dewy grass, he watched eastern horizon
change from midnight blue to purple to red to pink and finally back to a white
then a light blue as he reflected upon his memory.
Nothing.
He frowned.
Also, it’s Monday.
He sighed.
He had two hours until he needed to be in the office, he estimated, and would be
there for eight more. An uneasiness fell upon him, ten hours of inability to process
the nothingness? The thought was uncomfortable.
He stood, dusted off the dirt that had caked to his black robes ignored the
growing anxiety, and trudged away from the grove and into the forest to find the
path back to the city.
With a glance, he looked back, wondering if he should abandon his friends.
The others were still on their journey of emptiness.
With sadness Zin left them to their eventual disappointment and hurried
away, back to real life. With each step he felt queasier. On the gravel path he
walked that led to the north terrace. Grey cars drove by. He walked the grey
cobblestone footpath, eyes on the grey motorway. He followed the line of grey
bikes pumping out grey fumes and followed them to a large, rectangular grey
building on the corner of Armington and Chesterfield. He turned around, looked
back, but all the green had disappeared behind gravel and grey fences. The
apartment that was his address was not the welcoming place it used to be. He
entered the little place, routinely showered, ate and dressed in a grey suit, then,
he waited at the grey bus stop and caught the grey bus toward the grey office,
stepped out to the grey overcast day and stepped into the grey lobby.
“Ah! Zin!” Harry, the cool co-worker said. “What’s the game?”
“Game?” Zin said. “Same as it always is. Repetitive but efficient systematic
organisation to increase the momentum and reach of this branch.”
“I mean, you’re late and you look like your death shall occur within the
hour.”
I hope it does. “Sorry.”
“Waste all your time on poetic, elaborate language and stupid analyses.
Why do you look so tired?”
“Stayed up analysing art.”
“This is why you’re just a clerk. Imagine if we let dreamers work here.
They’d spend all their time wondering about I don’t know the ethics and morality
of money management or some shit. We need efficiency to keep stable in today’s
economy.”
“Sure.”
“Are you going to be okay? There are three open requests on your desk to be
processed before midday – can you handle that or will you need help?”
“I’ll be okay.” Zin muttered, walking into the coffee room. While the kettle
boiled, he prepared the sugar – pulled the vial from his inside pocket, inhaled from
it, poured in the sugar and then finished the brew.
Walking back to his desk, coffee in hand he noticed that everything felt
different. All the numbers on the papers, although he understood their meaning,
seemed so abstract, so far away, so distanced from himself… almost surreal or
trans-real. Damn sleep deprivation and psychedelic potions.
Zin sat down to collect himself and glances at the day’s newspaper thrown
on his colleagues’s desk – he reads:

New Power Station Trial

Researchers at the Miskatonic University have begun first stage trials of the clean
energy generator.

“Zinny, you okay?” Ramones swung around from his computer, behind him.
“I’ll be fine.”
“New infinite clean energy sounds too good to be true.”
“It does, I wonder what the power source is.”
“Meteorite.”
 “Huh, I’ll have to read more about that.” The thought terrified him. Could
it be? He would have to find out, maybe the Order will have an idea.

