Isle of Lyngvi

Excerpt from a larger piece in the works.

As he walked he could feel it. It sat under his skin distorting everything making even the simple act of walking unbalanced, a knot of stuck energy just right of center near where the bottom of the ribcage met his spine. A muscle once pulled against another muscle a conflict of intention. The desire that lost the muscular tug of war stayed that way, freezing up in a tense state. The rest of the muscles just learned how to move around the block.

When Cris got back to his room he put on a drumming CD and stripped out of the day’s clothes and worries. He stood in the center his feet shoulder width apart his knees slightly bent. To the beat of the drum he pulsed the muscles of his back trying to shake loose the blockage. He didn’t yet have the yogic control to flex the individual part that was stuck. His breath was one long movement the inhalation leading inexorably to the exhalation. The rhythm was getting faster as he bent forwards and backwards trying to stretch it out. He began to move his feet in and around his other movements. He swung his arm back and over his shoulder trying to jar the knot loose.

Suddenly there was a pulling a wrenching and a pain worse than Cris had felt in years. Tears flung themselves into his eyes and he let loose a cry from the bottom of his being. It felt like every failure, it felt like being cut from the team, rejected by a girl and getting caught.

And then the energy radiated out from the now free muscle and his back shook and spasmed. The tears ran freely down his face but already it no longer hurt, it felt good. Cris continued his dance letting his limbs shake and shiver. After a while the shaking settled down to a weak tremble and he lowered himself onto his hands and knees. He breathed slower and longer than he had been and he allowed the energy to flow out of him into the ground. Covered in a thin film of sweat he wrapped a thick terry cloth towel around his waist and headed to have a cold shower, his gait even and relaxed.

Originally posted: Mon, Aug. 15th, 2005 22:18

Continuation of The Support Group/Schizotypal

Jerry pulled the large pile of books out of his cheap nylon backpack and carefully handed them around the circle to us.

My chair creaked as I reached for the first one. It was an oversized glossy white paperback with an egyptian motif on the front called 777 And Other Qabalistic Writings of Aleister Crowley. The next one was the same size, navy blue with an etching design done in black called Kabbalah by Gershom Scholem. The next one was a big green hardcover with a library style plastic dust cover called, The Essence Of The Cabalah: Tarot, Hebrew, English by William Eisen. The rest seemed to be binders of computer printouts and Jerry’s own notes.

“So what’s the deal with all the different spellings?” I asked.

Jerry looked at me for a moment his gaze wide and yet direct. “That depends on how much you want to know,” he said after a moment, “the long version would take about an hour.”

“The short version for now I guess,” I replied.

“Basically the k double b with the h on the end is traditional jewish religious kabbalah. A bit stuffy, disdains practical or effect seeking for spiritual communion. C single b no h is usually the early christian hermetic started in the renaissance. Still stuffy, a little fluffy and searching for a different version of god. Last one q no u usually single b, h about half the time, is more modern hermetic or magick qabala. Put together by people involved with the golden dawn in England around or after 1880 something.”

Originally posted: Wed, Apr. 6th, 2005 06:38

For half an hour every week we got together as a group. We were all sufferers of Schizotypal disorder, or at least that was how we were diagnosed. Jerry’s thing was numbers. Sara’s was talking with the dead. Mikey said he could manipulate invisible lines of force he called ki. Jack played with probability, a gambler. And me? My paintings were alive. We got together three times as a therapy group before we decided we didn’t like it. The therapy, not the group. Lately we’ve been thinking of expanding the time we spend together.“So we all have our interests, our little projects, right?” I said looking over the group.“Yeah,” Jack replied curtly, you could almost here the unspoken, so?

“Well we’ve decided that we are not crazy so why don’t we embrace it?”

“What do you mean?” Sara asked.

“Why don’t we combine our interests and um abilities together into group projects or experiments.” I got up and walked to the table set up with the coffee urn and cups.

“We have nothing in common to work with,” Jack said to my turned back as I put two sugar cubes into my black coffee.

I pulled two dice from my pocket and tossed them bouncing into the center of the circle. After a moment I asked, “Mike, who looked?”

“Everyone,” he replied.

I glanced over at him, “Yeah but who looked looked?”

“Jerry and Jack.”

“See Jack your cards and gambling is all numbers and so is Jerry’s numerology”

“It’s not numerology,” Jerry declared speaking for the first time in maybe ten minutes.

“What Jerry?” I asked softly, I didn’t want to put him off of speaking.

“It’s called Qabala,” he said seriously, “it was Jewish mysticism, it’s a religion now, Madonna is a member.” His piece said he pushed his round glasses back up his nose and returned to his yellow legal pad and bic pen.

“Sorry Jerry,” I said turning back to look towards Sara. “And what if your spirit world and the ultra dimensional reality that I paint are the same or connected?”

“What about me?” Mikey asked, “ I don’t fit either of those.”

“I don’t know yet Mike,” I replied, “I think your talents might bridge the two groups. Or maybe you are here to ground us, connect us to physical reality.”

He smiled.

“Maybe,” I continued, “your ki can effect the physical movement of the dice or other sources of the numbers. The lines of force could be the edge of ultra dimensionality. After a few seconds pause I asked, “Is everyone in?”

Even Jack agreed.

“So next week lets get together for an hour and bring some stuff we use. I’m bringing some painting gear.”

“I’ve got some books,” Jerry said.