"All the World's a Stage We Pass Through" R. Ayana

Sunday, 3 May 2009

Cross Purposes: The Shaman

Cross Purposes
The Shaman

Very few of the urbane municipality’s denizens are aware of the landform that slumbers beneath the scabrous mantle of bricks, mortar, steel and cement which comprises their waking reality. Most are deaf to the whispering spirits of the land and blithely unaware of snatches of trans-planar discourse which resonate through the stones and bones of the dreaming Earth. Some of the mythic district’s inhabitants are cognizant of the endless communication of evanescent yet eternal beings – agencies who dream of freedom from the fetters of the colonizing termite people that drift across the surface of their world with eyes wide shut.
Wiccans, magicians and friends of the Earth come in all stripes and creeds; some are allies or missionaries of foreign gods while others follow the agendas of more localised deities. It’s obvious to the land’s indigenous people that the harmony of aeons is disturbed by the mindless bustle of a self-absorbed overpopulation of usurpers. Anciently patient spirits are loath to bear the burden of the insectile supplanters’ populous hollow mounds. The myriad hominid artefacts which infest the hill-homes and sweet dells of slumberous ancestral entities are a pestilence, but a temporary one; the end of any civilization is foreordained within the tainted seeds of its builders’ mythological religions. The builders of Oz have constructed their houses and temples on unstable ground, prone to regularly recurring destruction and inundation; their dreams have been built on shifting sands.
The larval white-skinned human population dreams universally prescribed dreams, enclosed within topsy-turvy womb-tombs - agglomerated surreal creations that have sprouted from their ancestral primate cave-dwelling fantasies. Everything the city-dwellers see, hear or touch is a construct of the human mind made concrete. They move from chamber to chamber inside a vast three dimensional maze of artificial caverns, without ever being exposed to a single purely natural form or being. Much of their time is spent in indoor retreat, isolated from the last vestiges of their transformed natural surrounds; they stare with fixed passivity into ersatz glowing windows that open onto the ever-changing panoply of other people’s fantasies. The newly arrived colour screens are particularly mesmerising for the termite people of the latter second millennium. They’ll gladly spend an entire month’s or season’s salary to obtain one, and will then spend most of the free time of their lives staring blankly into a hypnotically buzzing rectangle.

 Even when the they see and touch each other - or the narrow range of reshaped living creations they allow to coexist with them in their massive hives - the Munchkins of Oz and the Good People of Kansas are seeing or touching flesh, blood and bone which has been subtly or grossly altered by the conscious and serendipitous artifice of their industrious species. Yet all the biological breeding and genetic tinkering that domesticated primates have explored is but a reflexive reiteration of the artistry and happenstance inherent in their own creation.

Sedentary humans settled into their current state of static ‘progress’ through a muddled transformation. The pliable primates underwent a series of meddlesome interferences throughout their existence on the long-suffering globe. They were subjected to subtle and gross manipulations by six-fingered or four-digited hands of external agencies, possessed of widely differing ethics and agendas; even versions of their own five-fingered future selves had a hand in their reconstruction.

 Non-human and post-human beings ultimately delivered human primates from nomadic lives in an idyllic Eden to the withering embrace of a full-blown industrial nightmare. A pliant graft had been slowly but surely spliced onto the wild strain of Humanity’s origins - to tame and channel their unpredictable proclivities into a more uniform and tractable state of semi-passive hypnotic detachment and endless entrained toil. Few modern humans possess an inkling of their true beginnings or have any idea that unseen possessive masters guide their faltering steps from the bright heavens above – and from darker interstices within.
Humans and their domesticated plants and animals are the products of imaginations which have straightened and twisted their universally oriented malleable protoplasm, turning multifaceted beings into simpler tools with specific mundane functions. Wild, free-willed and vitally living creatures have been fashioned into domesticated forms which diverge from their naturally evolved antecedents, until they’re often barely recognisable from their ancestral lines.
Chihuahuas, sausage dogs, Afghan hounds and Irish setters all come from the same basic stock and are one single species, still capable of fruitfully interbreeding with their progenitor wolves – or reverting back into the same primal form in the fullness of time. The same fearsome killer canines that dogged humankind from the dawn of their nomadic existence are cuddlesome companions while their primate ‘masters’ keep them fattened and docile – but one day their true carnivorous natures will emerge and they’ll hound the human tribes and gnaw at their children’s bones once again. A dog’s apparent domestication is merely a thin veneer stretched tautly cross inborn dormant needs, awaiting the prime time for their expression and satiation.
The same can be said for all the races of human beings in the current post-glacial world – but their ultimate progenitors remain elusively obscure, despite all the delving and digging of patient paleontologists. The domesticated primates of the late second millennium have been altered as thoroughly as their pets by their own predilections and imaginations – and by the long-range machinations of unseen presences. Beings possessed of extraordinarily long-term viewpoints and plans channel Humanity’s progress down predetermined routes with hamstringing fetters, hypnotic mental blinkers and subtly rutted tracks. Naturally, those who have been so altered and guided have little notion of their own true natures, or of the workings of the invisible hand which binds and blinds them to the wider, wilder reality wherein unseen demiurges dwell and play games with purblind mayfly mortals…


- Be Aware – The Prince of Centraxis site contains extremely implicit and explicit concepts and images; adults only.

- R.A.

Images – author’s

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