by the light of the glowing mushroom

postcard for sonja:

we walked up the hill, you and i. you marveled at my sense of direction but i merely followed the light emanating from beyond the hill in soft pulsing rays as you walked blindly towards me extending your strangely familiar flailing hands as our laughter echoed through the sponge-filled edgeless night.

all that had to be determined was where exactly we wanted to go. a light for every direction the blackness lit up like an airfield, different routes for different destinations. the worlds our ancient playground. all of them. 

we walk to the waxing temple of the cat & fire. we question if we will arrive on the same plane. it doesn't matter.

then the multiverse converged as the space changed & wormholes opened around us. our white hole grew bleeding into the others & led us to the hill where the mushroom entities spoke to us, glowing with bioluminescence without moonlight to reflect upon.

there were infinite worlds, some of which we stumbled upon in our crude choreography as we delightedly remembered the moves & traveled upward. the faeries & forest creatures following our pied piper pilgrimage.

pic: copyright www.oyombu.com

witnessing the cosmos through the roadside fluro fungi we reached out & it touched us first like a moist dark welcoming tongue, the sensation confusing to the senses. i wanted to lick it but instead gazed in close, alice through the looking glass peering with wonder into an organic dollhouse which mirrored the activity of an anthill. it was milky clear inside, i saw into the mushroom universe's soul & drank from the well of knowledge. you held onto my hand tightly & together we glowed. aliens.

we passer-by gods, alzheimer's prone tourists without accident. us two age-old inter-dimensional time travelers, retracing comedic synchronised dance steps performed over aeons through realms, some remembered, others forgotten. and i realised that i'd always loved you. and you me. even if you would hide from it in the morning.

it's difficult to trust the impossible. even when in the thick of the caressing bramble bush before it yields to set you free into the enveloping embrace of the space beyond where i waited.

the theory of everything is merely the unraveling of a string which connects us. magic is everywhere & now quantum physics has reduced time travel to the realm of possibility. impossible is void.

conjured mussels steeped in red wine framed by a parsley forest & wizened chilis disguised as false tomatoes feasted on before the benevolent feline deity are testament to this as the peep show vibrating curtain lent glimpses into a parallel universe outside & the tripping cat led you back safe into our pulsing bubble.

now the door of perception is open. waiting softly for the breeze to be filled by our collective mirth & next far flung adventure. the only limitations the baggage of language, the language of baggage. existence is mutable.