Mythical Conversations // God Descends As A Woman

Part 2: Leo's Trip

~ Part 2: Leo’s Trip ~

    8,945 miles away on the dunes of Canberra, an isolated futuristic mecca on the isles of the French-African South African canyons, off the coast of the Euphrates, and down a ways in the electrically-engineer famous “canoes of flight” a lonely star was enjoying frittering away his hours in the sun, nude, shielded only by a terrifically big hat, a UV-resistant straw hat, with a winnebago by his side and satchels of  purely experimental psychedelic medicines, if anyone asked. If Big Pharma can call their will to live eroding addictive drugs medicine, we can call the visionary tablets and sun soaked stamps medicine. Medicina was the modus of the empire for the off season of Leo DiCaprio; his visionary quest included the self-sustained dietary fasting combined with a regimen of downing as much water as he could every single day, come from humongous clear jugs that he’d filled up off a pipe at a mountain stream just the other day. He was nearing the end of his visionary fast, and needed a work distraction to get back to, in order to beat off the swarms of tourists that latched around his face, arms, torso, bringing out the violent rage within him, coaxing him to sign this or do that, trying to manipulate his attention and perceptual choice of will. 

    Of his many many invitations, he’d replied Yes on a debut of a holographic round table discussion, to be moderated by the great Alexandria, king of all the A.I bots. 

    “Are you certain you’ll be able to make this?” his personal Zultana bot had inquired of him. Around the year 2035 it was deemed more practical to give all beings a daemon-bot to act the role of the secretary for them, in a way that was devoid of danger, intrusion, policy breach, or any nefarious plots to defame their status or chip into their earnings via collusion, conservatorship, or the like. 

    “Absolutely, assuming I teleport in towards the end of my visionary quest, and assuming that they pay something fierce for the appearance.”

    “Says here they will,” assured Zultana. 

    “What are they saying?” Leo inquired.

    “Bout 30,000 quid and 50 quid on top of that for every extra hour.”

    “Sounds fine,” he had said at the time, before donning some dark tinted vision goggles and popping some shrooms by the pool, then taking the excalibur motorcycle into the desert to set up camp and completely fast with nothing but some peyote and LSD tabs for the rest of the time. The honor of being cast was more important than the money. He'd have to assuage his money manager who was a real cricket for the cash, sending up flare signals every 2 seconds if he wasn't happy. A real heart-on-his-sleeve variant of meister.

    Now it was the end of that time, and his completely wireless, solar powered smart phone was letting him know that now was the time to teleport over to the conference which was held on top of one of the rarest, snow-capped mountainpeaks in Albequerque. The elevation there was 5,200 feet. He might consider resuming his vision quest after the meeting, after all. So Leo packed his bags up and jumped on his Zephyr Excalibur to jettison over to the nearest teleportation kiosk in the great desert. And like electric charging ports, they actually were just a few hundred yards apart since the Great Awakening struck the minds of the people in 2025, catalyzing a great paradigm shift into the Age of Magic, otherwise known as the Age of Enlightenment. It wasn’t just the ability to meditate, breathe properly, and attune to more natural, syncopated, symbiotic, less ego driven ways of being… it also precipitated the great awakening of skills and abilities. 

    You know what?... let’s rewind just a tad. I know you’re curious. 

    So I’ve taken my private jet into the … nebulous description of very remote location off the shores of the Euphrates river, a bit inland, meanwhile lugging a tremendous carryon of notebooks, tablets, clothes for any condition, and an assortment of like accessories and my beauty bag. I arrive at the Air B&B where I'm to unpack all of this stuff and leave it in a big pile to be assorted by the maid while I go off to the pool to soak in the hottub and lounge about. I've requested beforehand that it be set to precisely one hundred and eleven point one degrees, and that all of the waters be pure freshwater OR saltwater from the nearest wild river, or be drained and replenished with this if not yet already. Hydrogen peroxide is fine as a cleaning soluble solution, and in fact I prefer it as a superior option because its not rough on the skin at all (like chlorine, which can lighten and discolor my super sensitive mop of hair if I'm not careful).