At last – he sat at home and let his exhaustion out – collapsing on the couch.
He kissed the gem and prayed and focused upon the nothingness.
That night he dreamed of meeting his mother again and taking her to… his
office. She wanted to go to the woods… so they changed path and made for the
grove. He’d always wanted to show her the grove. The place he and his friends
met as youngsters to talk about fantastic ideas. She’d always encouraged that
when he was a child, would she be so happy with it when he was a grown man? He
didn’t know but smiled in anticipation. They walked down the lane that led into
the woodlands. It had been developed into white structures. No trees remained
standing; no wildlife roamed. He twisted and looked up to the skies. A comet
seemed to be falling down and around it glowed the most beautiful blues and
yellows.
He woke, still in darkness on the couch. Something wasn’t right. Within
himself he sensed an echo of a voice… a faint whisper. He felt the amulet. It
pulsed weekly. Zin closed his eyes and let himself feel… and yes… he could feel
soul. Somewhere, deep inside, somewhere far away. But somewhere. He took the
amulet and hurried to the grove, running through the streets in the predawn
hours. The others were already there and waiting for him. He laughed at the
greenness of it all, remembering his horrible nightmare.
Feri stood at the head of the slab. He looked disheartened.
“Feels like the holy spirit has returned!” Alys said cheerfully.
“Returned. Yes.” Feri said quietly and bitterly. “Did you feel the emotion?”
“Yes… it was… sad.” Alys said.
“No.” Feri said. “It is angry, terrified… disgusted.”
Zardak came with a thicker, darker brew. He drank and passed it to his left.
One by one the others did the same.
Once again. Zin did the same.
The magic activated, and he felt the darkness overwhelm him. Zin felt himself be
yanked deep into a strange vortex; through a dark tunnel, and into a great light on
the other side. There, in nowhere, he hovered in the void, gazing into the central
light. Pulses of frustration surged in the realm, feeding into itself and growing
stronger in desperation. The frustration grew fiercer and more intense. Then, like
a whirlpool made of dust and smoke, a new vortex was formed and Zin thrown
through once more.
He woke up in the dewy grass. The others were thrown out of their Visions
at the same instant.
Zin felt a presence appear within himself and it seemed to draw power from
him, from them all. Exhausted, starving, thirsty and under considerable mental
strain, he witnessed the altar glow from seven points, and felt part of his soul
leave him and dissipate into the air, shooting up skywards.
 There was a boom, like thunder in the sky. A fiery bolt of energy of yellow
and blue flashed in the sky and shot down with a phenomenal force, smashing right
into the centre of the altar.
One More Hope
Despite the exhaustion, he felt good.
Zardak woke and placed his hand upon the meteor that still smoked with
heat. Zin flinched imagining the pain, but Zardak looked at his unburnt hand and
frowned.
Two
Franklin was new at the job. He was new at any job. The prospect of organising
and delivering distributions was not ideal and he was not cheerful, but felt
excitement at just doing something new.
Six years since his last shift as a construction site manager. He had travelled
much of the world as a wayfarer or bus rider. He had made the unforgiving work
he’d done in his early twenties pay off, and after years of relaxation,
meaninglessness crept in and money of course runs out. So, at the age of thirty
four he faced the prospect of returning to labour. The morning of the first day had
come at last. Franklin dressed in his smoothest shirt, blackest pants and shiniest
boots and boy do I look sharp. Dreadfully nervous he entered the service office and
entered the manager’s room.
Assigned to express post under Clifton Brown he began work.
Focused on establishing himself properly, he accepted whatever task he was
given.

Every day he woke up, performed the good routine, got to work early, and began
sorting through the papers, making sure to have a good understanding of the day’s
tasks before eight o’clock before the guys clocked in. Routine upon routine
provided enough stability and money for a homely little two up two down on the
edge of town, just a ten minute cycle from the train station to work. Easy.
The office place messy and his colleagues disorganised, everyone was lax
despite the importance of their job; why did no one seem to be urgent or careful?
Not ruffling feathers he found that smooth ease of mind that came with
routine, the minimal effort action so that the mind could remain free.

One day the normalcy changed.

Franklin watched as Clifton entered the office with a small steel box, set it
down before seemingly distracted or delusional he hurried away muttering under
his breath.
Franklin chuckled and returned his focus to tomorrow’s list of deliveries.
Clifton did not return, and as Franklin worked his gaze continued to fall
upon the box; the mood in the room seemed to have eased.
Five o’clock came surreally fast and Franklin packed up to leave but, at the
doorway he realised Oh maybe I shouldn’t leave that here in the open, I’ll take it
and bring it back tomorrow morning for Clifford, was it? Still don’t know names
around here.
Franklin spun on his heel and turned to grab the box noticing that it was
now five thirty seven, he hurried, collected it, and rushed out to the train,
clutching the box like it was a baby.

