Title art by Rod McIntosh.
Listen to Suggested Audio
Belinda Carlisle “Circle In The Sand”
They’re not all vicious you know. Circles we mean. Contrary to reports that anything within a circular boundary boasts a set of gnashing teeth and unhealthy appetite for destruction, we’re now two weeks late returning that mysterious video tape to sender and have seen hide nor hair of any greasy haired oriental well lurkers. For any Middle-Earth enthusiasts amongst us – the ring is most precious. You see, it just so happens to possess mystical properties. This is the part where some may tune straight out as apparently there is no real magic. I mean, it’s all just smokes and mirrors right? One top hat, one rabbit, one ridiculously oversized handkerchief and you have yourselves a ready-made SHAZAM! But it’s ultimately mere illusion. Should you subscribe to this school of thought then that’s your choice and we’re not looking to perform group hypnosis here. If you consider yourself a believer, on the other hand, well then you really couldn’t be in better company.
We’re taught to believe what we can see, hear, smell, taste and touch and these five senses appear to have us well enough covered for the most part. That being said, we’ve managed to find a way of doubling up on that tally. Indeed, since December 12th 2017, it has been pretty much two times the everything minus the pretty much part. Absolute 200% symmetry. We’ve mentioned this during a number of our Dark Fusions but today we bid to burrow a little deeper beneath the husk and elucidate just what makes the greykeeper connection so otherworldly. You see, great divination is indeed afoot, and there can be no earthly explanation for the manner in which we have fused into effectively one being. This isn’t wholly exclusive to our art either; it extends to every last interaction. And never once do we feel like we’re dealing in fractions.
A clean line of sight is imperative from the offset and, within moments, our willingness to leap straight in with both steel toed shit kickers afforded us the second sight to see one another in purest Crystalline. Ordinarily, mind games ensue at this point as things swiftly descend into a chess game of sorts; one of strategical placement and forward planning. We humans place our traps cunningly, deceive one another habitually, and construct dishonest effigies of ourselves as we look to appear worthy of worship. Primary contact then tends to play out in a decidedly cagey manner, until which time as the dynamics are set firmly in place. This may be the customary course of action, but there is nothing about either one of us that settles for convention when it is so often hellishly skewed. Better yet, we had reached the same points of no return and with uncanny synchronicity, so both of us were open to taking a little more unorthodox an approach to locking this beautiful thing of ours down, quick smart.
Listening was key here and this accounted for the seventh sense as we appreciate the ancient art of speechcraft and the importance both parties play in this process. It’s all too common for people to cut one another off mid-flow and there is nothing more discouraging than the feeling that not a solitary syllable you spill counts for squat. Then we have ebbs and flows, knowing when the tête-à-tête has reached its natural conclusion, and avoiding the dreaded “uncomfortable silence” like a double dose of the Black Plague. Lest we not forget that silence is golden and we’re never more luxuriant than when both of us reach Zen in unison and simply sit hand-in-hand on the precipice of our dual design. Most critically however, we hear one another. Not just listen intently for any potential openings to steer the conversation back to our neck of the woods, pay indivisible attention to every last minor detail being divulged. The way it should be if you genuinely adore another. Power struggles? Never heard of ’em.
A keen sense of smell comes in rather handy also. Once we feel both seen and heard, the air around us begins to clear and, should we allow our nostrils to flare like Hannibal Lecter in a slaughterhouse, then we can truly take in the bouquet. Our garden is one of tremendous light first and foremost and any darkness which resides does so within the Citadel of our creation. Having leapt into the rabbit hOle so many times already and without the impending dread of causing ourselves a mischief, impurities never need drift their way into our air supply. Honesty is every bit as beautiful as it is brutal, cutting out all the bullshit of keeping up charades and inviting the red mist to roll back in. As a result of imperishable integrity, the aroma is only ever fragrant. And there is no more efficient a decongestant than that of picking up a scent and never ever letting that trail off. By our calculations, that is eight senses licked, and not a solitary one of them hateful. But here is where it is hyper-critical we roll those sleeves up and get to the true gristle and bone.