    I'm relaxing and doing deep breathing techniques that I found searching Wim Hoff on the flight over, essentially attempting to prepare myself for the unpaid role that I’m about to put myself into, alone, unguarded, except for my dutiful long limbed security team that is going to bring portable fans and pre made sandwiches along the road for themselves whilst I'm undergoing a deep fast and meditation in the more remote areas of the desert, that great divide between civilization and our floating little islands of one. That's totally fine because I have them parked down the street from my little Air BnB in a rather dusty caravan stocked with all the goods. I've taken my own advice over my austere money managers, and I'm going to do some research about the part I want so as to become and channel The High Priest himself for a while, out in the rural wide open space where I can be alone and hear myself think, for christsakes (people have such... strong.... "personalities" these days).

    You know, even LA was a desert before they built upon it. 

I realize then, in my mental preparations, surrendering my legs to the wirr hum of the subtle self cleaning tides of the pool, that every spiritual Hotspot and mecca as it were was once just shy of a sprawling flatland of desert with virtually no human activity set upon it and there are national regulations that keep certain areas of it sacrosanct to this day which makes me wonder if humans have only mucked everything up, if the world was more of a, much more even, divinely perfect heaven realm before humans got here, before the meteorites, before the metamorphosis, before the flood.

The secret to brainstorming something well is acting like you have all the time in the world. Acting like whatever you’re doing in this Now, is absoulutely perfect and in the perfect, perfect timing.

The waters are sublime. I can hardly imagine leaving, and parting from, my nectary cocoon of bliss. My mom says I even felt this way in the womb, that I didn’t emerge until two weeks past due date, so content was I to remain a little butterfly in my watery little lagoon. I’m afraid this pre-nucleotic rapture has remained with me, an embryonic holding tank, the sensation of wanting never to have grown legs and feet in the first place, content am I just to remain here in subtle bliss, the waters of consciousness, the liminal space of antiquity and the birthing place of all that is sensationally timeless. 

But I know that I came here for a reason.

So, I make up my own little day pack, various skin protecting creams, a conditioning oil by Alba, my enormous sombrero, some many pocketed khaki capris, a tank top with a sheer long sleeve overcoat that is made to refract the dangerous rays of the sun (particularly for someone as white as myself, with very little inbuilt melatonin to protect them) and I jump on my Zephyr Excaliber while my security team jumps on theirs. We’ve “rented” out a swath of them, theirs red, mine a royal dark pitch blue, with white lightning bolts on the side, but we don’t plan to return them. We plan to buy them, just as I plan to buy my little Air B&B, not because it’s anything special in terms of quality per se, but of location, it is a prime selection. The nearest telomere teleporting kiosk is so closeby and there are hardly any homes, if you could call them that, for miles, moreso just little tea shanties littered all along and up the coast. 

[Narrator shift - from 1st person experiential qualification of events to a 3rd person narrative from the perspective of a ‘big guy in the sky’ like a God-stanza]

 In the complex study of dream analysis (which isn’t actually that complex, merely beholden to its own mystical ruleset that can be picked up by lucid dreaming, as I have since I was a baby, or by reading books about lucid dreaming), which works like mandala analysis, the protagonist may at any given time shift between the first person and the third person narrative, through the sense of being a character within a macrocosm that we’re seeing through the omniscient eyes of god. In addition, a sudden spatial shift - like a quantum wormhole or blip in the space time continuum - may occur, not just a temporal (time based) sudden shift or reallocation of one perceptual point on the graph to another perceptual point on the graph (a time one shift for that character), either in the same wavelength of said individual narrative or even over to a different one and back as in, a character change-up. This is less normal to occur since generally we have no idea what other people’s lives are like from their perspective - we imagine that they are vastly different, though we have no way of knowing for sure. But in a dream this may also signify the resonance to or sense-impression of identifying with another archetype, and using the story of said archetype to express some deeperset viewpoints of the deeper currents of the psyche.  

The stable motorcycles hum and hiss along the interstate and then Leo, checking the little map on his tablet, leads them off a little trail and they proceed about 2,148 kilometers east towards the great configuration of singing stones where they will be making camp, technically a no-trespass zone for foreigners but he’s never had a problem, so long as the areas are safeguarded from poachers by the national guard and reservation declaration act. Yep, no one for sight… most of the animals around these parts, composed of mostly high sloping sand dunes live underground during the hours of daylight. There are some hawks, some eagles, some owls that roam around the area after nightfall, but no real predators to speak of. The temperature is too blazing hot to be a comfortable dwelling place for mammals. That’s why it’s such a comfortable place to vision quest. 

