CHAPTER 1

Black on white. Ink spills onto the page. In characters that dance tothe drums of ancient beats. There are no blank pages. Only knowledge thatawaits a conduit through which its truth can emerge; undiluted and pure.Straight from the source of the universal that.

You see these pages are clearly spoken for.

Ease yourself into the scriptures. You may experience contractionblisters before you can cultivate a connection to the expansion of unlimitedpossibilities within the vessel of your own being. Just like a new pair ofshoes that need to be broken in.

Ardent Starlet

Where shall I start this tale of love and discovery? A story where theprimal, lustful flesh merges with the adolescent mind to collaborate in theforging of a new self.

Let me start where every good party eventually ends up: in the kitchen.So here I am. Forty something and hunched over the dirty dishes. Keepingmy focus on looking sexy even while engrossed in this mundane task.Lately, for some peculiar reason this desire to look attractive seemsoverly important.

Don't get me wrong. I am not that shallow. I have depth that is nottaught pressing a school bench. I know to be substantial, you have to thinksubstantial. So I think sexy, in a real substantial way, in the hopes that Ican turn back the hands of time.

The other day, a close friend shared an epiphany as he nimbly climbedthe podium and proclaimed, "I went from feeling blessed to feeling guided." Ithought, "What a lucky fellow. Couldn't we all use a little guidance? Wouldn'tit be so much easier to lay our load of responsibilities into someone else'slap as we announce: Why are you judging me? I was guided by a higherenergy to take these actions."

Some lunar cycles later

My experientially obsessed life is not unlike the melody of your flutewhose sound joyfully arises for no other reason but to give birth to aresonance of truth.

I feel no pressure to be anywhere and bask in the sweet solitude ofsurrender. On top of that pinnacle I reside with my thoughts. Pen drawn,words my ammunition of choice, and the colloquy starts to arrive. Acascading stream of consciousness filters through me from a source thatis vast and unmapped.

There is a longing in all of us for answers that bring substance to ourjourney. Here is what I have come to know. I anticipate my uncensoredthoughts will send you into an intergalactic spin.

This sphere shall not continue to exist as you know it. Neither will theother two spheres of Dream and Twitch. The following declarations laywitness to impending changes.

Behold the woman that I am

Let us prepare for what is to come. What an intriguing concept. Even ifyou anticipate the unexpected, the rap of life will make you dance beyondthe boundaries of your limited self. There was a time I thought myself wellprepared. Every morning I told the universe to bring it on. I was about tolearn the most profound lesson ever.

It was in the land of Twitch, where in a blink of an eye, I encounteredthe grand scheme of the Goddess. Albeit during the occurrence of thiscatalytic shift I had no awareness of the huge commotion that was gainingmomentum. Rolling stones gather no moss; neither did I.

At the tail end of a long day a nagging gut feeling had me pressedagainst the ledge of a steep precipice. My soul, all knowing and wise,gathered a few things: A rainbow coloured parachute, a sheath woven fromlove vibrations, a working pair of ruby slippers.

Advertisement Insert: Every intergalactic princess needs some snazzyfootwear. Instructions on the bottom read, "When in need of emergencyevacuation back to home front, simply click heels three times and recitethe incantation: there is no place like home." A handy accessory one shouldnot leave home without.

I was totally oblivious to the fact that shortly my heartstrings would beplayed like a Spanish flamenco guitar. Admission of Ms. Starlet, universalsurfer, "When it comes down to the circumstantialities of the unfolding, I amadequately unprepared." It appears I also live a life filled with ambiguity.

So there I was stretched out under my duvet cover and ready to makesweet love to my pillow, with full anticipation awaiting my rejuvenatingforty winks for the night.

Have you ever been there? On the brink of slumber, when a sensationof falling yanks you back to consciousness? Usually this spasmodic ticonly thrusts you for the briefest moment to wakefulness before you arecatapulted past the twitch into your dreams; portalled from one dimensionto the next in a blink of an eye.

Tonight, I was in for ample surprises as the scenario played out like atwisted fairy tale. The grand adventure was even equipped with a uniquePrince Charming. I entered the planet Twitch via the above mentionedspasm, role-playing the bitch. Now who would have expected that sequenceof events?

The first emotion that oozed out of my lovely self was one of allconsuming rage. What the hell was going on? Did I not have justification tobe fuming? Who dares to screw with my much needed rest? Life is toxicenough. Sleep has always been a sacred thing for me. I was simply not inthe mood for extracurricular escapades.

Flat on my fanny, feeling rather indignant and looking around witha significant amount of disorientation, I asked myself where I hadunceremoniously landed. The circumstances had none of the flavouring ofa dream and, without a doubt, I was no longer in "Kansas".

Livid outrage snaked through my veins. My pulsating ego roared anangry line of curses not fit for a lady. Every night there was another messup. I was so specific with my dream requests and even had previouslyinvested in a lucid dream course to ensure desired dream outcome. So,where was my azure coloured dream? My desired visions were of vastoceans and waves lapping at a sandy shore line. Certainly, not this.

