Visions of Astroman

A blazing aurora sun haloes in the sky, a supernova of coruscating light.  Below, the jagged pinnaces of desert rock scroll like filmstock through an old projector, clattering mechanically, spasmodic images jerking by as I sweep above. Ahead, only infinite azure horizon shimmering in the heat.  My fist thrust forward, I soar, the wind screaming ragged in my ears as I explode through the feeble clawing limbs of scraggy mutant trees.

I am Astroman, and I fly again!

            Yet before me, an illusion of the heat arises: instead of rolling on, the horizon begins to advance, yellow hills racing closer, ending finitely in a sky now glimmering like a wall rushing up to block my flight.  A tsunami?  The waves scrape the skies, perspective crazily inverted, the tsunami upside down, falling from the sky to burst in undulating white oscillations over the hills.  As surf one thousand miles high peels back and forth over the ever-nearing hill side, I feel like Alice plummeting into a trompe doeil.  Velocity too great to stop, only way is through the wall to infinity and beyond

            Beachy hills and the wall of undulating white-water, too late to turn back, I realise Im not flying, but falling


A blast of ice hot sound and consumption in fluidic space.  I am sucked back by the drag, slowed by immersion, speed and direction chaotic.  Controlled by exterior forces, I am wrapped up in my own cape and pulled and pushed violently by the inarguable forces of the metaflow.  Submission leads to being sucked deeper into darkness, the path of least resistance beckoning.


Above: the sun dilates and flares as if through melting plastic.  A pod of enormous neon cuttlefish, their follicles communicating through psychekinetic displays of chameleonic light, coalesce as they feed, flexible tentacles plucking shimmering algae. Great luminescent zeppelins cruising the sky, their flanks advertising gaudy products as they trawl for krill.

            I float in darkness, loose and free, swept by tides.  I cannot breath, but I am Astroman and need no oxygen.   I study the habits of the giant cuttlefish watchfully.  They seem law-abiding.

            A shift in the tide, I twist, losing orientation as I contort.  Pressure in my chest, something is coming

            From nothingness, a place of light and dark, twilight clash in fluidica,  there emerges a great presence.  Golden skinned, form birthed from emptiness a vast round chest, two legs, hands reposed in lotus-lap, neck and chin and beatific smile and yes flowing into existence like a bellybutton inverting.

            Amitabha Buddha, ten thousand feet tall, resides here, in the darkness, in the light, glorious golden guide.  Rainbow coloured lights erupt in vast spectrums of bliss, pouring from his chakras, purging my body, stripping away the layers of skin and flesh and bone until I am cleansed to my pure energy fields. Waves of psychic energy, concentrated in a crystal of being. I drift beside his opalescent eyes, pure contemplative alert, they study me, my reflection doubled in his black brown infinite iris.  Huge, I am a dot of algae floating in his window eyes


They open this time on a triple-streak of colour: tidal turquoise, burning sulphur white and wind-blown jade.  A beach scene.

            In one eye, a blonde smile of white streaking a smooth face.  Heart spills out of that smile, purity innocent experiential, caught in a joy.  A beautiful heart, yet doubts dance in those eyes, not quite matching with the sincerity of the smile.

            In the other eye, an older soul, knowing happiness.  Boyish frame,  androgynine, but nearer female.  Piercing clear eyes, dark hair, Nordic strength, Dane descendancy.  No time to analyse origins, need focus.  Why these girls, why these eyes?

            Then, the crystal I have become floats into the Buddhas third eye chakra, bestowed with multiple perspectives, I now become the two sets of energy field, regarding and interacting with one another, aura fields lapping and merging around one another.

            Bright blue as sea eyes and sharp grey steel eyes augen windows within greater windows camera projected filmscreen of Amitabha wisdom compassion Buddha but what about my eyes?  You cant look into your own eyes except in mirrors, but thats not your eyes is it, thats your reflections eyes augen doppelganger




~ by mightyjahj on January 10, 2009.

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