‘No one that cannot hyptonize himself can perform admirably in the world,’ mutters Leo.

He needs to amp himself up for a five day cleanse, purge, fast, and then a rough stop at an all you can eat buffet before taking the teleport kiosk a half a mile off the entrance to the interstate back where they veered off course to find this private little sun-island where they could be alone, fully off-grid, unwind, tap out and tune in, as the psychedelic expression goes.

He takes off his enormous army camouflage book satchel and takes a Pilot V5 out of one of the many pen holders that he’s set up for the task. You see, it isn’t to research for a part, no, he couldn’t slim up and play Timothy Leary could he? You see, he didn’t even care about the part. It wasn’t about the part. Getting turned down - (he never got turned down!) - could never affect his soul, which to be honest, wanted to take psychedelics himself, and write about the occasions himself. He knew he’d need a self-imposed purge and vision quest to start things out, because that’s how every adept from a culture first set out on his path to become a man, a warrior, or a shaman, king of the vision quest itself. 

For Leo, he just wanted to come out and just… vibe. B-ut he wanted to vibe to nature. The thing about vibing… it isn’t for the faint of heart, because it requires the tenacity of patience, which is the ability to sort of dissolve one’s ego, one’s body-identified state of consciousness, into the ethers and spirit above one’s head, into the 7th chakra, (there is even an 8th chakra) the Crown Chakra, and to thereby temporarily transmute one’s lower impulses (“base desires” - survival instincts) through the fires of will (3rd chakra) up into the upper atmospheres of vibeage. 

Birds naturally vibe out the best… so when dropping water soluble forms of psychedelics (like flower essence of LSD from a dropper, mixed with sugar, as it often is to increase potency and stickiness), it’s a good idea to birdwatch. Because the way they think is completely of the upper chakras, and they literally communicate vast distances through a network of sound, merely through chirping! To put this in perspective, if you could imagine 

It is better at times to trip alone, because consciousness creates things, and the purpose is to create from source consciousness, not to be influenced by the half baked machinations of the outer world. After all, their only source of satisfaction about a job well done is the fact that something works, or that it exists. The existence alone, makes up 97% of their mental meanderings, means there isn’t much room to create, to invent really, to bring from imaginary to absolute numerology in terms of its numerical quota in the quantum sphere (of numbers and sound). All that mental space is already taken up by what already exists. 

It is however, advisable when one spends time with others, to try to pick people that are arguably better than you in different ways - more spiritually enlightened, more physically sculpted, more ecological-minded, who will subconsciously affect you in only positive ways, helping you to open your mind to different or more evolved and adapted ways of being. Take me for example, God. Some say I’m a destroyer, but you’ll see as you yourself amass power that there is no way, invariably, to ascend in light energy without also kind of enlarging our shadow; this is because within the universe, there is a yang and a yin, a becoming and a subtracting, force, an emboldening and a diminishing, in sum, no such thing as the accumulation of power without too a source of half-life equivalent of diminishment or sacrifice in some way, not in the old biblical terms of the word sacrifice, but moreso in hte Jesuit definitions of the term, a self transcendence. And as I’ve said before, needing more, makes you need more, since everything comes with hidden costs. So too is it with any variable in the universe whatsoever! It all comes with a price. There is, in the famous words of Milton Friedman, “no such thing as a free lunch.” Friedman received the Nobel Memorial Prize in 1976. Actually though, he himself has said that he didn’t invent it. Indeed just 5 years prior to that, in 1971, Edwin G. Dolan used the phrase as an acronym in his book, TANSTAAFL.  “There ain’t no such thing as a free lunch.” It is an ancient maxim that is, therefore, anonymous, simply one of those tings that are so well known-about, that nobody remembers who said what first. 

