Bodhi d.

Dharma goes to the West

We are a spirit. We are a knowledge. That human beings do not exist ahs never been contested. It’s
these memories, these poisons that reassur3e our false sense of existence. Thus spake the Great.

Woke up at noon. My work here is done. Time to see what else I can work on, as I drink this cup of
tea. The drink that energizes and vitalizes. Mmm. What it seems to be is having taught the populace
to think for themselves, I can now allow myself to understand the greater mysteries that are.
Mystereies of what ay beyond, what could be and what is. Perhaps I follow the sun now, as it rises so
have I, as it radiates so have I, perhaps now is my turn to set , slowly, and follow it as it falls upon the
lands beyond name , beyond language and knowledge.

The question remains is how to travel. The peripatetic route would see my bones unravel to the dust
that feeds the plants, not in itself a terrible proposition. However, seeing the land beyond time
might allow new information to percolate into my experience that I may understand more of what it
is that causes time to unfold.

***

Having completed his teaching and his duty of spreading his ideas near, it came time to spread them
far, and along the way pick up some new knowledge of the kind that the Orient is not familiar with.
It thus came to be that he began his journey across the Asiatic terrain and reached upoin the land of
the Djinns.

***

“Ouch”

***

Hasheesh, of course has its own magic about it. The malady to the cure, the secret guided by the
Kush mountains. Tea met a powerful force in its own stead with this plant. Whereas one brings
about a calm, steady consistent, laze laced with attentive focus, the other sought simply to bring
about the tricks of the (Bodhi)Sativas. The poison of Super-Mara, with the capability to mire the
weak into a trance of inaction and unknowledge. To satiate the ills of rigour and order, the baggage
of taking too much of today’s wind, forgetting that a wind bloweth tomorrow as well. As it went,
however, those who see met the other side in full force. With the ability to strangle, choke,
demolish, destroy all percepts of ordinary reality. To transport the wielder (foolish enough to parlay)
into the realm of “What if?”. As the steady stream of insights and knowledge floweth in, the
consumption takes a dark color, of the familiarty of darkness behind closed eyelids, as the true
knowledge spread further and further into the depths of perception, consciousness taking on a
questionable appearance, of the probabilities of unrelated events occurring at seeming immediacy
slipping into causual existence.

That those who sat with Tea for so long had now to associate with such a fiend of the psychical
realms seems a cruel joke. Hasheesh in itself is a concentrate of a potion, and this concentrate
traipsed along with all the neurons responsible for rationality and normalcy.

He consumed it.

***
“Ah, strong, so it is, Strong, yes.”

“We sit.”

***

Suddenly, the flow of events came under a harmonic tune. A symphony organized by the
environment (or the concoction) to be appreciated or feared, both being the same, as the body now
adapts to this, This new Reality.

To trust or to tempt, that remain the question under the influence of that which takes control. Fear
is the temptation, the veneer repelling complete extraction of communication from the realms we
do not observe. A messenger is useful, to send out questions while receiving answers and vice versa.
Some questions are benign, some send you running for your heirlooms and underpants.

Skipping through time, to remember an action and return only beyond the actualization of another
action. Divine repetitions, and complete vacancies in memory space, ah, all of this is of course
ordinary. This is what you are inviting, by seeking refuge in that which is not to be trusted. That
beyond the trivialities and facades of seeming irrelevance, there may truly remain Evil.

Tea seeks to remain in the seat, take control and keep the experience consistent, if that word could
mean anything. It is simply a meagre attempt at “surrender”? Fear, it seems exist beyond these
plants, and thus the concept of evil births into existence. That if everything skips through time,
immemorial, still time, in stillness and silence, where would the evil arise from? That there exist
connotations with certain conditions of existence as pure and true, whereas others with a sense of
nonchalant disregard.

“We have sat, we have listened, we have bowed, about time we leave.”
“This one, this one does not sit on our council, this one is an outcast, a charlatan rousing the lesser
pleasures in mortals and higher voids in others”
“Onwards”.