Hold the presses! Who was this mightier than thou character demandingmy instantaneous attention? Meet Mr. Burning Man in his immeasurableglory. I was not overly inspired to make his acquaintance and used a bitof witchery to let him know how I felt about his presence. My wad of rawenergy accosted him expeditiously and precisely. Eureka! It manifested ahuge commotion. He had a nerve to tell me to cool it? I strongly suggestyou lower your own boiling point Mister.

Dear Reader, have you ever attempted to hold on to a wire chargedwith 240 voltages? This is exactly how I twisted and squirmed in his steelgrip. Indeed, his attempt to wrestle me into submission was deliciouslyentertaining.

The man of the hour was quite a sight to behold: a downright visualfeast. He towered over me by at least three feet and was a positivelybloody burning hunk of a gigantic dude, with deep pools of eternal darknessas eyes. They were burning into me with a blazing fury. Unnervingly, heheld my gaze. His leathery trench coat flapped in the wake of myfuriously-hurled-out-into-the-void-energy-projection. A wicked combination ofwoodsy smoke and testosterone wafted up my nostrils. This perfectlybalanced aftershave made me feel weak in the knees. Angrily, I admittedI was aroused by this strange phantasm. Lunar moments experienced bya loony.

A bit obtuse when it came to my comprehension, the Burning Man'spatience reached the point of exhaustion quickly and happenings tookanother unexpected turn. Mr. Burning Man flashed me. Just not the wayyou are allowing your imagination to run wild. A blaze of indescribableenormity heated my nerve endings to full combustion. The searing painelicited steam to rush out of my ears. The stimulation intensified by themoment until I felt like I was hit innumerable times by lightening bolts.Ouch! No good to piss off Agni, the Hindu deity of fire, or whoever thisdude was supposed to be. Realization that I messed with the wrong fellowarrived speedily.

And wasn't he just full of surprises. Unerringly cosmic charmer bytrade he pulled another trick out of the sleeve of his smoldering trench andmy sensory input changed from misery to orgasmic ecstasy. Filled with araunchy longing to copulate, I could hardly contain myself from jumpinghis gianormous lingam. Eagle spread, without the slightest resistance, Iwelcomed the coition.

And back to misery and shock therapy.

As he oscillated me a few more times, I realized how well thoughtthrough his plan was. My pleasure continued to rise and heighten withevery contrasting experience. My sanity grappled with the paradox, whilstmy inhibitions short-circuited into floozy over-drive.

After what seemed like an eternity of bouncing between misery andfervor, he was finally done with me. I climaxed a tidal wave of love juicesthat flowed unencumbered out into the composition of Twitch.

Joyful to report I was not the only one caught off guard. The releaseof my orgasmic river presented a certain challenge to his balance. Myabundant juiciness and his fire were not compatible. I could not believe myeyes when I realized he made a mad dash for the hills.

Note: the term "hills" is loosely used. I was questioning the existenceof these hills as much as my own sanity.

Hills or no hills, the battle sound of retreat echoed off the canyonwalls. I was left standing in a puddle of sticky secretion with a stupid grinon my face.

I returned from the Land of Twitch with an altered ego. Nothing feltquite the same.

Perhaps I had just endured a near death experience. I entertainedthe idea that I had flat lined under the intense electroconvulsive regimen.With certainty, I apprehended that after this raging sexual encounter noordinary guy could ever measure up. The taste buds of my libido wereseeking avant-garde stimulation. And so the quest for my exclusive holygrail began.

A longing born from blind lust loomed over the days to come. Iobsessed over one man(to)date. How can I make my way back "there"—wherever"there" was. The sphere of Twitch was not to be found on anyplanetary chart. This dimension between reality and dream, where sexualgratification is a wicked combination of pain and pleasure, seemed asmysteriously cloaked as Avalon.

The following months were living hell. I was so occupied with the notionof re-entering Twitch that I neglected all that I had previously treasured.My friends' concern was palpable. They suggested tropical get-a-ways,psychological assessments, and one-night stands. I forgave them. Howcould they possibly understand?

I want to know, "Who is this speaking in my head?" There are so manyvoices that are not mine. All these fabrications and distortions seeminglyburned into the folds of my grey matter. Why do I accept them as myreality? I have to attain a stratagem by which I can purge myself and withmy head held high step into sovereignty.

Time is the tranquilizer, and hope the syringe that injects the serumdeep beneath my skin. Months flow into months without another encounter.The memory of the outer-worldly affair dulls. Yet there is a constantlonging to taste of this forbidden fruit the Burning Man so liberally hadindulged me with. I am Eve waiting in a Garden of Eden gone sour. I amready to sell my soul to the burning hunk of a devil that showed me ultimatevivacity. Yet no invitation to party with him in Twitch comes forth.