Back home, he set the box on the table, routinely set the kettle on boil for tea,
took a shot of whisky. Then, he turned to face the metal cube. It was locked well
with extremely complex mechanisms and had a nine coded gear system.
Franklin frowned, reached for opener and hopelessly pulled the slider that
would unlock it.
It slid.
With a deeper frown he opened the lid and peered inside.
Below a note that read: Discovered in Western Australia were two black
pearls. With curiosity he picked one up and immediately noticed its peculiar
properties. It was dense, felt thick, but was nearly weightless; its surface felt oily
and slimy, but left no substance on his hand.
Amused, he put the pearl back in the box and forgot about it.
More comfortable than normal, feeling good, he routinely fried lentils on
low, boiled rice and began steaming an egg overtop.
His imagination had intensified slightly and a happiness set in that was
unusual but welcome.

Following morning, he routinely readies for the day and approaches the box. Inside
the black pearl had turned blue. A curious sense of attachment and curiosity
peaked within. Closing the box, he left it where it was and went out the door to
routinely catch the train.
As he walked down the hallway, Franklin felt a primal fear then heard the
fury of animal anger.
“WHERE ARE THEY?!”
Franklin froze and reflexively reached for his work knife and held it, ready
to flick it open.
“WHERE IS THE BOX WHO STOLE IT WHERE IS FRANKLIN, I’LL DESTROY
HIM!”
Uncertain of what to do, Franklin let his instincts, his automation take
control of his body while he took the backseat and watched.
Wait don’t do that!
He thought but was powerless. Reaching for and twisting the doorhandle
to the office, Franklin pushed the door open and stepped inside.
All eyes fell upon him.
“Good morning, uh, what’s going on? Why are you angry? Did I hear my
name?”
“You took that box!”
“What box?”
“THE BOX!” Clifton’s eyes pulsed with fury.
“I don’t know… what box. The one you left here yesterday? Your lunch
box?”
“WHERE IS IT!”
“I don’t know? It’s your lunch box? Why would I… I have my own… food you
know that it’s… the bottom fridge compartment? Bottom left.”
“Don’t play stupid with me.”
“I haven’t touched your god damn lunch box.”
“It’s not a lunch box.”
“Oh well whatever the fuck, I don’t know. Now, go accuse someone else.”

“You were the last one here.”

“Didn’t cleaners come?”
“They’ve been… interrogated.”
“What’s in the box that is so damn important?”
“None of your concern!”
“No it isn’t! You were drunk last night; you left the bottle on the coffee
table. You probably took it before you left and forgot because you were drunk.”
Clifton did not respond but stared with an expression of pure evil.
“Is that true?” A colleague muttered.
Franklin took the opportunity of silence and continued. “I hate being
accused of shit I did not do, can you fuck off and let me get to work.”
“I’ll have a warrant arranged for your address, the police will arrive
today.”
“No, they fucking won’t you moron.” Franklin thudded over to his desk.
Why did I lie? He thought. Ah fuck him. He concluded.
Clifton stormed out in a panic and did not return.
Disturbed, Franklin chose to play the part of the nascent and filed a
workplace harassment form toward his superior.
At home, he found the drawer glowing.
The damn stones are probably radioactive and noxious. Maybe I’ll return
them, hide the box somewhere so someone can find it. This is insane why did I
even take it?
He realised and hurried to remove it. When he stepped into the apartment
he was met with a wave of ecstasy. It wasn’t intense; but there was a positivity in
the air. Through the always open kitchen window, a faint breeze blew in and the
aroma was fresh and sweet. All the colour in the rooms were vibrant and happy.
Franklin could feel himself smile. It all felt… natural. Then; all of a sudden;
it didn’t.
Franklin became hit with a vile depression. The air was tainted by petrol
fumes and the smell of drying cement from a worksite across the street; the lights
were unnatural, all produced by electricity; the natural evening night drowned by
the yellow glowing on the roof. Negativity electrified the air. Franklin saw the
twisted materials that composed his environment. Trees bent out of shape to suit
a human body’s comfortable sitting height and position filled with wool and coated
with leathered cow-hide. No single object was in the form that it was supposed to.
It was all as if the outside was actively rejected, rather than properly integrated.
Franklin frowned as the powerful positivity returned. He approached the drawer in
which the stones had been kept and opened it. They lay there, a strong black
colour with hints of a deeper purple radiated out of them. What are these damn
things? Suddenly, the idea of disposing of them was unthinkable. Maybe if he found
someone else who knew about the mysterious power emanating from the stone,
someone who was not afraid, maybe then he could make sense of it. And from the
depths of himself he prayed for that.
He pushed the drawer closed and tried to forget about those weird
emotional pulses, but he couldn’t shake the perspectives that they had shown him.