Taste is up next and this one can prove a darned sight trickier to nail down with any kind of conviction as the human palate invariably misplaces its ability to savor the flavor, once we’ve necked sufficient meds or gagged on enough fucking bullshit. Now that the garden is rosy and aromatic, it’s time to get emphatic and lay on a spread in honor of the love we have and hold. Meticulous preparation is of utmost importance here as, the thing about medication in particular, is that it has a habit of stunting our appetites. Therefore, with the wind beneath our wings placed there by simply loving with exemption from ho-hum foolishness, we are primed for the truest banquet of senses as we battle these demons horn to horn. How’s this for hors d’oeuvre? The taste it now returns. Every last morsel of the bloody rib-eye we wrestle together, playfully we might add, is simply oozing with flavorsome fancy, seasoned most expansively. And boy, do we know how to put it away now.
Hard times are one inevitability we could do without, if we’re honest. But they are way less unpalatable on a full stomach. The final sense cannot hope to come into play unless the other nine have been secured and felt freely. Where there’s no sense, there’s no feeling. And such series of unfortunate events afford absolutely no end of the touchy-feelies. Actually the cold hands do tend to grope a little as harsh realities flash past us like sinistrous strobes. We’re talking of the dull ache which accompanies receipt of bad news and tough luck. Given that we are so completely in-tune with one another in all other departments and have mastered the idea of channeling the energy which flows between us, it’s only natural we’ll develop some form of ESP and it’s once more with feeling as every last pleasure and pain is intensified to the power of two. Should something be troubling one of us, then the other will know this instinctively the very second things begin to go off-kilter. If this sounds like a drag, then we assure you of the contrary.
Recently one of us became afflicted with the dreaded fever and, the very second the symptoms commenced, said scourge had hit the other full force. During a typically delirious period of delirium, a particular trio of nonthreatening spirits (druids to be precise) had made the 3500+ mile journey to pay a friendly visit to party number two. And this isn’t an isolated incident, far from it in fact. Transference is commonplace with greykeeper, be that residual energy, strength and love, or anything whatsoever else considered fair game. And, just to be clear, not a goddamn thing isn’t considered fair game. We’d totally understand if some of you reading this called bullshit as we humans have a tendency to struggle when anything inexplicable is thrown into open play. But, when it happens to you, best start believing, as the eyes they don’t tell lies. And we have witnessed sights over the past few months that no amount of rationale could ever hope to begin to explain.
This kind of connection is so damn rare. And it is every last bit as damn precious. Furthermore, it all stems from something as elementary as simply seeing one another. The very first sense entertained has done a great deal more than sustain us ever since. Respect is ferocious, feelings never questioned, and information about ourselves imparted without a solitary fear of misinterpretation. A good full-throated argument clears the air, right? That may be but, the way we see it, there is no reason the mist should ever feel the need to roll in if we carry on doing what comes naturally to both of us. Understanding and, whenever we’re unsure, inquiring in a manner which isn’t geared up to attack but polish up the clean line of sight we share. As a direct result, not a crossed word passes our lips and only the very sweetest of things stream from our soul cages.
Strength, light and love – that’s quite the trifecta right there. And the combination of all three at once can remedy the most guttural of discomforts. We’ve already covered our Crystalline diameters but it is here where the whole circular deal rolls into open play, with its bad circumference. We bat each emotion back and forth, carefully ensuring that not a solitary point is dropped, and these kind of protracted rallies wouldn’t be possible, were it not for this fresh reinvention of the wheel. Any incoming scuds are dealt with swiftly and decisively, good vibrations soaked up, and our reflective souls are only too happy to pick up the postage. FedEx may believe themselves to be market leaders with regards to prompt trouble-free delivery but we’ve sussed the art of instantly wiring transfer and can clear any arrears at the bank of jollies in the time it takes one brain wave to pulse. This owes itself as much to the application of the other nine senses as it does an effective rewire job. But a respectful nod to science for breaking shit down to the atom.
So you see, a clean sweep of ten really is achievable. Naturally, this falls flat the very moment the circle becomes broken, but then, there is no danger of that happening when authenticity is never called into question. We cherish one another fiercely, respect is through the roof, and we are only too happy for our senses to work overtime for such a life-altering cause. As a result, we merge through prose seamlessly and can make addresses just like this one through singular tongue. The circular dimensions of our collective love afford our particles the opportunity to shift at full velocity, without fretting over hitting walls as they have previously. And for all they teach us about right angles at school, they’re wrong angles in our textbook. The spiral symphonies we compose are a revolution unto themselves, and there is nothing vicious about the circles we travel in. Well, not unless we’re feeling a fiendish flourish on the spin. Turns out certain cycles were never intended to be broken.