I encounter serious challenges to fit into the on goings of the banalworld. Many full moon cycles pass yet the intensity of that one galacticorgasm has me still quivering with delightful memories. Forever imprintedinto the very matter of my cell structure I yearn to re-live the experience.That fateful day I may have won the battle but his game plan is finely honed.I stew away in my love juices in what seems a nightmarish infinitude.

I itch to cause more ripples in the galactic pond. But it seems our timeline is of no concern to the mighty Burning Man. I am anointed to crusadethrough many other adventures before him and I shall meet again.

This dance of concealment and revelation is an ongoing process in thefolds of my being. Bits and pieces of information arrive on the networkhighways of the grey matter. I dip my quill into the life juice of continuanceand report on the endlessly pulsating state of chaos and order. With agrand sweep, the grandness of life explodes. Is this of interest, my friend?Can your intellect celebrate the breeze of newness whose ambition it isto clean out the shambles of your misconceptions? This may be the dustbuster you have been waiting for in order to suck up the cobwebs of socialdistortion.

I give myself over to the winds of destiny. Thrown into the fire, I willeither be forged into a more resilient representation of my former self, orburst into flames, whereby my disintegrated remains will unencumberedfloat to the blue horizon; glistening dust particles dancing in the sunlight.Every ending holds within itself a new beginning. The earth's fertilityamplified by my disintegrated self.

I am unbiased. Either way is eminent. Hard as tempered steel orflambéed like a phoenix, I shall complete the cycle on the schedule of theGoddess. She will breathe me until she is done with me. Self effort balancedwith surrender manifests the harmonious dance between the macro-andmicrocosm.

Here we go again. Another night and I settle myself into the warmthof my duvet. Eyes softly closed I tenderly reach my tentacles out intothe dimension of Twitch and fall fast asleep. I peacefully conk out forlong, undisturbed hours. Then I awake with the feeling of being cheatedon churning in the pit of my belly. Why did my fiery astral lover not bringme hither into his waiting arms? Who was he busy with when not in mycompany? Deep down I was hoping I could make a pact with him. The fireof burning desire makes you contemplate crazy deals. If he was indeed ElDiablo, I would gladly sell my soul in exchange for his skillful pleasures.In preparation, I search for a quill. One that I can promptly dip into a fewdrops of my precious life blood. I am ready to sign the Faustian pact onthe dotted line.

Since meeting Mr. Burning Hunk, I have a real issue getting a grip onwho I am. Various personalities battle for my attention. I shape shift fromone persona to the next. From an incessant arsenal of characters I feastuntil I am so bloated that I lay for days in fetal position recuperating fromemotional indigestion. So many sacred contracts to fulfill, so little time.

You look at me without comprehension. I challenge all you havepreviously held real. When the unknown beckons, one can not anticipateall variables. "The tangible and surreal dance side by side", I bravelyproclaim. No great chasm separates these contrasting energies of ourworld. A fertile ground is soft and mushy. My feet sink into the brackishwaters. I wade through the muck accompanied by my strong desire toconnect to the ultimate pleasure center. Can I find the spark of the Divinein the fertilizing dung; in the paradox of tangible existence? It's a crucible,this task of turning lead into gold.

Sweet irony has society sanitizing itself a little bit more year afteryear. Soon, where shall we reach for nourishment? These computerized,sterile environments provide no nutrients. We are unable to spread ourindividual roots into the connective webbing. A disconnect is evident. Westand isolated and alone. What has become of this world? The state ofdemented recklessness and self glorifying despair brought many into theeye of the storm. Bless them! These personas have reached a differentdimension and are at peace now. In the outlying fringes of the tornado gianthands toss the characters that resist in a lighthearted game of ball. Buriedare the happy days in a pile of rubbish. My friends, the Goddess feels herchildren's pain. Yet the ignorance to the recognition of divine origin is theprovocation. A divine action plan is implemented. Intuition grumbles in thepit of my stomach. My encounter with Mr. Burning Man was not a randomoccurrence. Yet, like a partially developed photo, the image is blurry andundefined.

These cabalistic messages arrive daily and I feel imbued with theteachings of this higher being. Did I start on a path of psychic/psycho themoment I allowed the orgasmic heights of intergalactic dimensions in?But it is what it is, and therefore, I shall continue to surf the merry tidalwaves with a fiery heart. After all, courage is the emotion of the mightywarrior.

I hope you will read on. I have a feeling these ludicrous statementswill escalate as I shamelessly continue to cut the shackles that keep meprisoner of my unworthy self. Shall we celebrate freedom together?

To be free

Freedom is the state of the True Self. What manacles keep youimprisoned from tasting the sweetness of life? I have seen much of whatsuppresses the celebration. Although the bars of the prison vary, theeffect is always the same.

I have witnessed people toiling on islands where the soil is crusty anddry. No rain falls for months, on end. The lunar landscape supports thehuman life only through hardship. Every day becomes a struggle to survive.Freedom is far from anyone's reach. The islanders can only dream of theliberty to fly away to brighter horizons.