Coffeehouse

In no mood to cook, he walked to the nearby eatery for dinner.

“Table for one please.” Led to a quiet window seat he sat down and
pondered. Away from the stone, everything felt realer and far less fantastic.
Franklin laughed – was this really happening? Was his mind just playing tricks on
him? Normalcy felt stiff, but he endured and ordered a chicken curry to comfort
and ground himself with a large quantity of beer to accompany. The restaurants
door opened and a stranger walked in. Franklin acknowledged them with the
customary glance, taking in their person; they wore mostly black business attire
with white cuffs.
Behind the man, he could see the waiter bring their dish and drink over.
“Thank you.”
“Enjoy your meal.”
Franklin took a large sip. He put the glass down just as the stranger sat across
from him sat down.
“Hello?” Franklin said.
“I’ve ordered a jug for us; hope you don’t mind.” The man said.
Franklin looked at him. He seemed genuine. “As long as it’s dark, I tend to like
stout.”
“Imperial Ale, you’ll like it, it’s lighter but stronger than stout.”
“Yeah okay.” Franklin felt weird about eating so took a sip, then asked the
obvious. “Who the fuck are you and why are we having this conversation?”
“So, this might sound crazy, but I’ve seen you before.”
“Sounds pretty… believable.”
“Not here, not in this place, but in a dream.”
Franklin laughed and drained his glass.
“Last night; well I first saw you the night before but you were only a shadow
then, you were clearer last night.”
“Okay, seriously, what are you talking about.” Franklin said.
“You’ve opened your mind to the gem.”
“Who are you?” He didn’t know if he should be hostile or not.
 “My name is Zin Erto. Not that that matters. How did you come across the gems?”
Franklin took a bite from his curry. Delicious. “Are they like… some kind of
radioactive something? Are you… like a wizard or something and should I be
concerned for my immortal soul?”
“Yes.”
“It was brought to the mail-room. My boss brought it in and left it there and
I had a weird compulsion to take it.”
“Who left it there?”
“Clifton Brown.”
“So why did you take it?”
“I…” He hadn’t thought about that. Why had he stolen it? “Not sure, was just
looking after it I don’t know something about it felt right. At home it’s been
messing with my emotions. Guess that’s why I’m here rather than there, but I kind
of enjoyed the weirdness. Part of it felt so beautiful. Though there was this weird
darkness to it.” Franklin realised he was talking nonsense to a stranger. “What is
it? Is it radioactive? Have all my cells died?”
“Are you religious?”
“Religious? No. Have read some of the Bible though and the Bhagavad Gita…
mostly for shits and giggles, though they have some good advice.”
“Do you remember the passage in which man builds a tower to heaven and
thanks himself for the cleverness of building a tower to heaven and not praising
God for the life and the materials he used to build the tower with, then is
punished with confusion and inability to communicate?” Zin asked.
“The Tower of Babel?”
“Well, it’s kind of like that.”
“We build towers and thank ourselves and not God and now He’s angry?”
“Yes.”
“Well…” he looked up at the grey building looming over the diner. “I’d be
pretty pissed off too if I were He. Look at that monstrosity.”
“And it’s only to get worse.” Zin sighed. “This new generator, its
capabilities are far too much for science, far too much for what we can manage. If
the engineers continue to accumulate and experiment with them… if that
generator makes commercial, public trials, without guidance we are doomed.
Imagine Superman slapping a friend on the back, slamming a palm through their
heart.” The beer came, Zin poured and they drank. “Angry by this… God’s been…
trying to edge his way back into reality. Of course, not many people are listening –
those that do are mocked for being idiotic schizophrenics because that’s what they
are. They haven’t heard properly. Much of the world is imbued already but access
is obviously restricted and quite illegal; those exposed are confused by what they
see and learn false truths. Our world has become changed from what it was
supposed to be. And our power is too much.”
Franklin laughed at the ridiculousness, then remembered the weird qualities
of the gem and frowned. “Yeah, I’ve read about that new generator; sounds too
good to be true. How can we go in a good direction from here?”
“Listen to your dreams and your deepest thoughts, you’ll find the answer there.”