***

Thus it came to be that the plants of the Kush came to be disregarded. As a vile, buxom charlatan,
worthless in the pursuits of truth (the question wholly unanswered on the pursuit of illusions). With
this a Greater part of Asia came to be disregarded along with numerous cultures and traditions that
consider the concoction as medicine. Thus, the story goes.

***

Crosseth now the Mediterranean, amongst mists of salty vapors, and cuisines of “olivean” pleasures
raiseth the Gods of the Heavens above, with councils of their own, with assemblies, with abodes
with Planets, with festivals, with followers, fanatics and fools. Came into the land of blood, sweat,
tears, of emperorors, of statues and betrayals, of literature, of language, myyrh and myth, of Poetry-
of Divine Inebriation.

***

“Yikes”

***

“*sip*”
This, this has a different tone. Certainly, a different effect, a slight physic. This could be a substitute
certainly.

Tea seems to be taking well to the effects of Wine. Like one completes the other, yet competing all
the time. To take charge, to show the true self over the Self. Much to learn, much to be learnt, and
so many to teach. Yet does any of it matter? This is what the drunkenness teaches, forces down the
hole- that time is inconsistent. That time is moldable by the hands of mortals. That one could
possibly find some solace in consuming a potion and cheating death for a few moments. Moments of
truth, moments of numbness. These warm vibration being sent directly down to the processing
center of the spirit and allowing us to succumb to incoherent, inconclusive, non consensual
surrender. That this “drunkenness” gathers pace with each sip, yet with each sip brings about a
beauty of joyful existence. Whehter real or otherwise can never be ascertained at the moment of
time, only with passing of the state from one to the next without realizing that each moment is
stealing from another moment when the drunkness is stolen back by Tea. Sobriety tolling the tax of
sensibility and responsibility.

Tipping slowly, slowly, slowly, reaching the State. The State. Well yes the State that all must reach.
Hand in hand takes us from out to in, from the sensibilities of pretense to the sensibilities of feigned
action. That one must forsake the other, that somehow somewhere there is a reason for this
happening to the drunk. Time does not stop, yet the flow has breaks in it, breaks in coming and
going, in the Nens, in the coming and going, in the ebb and flow. Thinking nothing is missing, keep
going, on and on and on and then. Where from shall there be to go from there, no destination
abound, none. To catch hold of these bitter streams of life, withholding some sense of positivity, yet
emnraciong the negativity.

That there are lessons to be learnt is clear, which is the questions isn’t it. Now comes the letting go.
Of accepting that life is. Yet is it> Is it truly, or is there some sense of sometjong more tp be foind
lying nehinf the veneer of civility. Rumours spread form rumours being built, of promiscuity and
some more of the likeness of shining lights. With each breath the Tea holds on closer as the other
slips over in streams of never here, neber were, never to be. The two dance, as they decide who
wins, time or drunkeneness. Time or space. Time or energy being ectracted and energy being
supplied. LOogiv still stands strong. Logic of sensibilities, of symphonies sunf in tunes not to be told.
Secret tunes, by the two grabbing onto whispers. When suddenly, realization dawns, and a new day
calls.

“This too shall be forbidden, for within it lay a secret. A secret of certain tales having been sunf, that
were never to leave the mouth of the Bard. This too shall be foreclosed into the secrets that only
few will know, that only few can praise. “

Onwards”

***

A travel backwards, while retaining the sense of decorum brought on by the intimate bliss of
allowing the two from the past tangle with each other.

Healing. Leaving the pain. Inviting Bliss.

***

“Hmm”

***
“So I swallow it?”

“Some drink it, some smoke it. We, here, eat it.”

***

Complete, and total, surrender. Of gibing up any vestige of control and allowing the medicine to
heal. Slowly, at first, subtly, surely. Yet when it is there. Then there are none quite like it.

Opium took hold over the fingers, gingerly caressing the pains of living lives not called upon. Of
questions, questing, orgasmic tetraplets riding along veins, the blood stream, the longing gaze into
the abyss.