Become a Fan
Part Four, Chapter I, Revelation my special friend
By Oisín Breen
Sunday, April 11, 2004
Not rated by the Author.
Alright, this is a bit of what I'm doing now. This is one of the more grounded less artistic and vivid parts of the book. I've been working on the whole thing for about three weeks and I'm about 130 pages in. It's going pretty well and I wanted a little comment or two on this. Take it easy.
Peace and love. Oisin.
reat,” Sal’s voice. Jay woke up. He blinked, the lights seemed really bright. He was in Sal’s apartment on the couch. “How long?” he asked. There was silence for a minute then Sal came back putting her hand on his head then gave him some fruit concoction. “This,” she explained, “is something one of the first father figure’s in my life taught me how to make. It’s a mix of fruits full of seratonin and energy. It’s good for hangovers and probably for visions. Enjoy.”
“How long?” Jay repeated the question.
“Couple of days, now that you’re awake we need to get you well. You haven’t eaten. We gave you some fluids through a dropper, Ishmael held your throat open and I dropped the water in. I’ll order us up a pizza. What do you like?” Sal tried to smile, it was obvious she didn’t understand everything, she was concerned.
Jay didn’t really have the strength to answer. He felt very dizzy. These trials really took it out of him but there were definite good sides. Jay was completely at ease with himself, ego didn’t seem quite so important. He was becoming more assured, calm, in control, it was good. “Whatever you like.” he answered. “Just let me sleep for a little longer.”
He closed his eyes while Sal bustled about the apartment making calls for pizza but something kept him awake. She hurried back over to him and held his hand. “Now,” she smiled, “we don’t have to talk about anything at the moment, the last time I spoke to you, I was happy, we spent the night here. We don’t have to talk about it at the moment only get you well okay?”
Jay nodded. “Let me tell you a bit of something,” he asked for some more water, his throat was dry. “I was asked a question would I like wings but I said give me fins and let me soar through water and air, through visions and dreams. Give me eyes and let me see the stars, give me a thousand simple memories and let me show you glory. Give me a sight on every tree and flower and I will show you my happiness. Let me stand underneath a one hundred foot wilting flower and I will show you the majesty of autumn. Let the world spin just once while every man stands still then I will stare on at a kingdom of sagacity. Let each being glide through life as though on the back of huge butterflies. Let me be wise enough to train my body and mind for what I know they can do. Give me your hand and I will show you happiness. Give me time and I will show you devotion. Give me time for I must finish these trials.” Jay shut his eyes remembering the words spoke in his visions. It was a little different out in front of him though. He was lying on Sal’s couch in Barcelona feeling wonderful but his body was tired, drained. “What happened?” he asked.
“We found you.” Sal answered, her fingers clutching his, “Ishmael was meant to meet you. You never showed. We found you a few metres down from my apartment lying in a doorway. You could have been robbed. Honestly when you went missing I was worried. I,” she paused and looked away guiltily, “I have to say I wanted to smack Ishmael, he kept saying karma and the trials would keep you safe but I knew you needed us and we found you and you did need us and I’m so glad.”
Jay nodded, he was finding it difficult to reconcile himself into a situation of a relationship. He needed to spend his time meditating till the next trial to try and put meaning and emphasis on what he had seen. He needed a full time guide. These trials were intense. Coming back to a world of motorcars and wisecracks made everything seem so much cruder, so obscene, so dated like a nineteen-twenties silent movie under the influence of distortion and some bizarre grotesque notion of the ideal life. Get rich, get mad, die trying, beat the other person, finish first, use each other for sex, all this stupid bullshit. There was so much that was just too fucked up, there were women walking down the road bedding some stranger so they could both get down on their knees and pray, oh pray for one decent orgasm so they can get happy enough to realise its nice to work with people then try for a connection but then god if that happens, they all stop there, one connection, one person and that’s if it works.
Jay stared at Sal, he really did like her.
The buzzer rang and Sal, she darted off out the door. “You be good.” She wagged her finger then Jay heard her footsteps dance down the stairs. He looked out the window and saw a man sitting on a bench in a plaza beside a gaudy Italian seafood restaurant. He watched the man sitting down at the bench for the first three days of his recovery. He watched the motions of sex dancing in the street, there was no mastery, no art, no unity, no play only a gravitating desperation to get some idea of how beautiful sex is with any number of people. Sex is incredible but more so for the play, the power involved, the twisting and turning, giving the other person pleasure, showing them what their body is hiding, letting another person loose on you like an animal and other times like a young Mozart of sensuality. Sex shows the person from two states unified, animal and aesthete, can even go on toward mysticism in some occasions tho only if it is recognised as more than just a simple one two motion, a scream, a shaken bed and some torn up latex.
Jay looked out on the streets and saw solace only in the pigeons. He felt down.
Sure, things were happening but somehow the thought of beginnings didn’t much concern Jay McIntosh. It was like being left in the lurch, he needed to learn more, there was more for the visions to teach but he had been left walking, his only clue a Laurence of Arabia type figure standing with his hands raised in a blaze of circled wagons. He really began to understand he was a wanderer.
‘The roofs over the houses glittered in some rustic yellow almost cutting the sky.’ Jay wrote in his notebook. It had been three days and all he did was sit down at the same window. He sat for three days then stood up.
What was he doing at the window? What wisdom, what reason was this? The only answer is he felt as tho he brought his ego for a walk in the park and let it hang dry, get all its complaints out, let it rant and rave against injustice and love and lust and detriment and merriment then it is empty and can go.
That last day at the window Jay thought about a lot of things. He had left Sal in nowhereland. He kissed her now and then but his touch said something different. He needed time, he did love her but he needed time that he didn’t have. It was nothing he could explain. She accepted his needs, was calm, good, perfect, he tried to thank her, to apologise but she heard nothing of it. In some way he kind of resented the fact that she wasn’t even slightly pissed off at his moods. He wanted her to provoke him so he could confide in her everything, tell her the things he was considering. Ishmael was gone for a few days to check in on Anoushka, another taking the trials. He was to be back on Thursday. It was Tuesday.
Jay sat for three days to let his ego empty, nothing seemed his anymore because he had nothing left to mourn. His personality was a creature and it did exist tho it no longer struggled against the vicious rains to stand tall but humbly bent in the wind and laughed gladly to the sun, arm in arm with a partner in harmony.
Jay felt at the end of these days that it was all good. The sun shone on him in Barcelona and the unwise simply were that, no troubling creatures but darlings not yet in the light. How beautiful it was here, even in this commercial town. It felt like he took his ego for a walk in the park. He understood now the moods, his temper, his confusion, his anguish, these were the last stands of various parts of his personality that were almost totally negative. He had beat them. They were gone. Sometimes when a person is becoming more peaceful there are small lapses of concentration that seem all the more terrible as they are becoming such an exception. A talented writer of the soul can have writers block but if he really is writing a good story the thing comes out in the end.
Jay stood up he saw a gallows and hanging from the tallest pole a glorious sight, an ego hung and limp, blowing listlessly in the wind.
Jay McIntosh heard the sound of violins and stepped over the threshold into the kitchen. He put his arms around Sal’s belly holding her tightly to him. He kissed her neck and was comfortable. He blew a kiss in her ear and took her to bed.
Copyright © 2004 Oisín Breen. No reprints or distribution of any kind sort in any form in this or any other known universe or dimension or medium without my express permission.
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|Reviewed by Tinka Boukes
|Intense moment in this one Oisin!!
I think this will be a best seller...very very well written!!