Franklin returned home with the strangest idea – he would expose all to the
substance and allow them to experience it, put one stone in his car and prepared
to return it with the note: Found! The other one he returned to his drawer.
And at the office the following day, left it in the attic stairway for someone else to
find later. And when it’s found, Clifton Brown apologises to him, is still suspicious,
then puts the box in the truck himself and says he will take it to the university
himself.

Three
Yinszk chapter
Yinsk observed the newbie Dave as he sat in conversation with Jenny the employer
and overseer.
“Ten years of proper, focused work in the legal sector had established me
as head of the residential company, was going to stay with them, but I’m glad I
didn’t – wouldn’t have found this opportunity here. Be good to have some control
over the trajectory of our future.” Dave tried.
“Your determination is impressive,” Jenny said, “your attitude will really
help us, I just wish we could communicate the good we are doing to the rest of the
world. This has always been our trajectory and now we are at the edge of a new
age, this new energy source seems promising. As long as we understand it, and
control it, good, but should anything unfamiliar arise it must be conquered, else it
will conquer us.”
“Of course,” Dave smiled. “Determination has been my life necessity since I
quit recreationally using.”
“Using what?”
“Mostly alcohol, but a little of this and a little of that as well. Felt
necessary to get through the intensity, but now I just focus on my goals.”
“And your goals are now more valuable than your buzz?”
“Never really got a buzz, just felt a bit less awful. But yes.”

The Engineers meeting was soon to take place at the University Hall.
Dave saw the truck come in; the driver looked a little bit disturbed.
On the way to the staff room, thoughts filled his mind of what will be said.
Jack had mentioned about a new find that must be classified.
A flash of colour exploded in his mind, and for a moment he felt as though
he was experiencing a seizure. Did some brain aneurysm just snap? Did a
haemorrhage develop in the last ten minutes? Or is this what a migraine is like?
The colours… seemed to come from far away, from the darkness he saw with eyes
shut, the same darkness that everyone sees with their eyes shut. From that
darkness came bright purples and yellows, reds and blues, greens and pinks, all
swirling and forming together in some kind of mist with three dimensional depth.
All of a sudden, his mind returned to normal, and all the colour went away.
Strangely, he immediately missed it and wanted the colours back.
He stood up, shook himself off and continued to the meeting room. All in
the room looked very shaken.
“Oh no! Is everybody okay?”
Dave watched as each person in the room reacted to the violent mental
disruption. Steph vomited; others fainted. Yinszk, he noticed, stood and seemed to
have embraced the blast.
“What happened.” Steph said quietly from pale lips
“That… was a pulse. That’s what we’ve termed it. They happen occasionally
when the gems are out of concealment.” Yinszk explained.
“What gems?”

Clifton brown walked inside, and handed the box to Yinsk. “One is missing, but, I
assure you, I will find it.”
Yinsk frowned and opened the package and held up the pearl.
“That looks like the one that’s powering the new generator?”
“Exactly.”
“So, what the hell is it? Some nuclear radiation? Reminded me of a
powerful psychedelic or something. Like I was blasted with God. What the hell.”
Steph wiped away spew. “Should we be in the same room as it? I feel sick.”
“We do not know. It is thought that several comets have fallen over
America, Australia and there are reports of them falling in Europe. I think… they’re
more like… extra-Venus narcotics created in a laboratory… in either China or
Russia and they are testing them on us. Their complexion and density is not
natural.” A professor said.
“Drugs that radiate their effects. That’s… so dangerous.”
“What do we do with them then?” Dave said.
“They are to be given to me, so I can take them to Arkham and continue my
research, to find out what they are and how else we can use them.”
“We use them? Seems like a bad idea. How is that what powers the
machine?”

Afterward, Yinszk headed to his laboratory but stopped at the sound of psychosis.
Through a crack in a door to the kitchenette, Dave was drunkenly cradling a bottle
of whisky and muttering to himself.

“Why now has this crave come?

(Because you no longer feel in control of your own mind – your sense of self
has been interrupted – you realise that there is more to existence than what you’re
experiencing – you’re afraid you’ll die
meaninglessly, what is the point of all this advancement anyway if
everyone just dies?)”

