taotiger - Uroboros Dreaming

And the opportunity appears soon enough. A singularly uneventful period, working the ground of the small compound surrounded by rock walls to ensure crops producing in the warmer days ahead, building, and collecting wild fruits to preserve for harder times, the days wander steadily on. Foodstores nearing capacity, the cave now more comfortable than the hut had ever been, the night of the full moon nears again.

Earlier that day, Droufadni had mentioned the immanent trip to see the old man, asking what he had meant about, “…infinite spirit? It’s one thing talking about the river, or the beast - we can see them, they are in our life and dreams. But to be on about some endless mystery doesn’t relate to anything concerning us.”
“Well, probably in his way he was referring to what the villagers used to call Syzyg, the knowable half of which had to gather and offer sacrifice, through the workings of the tribe, to the unknowable part. Having been away from them for so long, it’s debatable which is worse, that so many animals and people were slaughtered for this purpose, or the possibility of some godly wrath following disobedience to the law. Personally, in all these years living without such practices, there hasn’t been the slightest evidence to support the words of the Elder Council in this area. Old they may have been, but not so wise in every matter. Now it’s of little concern who is right, only there is a feeling sometimes of a state of being beyond the ordinary. And more stable, unchanging and permeating everything. Surely you sense it, too? Maybe this is what he means…”
“…or maybe he’s out of his mind!” she quickly retorted.
“Maybe so, but still, there’s a sense of authority in his words. Until he shows otherwise, the doubt will remain in his favour. Tonight, perhaps, he’ll clarify some things…”

Descending once more into the tunnel system, step after step closing on the underground cavern, this time an atmosphere of expectancy hangs over the downward journey. What will he say? How can the truth of his words be gauged? Is there a reason he keeps coming back… In the dark, crystal-walled room splashing sounds play off the walls, creating a feeling of being underwater, sucked down beneath this seething, liquid mountain. Again Bukem is waiting on the other shore.

He says, “I know you are seeking an answer to the question: what is spirit? Foremost, it is everything, within and throughout all stuff, the grosser and more subtle. As well, spirit is the absolute ground upon which dances the boundless collective soul, comprising but not limited to countless individual soul dancers, writhing joyfully emitting rainbow lattices of mind, self conscious and reflective. From these essences spring all bodies, yours and mine included, and all the worlds, thrust into existence by an ultimately purposeful manoeuvre of the mind, a swing of soul’s hips in a dazzling array of sheer spirit-matter. There is no mystery, really. All is as it seems, and yet the depth we penetrate into it determines the very seeming.”
“What of the rocks and trees then. Weren’t they present before birth, and don‘t they appear the same to everyone - immutable?”
His response, somewhat confusing, “It’s a matter of relative changeableness. To me, the river runs from left to right, and to you, it flows from right to left. What happens to it before and after it enters this chamber is speculation at best - and it is the speculation that is real - we infer the river continues, and has a source, but it is just this cavern that is real to us now. There are patterns of natural phenomena that are common to all beings, however these are vague outlines, the substance of which is determined by continual co-creation of a consensus reality, by us. It is not the rocks that are unchanging - anyway, even these wear down eventually - it is parts of our very being that appear to alter faster or slower than other parts, manifested as the illusion of consistent materiality, and supported by a learned, shared, framework of comprehension.”
“So, we learn to see everything as objects, when in fact it is the subject creating existence…?” This is, of course, a best guess.
“Yes, mostly. This ‘everything’ is more an everythink, each moment conditioned by our whole being perceiving it into familiar forms. That is, until we can begin to see the truth within the stuff. You see, on one level all things, or thinks, are solid material units, but there are ways to gain vision of the unity underlying such apparent diversity. During the next interval between this night and coming here again, test this out by keeping your awareness in the present. Know that the past and future only occur in this present moment as memories, hopes and plans, so stick with the practice of rising and falling with the becoming, in the eternal now, and you may just catch a glimpse.”
“Alright. Is that all?”
The reply comes thundering across the torrent, “All? That’s more than enough. Be here again next moon.”

There is nothing for it but to retreat, and attempt to practice what he has taught. Such power emanates from his presence, such assurance and confidence, that it feels only right to try to become as he is by his method. Lighting the torch, the glare of the first flames temporarily blinding, the cave seems suddenly much darker. Although he cannot be seen, Bukem’s voice echoes from the room behind, “Check the alcove in the cave above, behind the rock!” Turning back to address him, he is there no longer. Wondering which alcove he refers to, walking through the tunnels is easier this time, bringing patterned walls into the light with each step.

Above, alone, Droufadni keeps watch over the fire, startling at the sound of approaching footfalls. “Is that you?“ she calls into the depths.
“Sure it is. Who did you expect?”
“It’s just that you were away longer this time, is all… and I thought something may have happened to you.”
Coming over to the fireside, “No, it’s all fine. I just have to check…”

has he been the singer in the band for 25 years… he gets around a bit… at the Rainbow, that is, did you see… and the others, of course… she’s a regular, I think… as far as this disk that… you can check that out on Google… catch them every Sunday afternoon at the… thanks mate, here we go…

Through a clouded mind the question is heard, “What’s the matter - why are you just standing there?”
“Don’t worry, those cursed voices again. Always on about some rubbish. The sooner they’re gone, the better.”

Regaining composure and climbing the ladder to the small sleeping bay, accompanied by a feeling of growing anticipation, searching around for any loose stones inside, at the farthest corner a trembling of the earth in hand reveals a moveable rock. Pushing it aside, there greets the fingers a rounded surface, smooth to the touch. Drawn out slowly, it is a ceramic cylindrical container with a top-heavy, metallic lid, but in the dim light carvings around the upper section and bottom are not discernable.