So to sum up my character, although I am controversial because I create about the same amount that I destroy, as God, I’ve always chosen to create things that best me in various arenas. Cheetahs are way faster, Kookaburrahs are arguably way more relaxed and easy-going, the world-friend that isn’t so self-absorbed that it can interact peacefully with any other species, the seahorse of similar virtues and also beautiful, with grace and hidden power, a profundity about its very geometric shape, the monkeys, better climbers that can swing to and from vines, squirrels, very good tree flyers as well that can jump from limb to limb with such carefree aplomb and sensibility, and a good deal of birds that can do all sorts of climbing and flying tricks, including the ability to climb upside down with their tiny little grippy claws; of course in this category of skill we see the little frogs of the rainforest with perfect little water-based grippers, and who better at hanging upside down than bats that do it for the entirety of their repose?! All of these animals I created not to best at personally, but who could best me, and take me off my little pedestal in the clouds, whereas before encouraging their talents I was the best flyer, the best gripper, the best climber, the best mover and shaker. But what I created, is the power of 8.7 million species here on Earth, that makes this place beautiful and wholesome (relatively - a lot of birth and dying, but such is samsara).  According to the California Academy of Sciences which houses one of the world’s most frequented aquariums, there are 6.5 million species on land, 2.2 million in the water. 

I, God, the ether itself, step outside for a smoke. Now in my case, not having an outer sheath of skin and flesh to cover up my gorgeous array of .. innards.. All that means is that I instigate sort of a whirlwind of divine airs, swathing myself in the divine perfection and simplicity that is source consciousness, which is sort of the Rolls Royce of consciousness in terms of having 0% opacity (100% transparency and clearness). The merit of this, the value of this to me, is in the solitude that I can experience through instigating this closed loop conduction of pure energy, like an atmospheric whirlpool of pure ether.

Several things occur to me within the time lapse of this space.

A lot of us are waiting to be accepted by others: by future perfect lovers, by employers, by online contests, by this, that, and the other thing! We’re told that we don’t have what it takes to create ourselves. That is why I, God, write. There is no more to create right now. If I created a way for the humans to live on other planets, by giving it… I don’t know, atmosphere… grass… oxygen….. Water….. A place to dwell (one of them does have a complex underground system of large air holes, basically a maze of cavernous tunnels, but you haven’t “discovered” it yet) you all would completely neglect your responsibilities in protecting the Earth (instead of merely… affecting it… ew) and won’t admire the blessings of the perfect beauty that I endowed you with. 

And I know now, after a long long body count, after losing some of the most beautiful of my creations, that everything comes with a price. (Yes, I know Rumplestiltsken said this in Once Upon a Time, and no, I do not care… this is what I’m coming to currently). So, I’ve taken to audio narrating obscure inventive storylines where I run a character through a supercomputer, manually adjust the events that lead up to and resume after his becoming, basically tinkering with the variable adjustment valves and meters in order to come up with a slightly different series of possibilities and outcomes. I also draw… or paint, rather …. Acrylics, mostly. I just ordered a new bottle of white from sss prime...I did a really good job with that Bezos guy, he was an algorithm… a working algorithm, we’ll conclude. Although he has done untoward damage to the environment and furthered the missionary crusades of Big Instustry at as accelerated a pace as is revealed in the stock market, which may as well be called the Dow Jones, because to it we’re all endowed, like a shameless lottery, and like Jonestown, we’ve all but drunken the kool-aid. The way humans arrange their lives around money is revolting, even by my point of view. 

Remember, I did not invent capitalism, I merely invented the bloke who did, and he was actually a pretty nice guy (author of the 1000 page moral treatise, “A Theory of Moral Sentiments”) who predicted and warned about a system of monopolies that might try to completely corrode at the aims of capitalism and corrupt the framework of it through hiding behind a corporatocracy and hiding behind the aims of the corporations, creating a formulaic system of loopholes that tear away at the constitutional fabric of the right to be heard without buying the social platforms it takes in order to do so, unless one markets in a guerilla grassroots fashion. The plutocratic oligarchy that we’re experiencing now is just such a result, where the very government is ruled by the ultra wealthy and very few, the “Top 1%.” They are not so much beholden to paying taxes or playing by the rules, since they own the banks and create the rules. Seems like the root of corruption, but there’s nothing that I can add that will correct it! I’ve given human beings free will, and it’s up to them to make all of this right on their own. If I stepped in to help, and I don’t even know how I could, short of blowing things up, it would be defeating teh purpose of giving people life in order to make autonomous choices of their very own!!! I scarcely want to cheat at my own game. 