Four
Franklin came home, scanned the apartment, seemed normal, then hurried to his
room.
The drawer was not glowing.

Exhausted, fell into a strange ordinarily-dreamed sleep which seemed so boring.

Next day, he became blasted with a dreary, dreadful sense of artificiality. The
alarm annoyed him awake, it’s sound metallic and ringing.
Today would be the government job. Damn it, he thought, I hate working
with officials. Working with any secretarial figure was always annoying; they
always got information wrong –how can such incompetents be in such positions he
wondered. Instead of only feeling the rush of the morning, he felt a kind of
awareness, primed a kind of attention he had not known before. Something had
changed within himself he realised. I don’t enjoy this. It does not bring me
pleasure. No amount of good payment or funny office banter will get me to like
organising mail. With a heavying heart, he dressed and slowly made his way to the
offices. Greeted in the usual way by the usual people he went to his usual place
and began reading the orders for the day. Yep. Federal Agency this and Taxation
Office that. Sigh. Clifton was not present and the mood seemed stiffer than usual…
he put the papers down and pushed the box away. Figured out what to say. He
went to the coffee room to caffeinate and overheard:

“I don’t know how but these… comets seem to be influencing people more and
more. Reports of people quitting work suddenly and without explanation after
exposure to them are becoming more frequent. We need to disrupt this… new
wave of psychedelia before society collapses.” Clifton Brown said.
“I’ve heard whispers of a group that are instigating this revolution of sorts.
They’re crazy cultists who call themselves Visionaries.” Dave said.
“Ah! Visionaries, eh? Like… hippies? Makes sense that people like that would be
manufacturing these… radiation drugs. Can you find me more information on
them, where are they? Who are they? They are who stole that stone. I still feel
like someone here had something to do with it.”
“Yes, I will try.”

Reports stated that it was ‘entirely unusual’, and ‘composed of material different
to any known substance.’ That ‘their physical form seems to be supple’ and ‘their
consistency inconsistent. Rigid at most times, but due to unknown forces, changes
shape and colour. Appears to glow in some darkness as if vaguely bioluminescent.’
 Dave read the reports thoroughly. This universe is far stranger than anyone
realises. How can a thing disobey the laws of physics? Unless our understandings
are incomplete or incorrect.

The murder of Clifton Brown caused much panic and catastrophe.

“Maybe his mind got too twisted by whatever caused that strange radiation.
Made him go insane.”
“What are they?”
“Doom.” He realised. I must find the Visionary Order.

Part III

Some people find the spirit of substance to be superior to their present mode of
operation, they may see Sativa as wiser, oxycontin as calmer, alcohol more
honest, ecstasy happier and mushrooms more creative. And so, rather than
improve their present mode of operation, even integrate the experiences of the
substances, they continue to give themselves over to strange spirits to enjoy their
embrace and weaken their inner spirit.
You’ll see those who have recently parted from a bond with substance
spirits – they are hollow, they spirits are weak and they are uncomfortable and
irritable in their selves. Their weakness of spirit has come from the reliance of
otherearthly delights.
Some feel the pull of the Light, of the clarity and wish to return to
themselves and find their way into health once more, but, the spirit of substance
and its possession of the body is too powerful and it becomes painful to release
from the grips of those spirits. Because they have influenced the mind; our selves
have not processed neither grief or happiness and the pulling back of the curtains
of the mind, even the stage lights can be blinding.
“So are the spirits of substance evil?”
“No, they just are; our recklessness is the problem. Imagine knowing a…
sasquatch who had fun causing as much ‘harmless shenanigans’ as possible, and if
you didn’t they would be sad and you would feel bad. Then, your mum gets sick
and goes to hospital. The sasquatch wants to come along, begs you, says he’ll be
your friend in the hard times and would be sad if you left them alone.
“You know that all they ever want to do is cause “harmless” shenanigans.
And yet, you bring them with you anyway. Harmful hell ensues.
“Can’t fault Mr Sasquatch’s personal joys. Maybe there’s a time and a place
for it, he’s doing no wrong by having that be his personal joy. You inviting and
presenting the and enabling and encouraging the opportunity… that’s on you.”