By the fire, the carved sections are intricate, detailed scenes of animals and plants, a lake, and a cave before which stands a human figure, holding high a flaming branch. Coloured pieces of stone have been embedded in the base matter to highlight the various elements. The lid also is patterned - a luminous gold disk, within which by the firelight shine six gemstones in apparently random array, surrounded by wavy points, perhaps a depiction of the sun. All about the sides of the canister, written characters such as those learned in the village spiral around from the top downwards.
“Let’s open it!” urges Droufadni.

So, twisting the uppermost section, after applying pressure the top comes off to expose… nothing. The container is empty. Together, letting out a sigh of disappointment, it is decided to inspect it further in the morning.

Awake at dawn, fire rekindled and ready to examine last night’s find, packing and lighting the pipe, it turns out to be more difficult than expected to read the text on the sides of the container. While the words written look to be the same as those taught in the community below, there are subtle differences, requiring some guesswork before it becomes intelligible. Working together, eventually the first line is found to read something like:

"Truly, without deception, certain and most true."

And truly, this makes very little sense. Perhaps in the context of the whole text, something is actually being said here. The next line, even trickier to fathom, at first does seem to support the general strangeness of the writing, although there is obviously a message in it deeper than the preceding sentence. As the sun rises higher, painstakingly the wording is determined to be, approximately:

"What is below is like that which is above, and what is above is like that which is below, to accomplish the miracles of the one thing."

After all this work deciphering so few words, Droufadni exclaims, “Well, this nonsense is not going to feed us. I think we can leave the rest for another time, eh?”
“Sure, sure - there’s enough to do around here without sitting stupefied by some mysterious writings on an ancient pot. And besides, along with everything else, Bukem has instructed that attention must be kept to the present. This will be hard enough, even if it wasn’t necessary to remember old words from years ago.”

Throughout that day, though, while the pair labour in the compound and the nearby woods, the words fill the air with a silent chatter - ‘above… below… one thing…’ - so that very little is accomplished, and both are more tired than usual by nightfall. Having eaten and feeling somewhat rejuvenated, the engraved cylinder is again brought forth, and looked at in the firelight. Upon close inspection, the six gems appear to be emerald, ruby, amethyst, diamond, sapphire, and the last an unusual stone the same as the protective amulet, a yellow/brown colour with internal striations picking up and reflecting the light. All the gemstones are larger than those seen on most jewellery, with a bright, lustrous clarity, arrayed each at a different point on concentric circles radiating from the centre of the lid.

Struggling late into the night while Droufadni is sleeping, the third sentence is decrypted, and reads:

"And as all things proceeded from one, through mediation of the one, so all things came from this one thing through adaptation."

Is this the spirit Bukem talks of, this one? Then ‘all things’ must still dwell as the one thing… So tired, must sleep…

The next few days, there is so much to do, that the container is temporarily forgotten. Dreams and work intervene, and preparations for the harvest, modest as it may be, continue. The darkness felt coming from the jungle previously has largely abated, presumably as a result of the power of the talisman and, for a time at least, the auditory hallucinations also are no more. Sun shines on the lives of the two on the mountain. All is quiet.

Then, one day weeks on, just as an armload of firewood has been gathered, a shout is heard coming from far down below, echoing momentarily through the treed slope. Dropping the load, running between the towering trunks, crushing plants underfoot, the cries become more distinct and louder. Real fear and distress can be heard from nearby - further down the mountain the foliage is denser, and progress is slower, now spreading branches and breaking through spiked bushes arms are bleeding and legs burning, sweat collecting under the hide-shirt.

The trees part at the foot of an escarpment, and ahead is the youngish man nursed back to health from fever, bailed-up by four huge boars, himself obviously injured and stuck on a ledge just above the ground and the closing animals. Yelling at the tusked beasts, they turn and move this way, startled at first then recovering momentum as they rush toward the trees as one. Drawing a blade, swinging at one with a sideways arm flick, it squeals and retreats…

The others, not so brazen now, reel around for another attack, think better of it and, snuffling in defeat, race off into the forest.

The youth calls, “Thanks - you’re just in time - I couldn’t have held them away much longer.”
“No trouble.” Walking closer, finding that his leg is badly gashed, “Need a hand getting home?”
“It’s fine, I should be right… just lost my knife as I fell from up there, and had no way to defend myself. If you can help me find it, I’ll be on my way again.”

Placing some herbs from the pouch on the wound and binding it tight with a strip of shirt, the knife is soon located and the young man on his way. Saying to him, “Next time you’re up this way, call by the cave up the hill. Be a pleasure to have your company. See you!”
“Bye!”

On the trip back up the mountain, it occurs just how the exercise of being in the present moment assisted to defeat the boars. A calmness even in the most violent time had pervaded the battle, and the animals sensed the presence of mind this afforded. Strange, but maybe Bukem knows what he’s on about…

Time passes, and with great effort two more lines from the side of the jar are transcribed:

"Its father is the sun; its mother the moon; the wind has carried it in its belly; its nurse is the earth."

"This is the father of all, the completion of the whole world."

Again, heading into the depths of the mountain, light and noise recede, a stark blackness disturbed only by the passing torchlight closes all around. Through one tunnel after another, stepping surely now the route well-known, towards the river cavern, painted shapes on the wall provide a reminder of the world above. At length, coming into the great room divided by the water’s flow, the torch is extinguished and eyes adjust to the subdued moonlight.

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