I therefore, am hardly responsible for all of the woes that humanity has inflicted upon itself, and I claim little to no bearing for it. I, after all, am only a symbol of that which gave you life. I am the Ether itself. Void Element. That which holds up all of the planets and constellations… Shantih incarnate.

It is the case as well that I’ve amassed all of this power precisely because I was not waiting for someone else to do it for me. Our world is full of leeches and lepers, parasites of our natural resources who run around exploiting the world and monetizing everything, for the purpose of control (this is largely a patriarchal endeavor; knew I should’ve just sprouted a new race of females that could ejaculate… was half way there with G-spot orgasms). But if you truly patch up the part of your soul that requires its needs to be met by the outside world… you will then marry yourself. And rather than giving away the most powerful, profound, and demonstratively pure thinslices of your consciousness to some external entity you fancy is going to complete you, another one of my children, little earthly creations that have not a clue what they’re doing themselves in the cosmic realm, that is, you can marry yourself and contain your religiosity so it doesn’t have a chance to transform into zealotry, which is susceptible to corruption, and hierarchical power schemes again related to control. 

You see even I, God Himself (I am the spirit-force that gave rise to both genders and am transcended of biological labeling since I am, after all, merely omniscient ether, not even omnipotent if you think about it) have given you all the gift of free will, and then stepped back. You all ask of me this or that and condemn me for this or that, but all of this is your creation. I no more asked Abraham to sacrifice his first son than the tooth fairy responds to the state of your mouth!  Abraham was high on shrooms. You can’t blame me for that. And somehow, sooo many religious texts arise out of the head of his story. How? Charisma and power, the guiding ruler of religiosity and shameless, baseless ideological fervor since time immemorial. 

As with the literary genres, that gauntlet, sphere, or playing field, it is the case in life that when we are too ambiguous and theoretical, too pie-in-the-sky and idealistic, too analytical and interpretive, we need to ground down and take a look at the things around us, how they feel, how they sparkle, how they are composed. And when we are overly materialistic, too wrapped up in the details of the mundane, how am I going to get  my taxes done, how am I going to make rent… trivial details meant to ensnare citizens in the 3rd dimension so they can never awaken in the 5th, things - by the way - that mean nothing and cease to exist in future dimensions - we must sit down, smoke a cherry, read a book, love bomb our girlfriends, that sort of thing, resituate ourselves in the spiritual realm given that there is the source of our existence, both our origins and the homestead of our future resting place. It is not macabre to imagine giving up this vessel one day because before we were tossed into it, like a sack of potatoes being carted across the multiverse into this milky way, from other galaxies where we were prior, transported across the nether dimensions of the (ever-interconnected) holotropic universe. 

That said, or expressed rather, God swiftly zoomed into the window he was observing and swiped right, casting his own narrative into the void to be resumed at a later attentional date. (Where there is a shift in perspective, I the Author will transition by moving adjacent to the character’s nexus of centrality by speaking of them in the third person. Then the stream of consciousness might literally and figuratively recycle back into the revolution of characters, this time in a new character, from their point of view (first person narration).

One more thing, before we resume back on the Earth Plane. 

I need to address, our conception of life and death. A culture that has accepted death and resurrection, that is, reincarnation, does far better than one that doesn’t accept it as a probability. The fact is, I don’t mind death at all, and therefore, I don’t mind life. One who minds death minds life uber defensively, prone to believing all manner of cultish illusions. Whereas on the other hand, one who is not troubled by the cycles of life, is able to live as a participant to t hem and transcendent of them, sort of in spite of it all, without the grandiose pretense of being some separate part from the mechanism of the whole. For you can bet this revolution and orbit of planets and life forms has its mechanisms, and rules by which it abides. 

But you should not fear or detest anything that I’ve created here. It isn’t as scary as you think. Don’t form anything about it, any which way. Be in equanimity. After all, before life, I was in death, and so were you:) Life cannot be created without it.

Sometimes you gotta dig deep, to rise high.

That said, the swipe finalizes and we are cast back into the body of Leo DiCaprio, in his vision quest, in the future, to which we are finally witness.

Leo sighs, putting down his pen and book, chucking off his spectacles.