Liquid Dreaming

Life on the bottom of an atmospheric ocean

When it rains in the rainforest, it pours. The blasting heat had become enervating, each footstep a crackling portent of fiery energies to come - of fire or electricity relentlessly moving closer, ready to manifest as bushfire or thunderstorm. The choice was an easy one to make.

I adjusted the neo-Reichian cloudbuster to draw ambient moisture into the crater of the ancient volcano that surrounds this part of the Great Southland, eliciting a particular form of manifestation from the flow of ‘soft electrons’ leaking into this plenum through the vortexial action created by this simple little device. Unlike Wilhelm Reich’s first cumbersome pioneering models (celebrated in Kate Bush’s Cloudbuster clip; see it on UTube), this version is a wonder of simplistic engineering, with no moving parts at all!

Suffice to say I tell none of my neighbours of these weathermaking efforts. While most enjoy rain after two months with barely a drop, they all dislike floods. I’m still fine-tuning my application of the device, and so far this year we’ve had an unprecedented series of five major floods. Live and learn. After the last one I ensured the cloudbuster was set up on this side of the river, where I usually hang, so I could access and readjust it in an emergency.

When this week’s deluge arrived we had eighteen inches of rain in eighteen hours, after which I reset the cloudbuster to raise the clouds above the level where they’d produce rain; just as well it was on this side of the river! The bridges to town had already gone under and the road itself had disappeared in a couple of locations, carried away amidst landslides and the rampaging gully-raking waters, but the rain thinned and lifted over the next hour and the dam behind my building project is filled to the brim.

When the rains really come down in this gorgeous gorge country the hills truly come alive with the sound of music. The screaming waterfalls, singing streams, raging rivers and the rumbling rocks making rapid neo-glacial progress down all their bedrock courses combine with the torrential rain to produce what many would term ‘audial hallucinations’ – but to a shaman like me they’re a fugue of richly resonant frequencies, conspiring with my inner ear to create audio holograms filled with uncanny meaning, sonic auguries that delight the hearing of this particular her(m)etic musician. There’s no shortage of melodies, riffs or beats; in order to ‘create music’ at times like these all a musician has to do is pluck the sounds from living creation and emulate them as best one can.

The living world is a sentient landscape, continuously passing messages into the open ears and dreaming minds of all who sail in her, cohabiting with myriad other lifeforms who call this waterworld Earth their home. Symphonic music, complex rhythmic beats, massed choirs and murmuring voices arise from the interplay of the elements amidst a watery dancing field of innumerable intersecting wavelengths. Coherent sounds arise out of the endless white noise, telling anciently relevant tales, singing freshly resurrected songs of all the strange scenes the primordial rocks and soils have witnessed as they ride the whirlybird world round the whorl of the Milky Way galaxy.

All our perceptions of the universe arise from such intersecting waves, meeting at the infinite parallax point of your consciousness.

Old lessons are never forgotten while the landscape retains its essential character, shape, integrity and biological identity. Whenever anything changes everything in this hologrammic universe subtly alters and the song is transposed to a different key of meaning – but the songlines keep singing for those with an ear to hear the seminal music they continue to carry from moon to moon and epoch to epoch. Ancient wisdom is always available, pouring through the holey sieve of reality and cascading around every woman, child and man who pauses for a moment of quiet contemplation or dances with frenetic steps to keep up with the everturning tide.

Another day in paradise without having to make the trip to a fussbudget town is always a godsend, and it only took two days for the waters to subside enough to access the nearest internet connexion – a fifty klick round trip into the nearest village to update the New Illuminati and the Prince of Centraxis sites (see below). My Geocities sites all disappeared into the volatile maw of digital history just last week, along with ALL the free sites hosted by Yahoo Geocities. If you want to build a site with them now, it has to be linked to a credit card; doubtless photo ID soon, too, and your biometric data and sexual history to boot.

But for now the nearest village remains a bumpkin bastion of bucolic mediocrity, with only three or four surveillance cams to oversee the two thousand locals who call the township and entire surrounding region home; one of these cameras stares down at me when I set up the laptop at the broadband-connected building. “Enough rain for you?” the government sponsored internet café’s proprietor asked with one eyebrow suspiciously cocked; he’s heard me talk to the local alchemist (who volunteers at the establishment once a week) about the cloudbuster. If I’m lucky he still doesn’t take me seriously…

Meanwhile, a hundred thousand years of soil is washed away downstream and dumped on the bed of the swelling ocean. The farmers (mainly graziers, actually, with no real claim to the knowledge carefully accrued and stored by real sons and daughters of the soil, who literally preserve the earth) and loggers spent more than a century trashing all the rivers and every little waterway they could lay their axes and cattle on, and now the price is being paid by us all.

The rivers must be replanted with filtering fringes of trees to stop deathly desiccating evaporation and the continual collapse of the banks, which fill in the deep waterholes as they make their way to the ocean, rendering the cool water warm and lifeless. After a few decades all the soil washes away, the rivers jump their banks and destroy the paddocks, and the farmers stand around scratching their heads in a rocky denuded desert. It happens to the best of civilizations.

We need to start paying attention and paying more than lip service before the wellsprings of life run dry, as they already have in much of the world. We need to replant rainforests along all our waterways (they also make great carbon stores, firebreaks, habitat and wildlife corridors for endangered creatures) and fence out the cattle that illegally graze these public lands – for that’s what the verges of every stream are, not private booty but part of the common wealth. The farmers won’t replant and fence the and; most of them break the law every day by grazing cattle right in the rivers and cutting down any tree or sapling that threatens to take up a square yard of money-grubbing grass.

Strangely sensible laws have been in place for more than a century in most parts of the ‘civilized’ world. Destroying riverbanks has been illegal in most places for a very long time, but governments routinely turn a blind eye to malfeasance unless complaints are made. So you have a choice; plant more (non-combustible rainforest) trees along the nearest river or stream, or make a complaint to your nearest government agency responsible for water or soil if you can’t be bothered. Or perhaps both.

Either way, the land needs a hand from more sensible people who’ll come and live with it and heal its wounds; the past generations of pioneer thugs have had their chance and can’t be trusted to do the right thing while the siren song of money has deafened their ears to the music of the planet’s tears.

Of course, none of this mindless destruction would occur if people realised there’s no sense or reason to keep, kill and eat dead animals. But then, civilisations have always destroyed necessities to create temporary luxuries.

The world is crying out for a change, and the only real change is always in you. As for me – I’m only a fig of the image nation, another nut hanging from the Tree of Life planting seeds and seedlings in whatever soil I happen upon.

Meanwhile, fresh mulberries, apples, raspberries and strawberries are a deliciously sweet breakfast as the river sings songs of home, and this laptop is sucking up photons while another twenty trees are ready to go into the ground on this fine wet day. Paradise, anyone?

- R.A.

Images - author’s

See Water Power

See The Triumph of Wilhelm Reich

For further enlightenment see –

The New Illuminati

(These sites have been locked by Today.com and this author no longer has access to his own blogs - Enlightenment Today

Imagine Nation – Artwork & Images )

The Her(m)etic Hermit - http://hermetic.blog.com

The Prince of Centraxis

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From The Rainforest Home of the Her(m)etic Hermit - http://hermetic.blog.com