Chapter 12a - in which you the readers goblin me

I kind of suspected the Goblin story was going to ruffle a few feathers here and there. Here are a few of the hundreds of comments I’ve been sifting through today. Oh the joys of being online 24/7 or 27/4 as the Goblins have it.

“You’re off your rocker. Haven’t you got anything better to do than write a load of twaddle about goblins?” Mary Maddison

“I thought you shut down Faery and said you wanted nothing further to do with it, so what’s with all the evangelising. You can’t have your cake and eat it.” Martin Luther

“What right have you to claim you’re the one who’s working with Faery and reprogramming reality – it looks like you’re developing a nasty strain of the Jesus Christ complex.” Johnny Deep

“If you’re so happy being a house in Goblin why don’t you stay there and leave us biological humans alone.” Signor Alfredo Terentino

“You’re in league with the devil – you’re just trying to make evil acceptable. That’s the worst kind of evil I can think of.” Stack Mush

“Drop dead Josh. Only kidding – carry on living - you’re helping redefine the term “senseless drivel” which is a service to humanity.” Penny Jibble

“Put a sock in it if you know what’s good for you.” Blugspat104

To be honest I’m easily demoralised, and reading through pages and pages of this stuff made me doubt my mission – and whether I should continue sharing my experiences with you, dear readers. It wasn’t all bad – there were several beautiful letters of encouragement – some of them from old ladies who were obviously half-mad themselves but still, they made me feel special.

To answer some of your most frequent questions –

·        No – I don’t worship the devil, goblins, beetles or anything else for that matter.

·        Neither am I working in real estate in Florida, Detroit or West Hampton.

·        Being a house in Goblin is not about standing around doing nothing, though that’s understandably how you’d see it on this side of reality.

·        No, there’s no record of insanity in my family, surprisingly, which is why it’s all the more bizarre that I should have been selected for this mission.

·        Yes, I have every intention of continuing to lead a normal life, get married, have children and drive a car.

·        No, I don’t know anything much about crystals, Nostradamus, Madame Blavatsky, David Icke or Zoroaster. I’m not psychic and I don’t take drugs.

·        Nor do I have any phobias that I’m aware of – in fact I was the picture of mental health and dull middle class respectability before I had my encounter with Roger.

The worst of what’s happening is that a few of my most persistent detractors have got hold of my work details and have been messaging my employers with the obvious intention of harming my career at Boodle & Badwise Nobs, a highly respected bathroom fittings company. That, I consider, ungentlemanly conduct, but Aargen Darvurg told me to expect the worst, and he should know as he’s been a party to much of the world’s negativity over the last several thousand years or so.

You might wonder, given all the above, how I’m holding my head above water, being the unexceptional person that I am... To tell the truth, 27 days ago this would have reduced me to a pile of quivering frogspawn, but things have changed dramatically during the last month. I’ve got this completely different perspective ever since I reconnected with the inner Self courtesy of Gill’s flying circus acrobatics, and got myself well and truly grounded in time-space as the dwelling place, non-biological friend and confidante of Aargen Darvurg. Learning to use the nifty beetle mark to see through the glimmer-glamour of 3D material reality and its ENORMOUS and completely unconcealable contradictions has also played its part. Time has worked its magic, or magic has worked its time – as they say in Goblin, and the unripe fruit that was bitter is now full-bodied and sweet.

The void that Faery had opened up – that left me nowhere to hide, that seemed to be actively ingesting me, dissolving my ties to the real world, has not disappeared, but something’s holding me together and I don’t know what. Something’s making me feel a quiet assurance that basically all is well – that Story ain’t prefixed by words such as scary, or horror, senseless or meaningless. Story is more than any prefix or label – and now that I’m back in touch with Faery, barring dealing with insects, I feel this deeeeeeeeeep and waaaaaaaarm sense of yesssssssssssss (sorry if that sounds too snakelike for you – but yeeeeeeeeeees is not the right sound either).

YES... A vast, enormous, gimongous word that has the potential to start a chain reaction of limitless proportions. A Yesness of Is. A storyful life that matters – just because.

You might well object. You might say that “yes” is fundamentally no different from “no” – that it’s just one form of polarity – and that “yes” is therefore inherently divisive. We should all revert to the mean which is “definitely maybe”. And certainly, that’s logical enough – but logic in itself is a kind of machine, or a machine’s way of thinking. Ultimately we have to go beyond logic, or base our logic on LIFE. That’s the beauty of spending time in Goblin – for in doing so I have to traverse the life-matter curve – it’s become second nature – to feel the relationship between the two, for surely life experiences matter in the same way matter experiences life.

Just think about it for a moment or 27, if you will. The life-matter curve – sometimes referred to as the life-matters curve depending on whether you’re speaking as scientist or humanist.

So, here I am – a human as any other – getting to know the other side of Story – in a place where by all reckoning I should be nothing – or just inert matter – but what do I find in actual fact? What do I experience? Even as a non-biological “dwelling place” I’m still conscious, still in some respect of the word “alive” – still able to participate in the magic of story, regardless of the fact that I have no arms, legs, mouth or nose – because, all things being equal, 0=1 and that changes everything.

Chapter 11 - in which the goblins take me in

That’s the strange thing about language – you never can be too sure what it’s saying. Ambiguity abounds, does it not? Was I "taken in" by the goblins hospitably as a guest, or was I hoodwinked, fooled, deceived? You just can’t tell from that short sentence – which is probably why language is vastly overrated as a means of communication, unless by “communication” you’re referring to spreading doubt and confusion.

Here in Goblin they have a different way of communicating and I’m not referring to telepathy. Don’t get me wrong – they’re perfectly able to use telepathy if they wish to avoid confusion or ambiguity, but half the fun of communication is where it mistakenly leads you – so they’ve made an art form of it. Instead of writing the way we do, by putting together logical sentences of words, they use grunts which are like letters. There are several hundred grunts – or multiples of that if you consider tonal variations. Rather than thinking what they’re trying to say and proceeding accordingly, they use goblin magic and select random grunts, snarlings, snorts, whistles and whinings and, hey presto, there you have it – an unbreakable code.

This would all seem like a complete waste of time were it not for the fact that nature abhors a vacuum. An unbreakable code is the closest you can get to a perfect vacuum linguistically speaking, so nature flips reality and fills the unbreakable code with a unique stream of sense and meaning. The end result is that the readers of the gibberish that was written according to the strictest principles of indeterminacy find themselves spontaneously gleaning sense and meaning from what can only be described as a quantum language. It exists only in the reading of the particular text. Astonishing, if you think about it. You know exactly what you’re reading, but you can’t for the life of you tell how you know what you know. Nature does it all for you.

Goblins apply the same principle to almost everything they do. If they require a new dwelling place – what we’d call a house, they don’t plan it and build it according to that plan. They go out and search for seemingly random objects – a pine cone, a stone, a motorbike, a dirty wrapper, a few words that were overheard at the bus stop, a look of confusion, concern or consternation that was seen on the old woman’s face, a cloud that floated the wrong way – there’s always one – and anything else that they feel inspired to use for the purpose in hand. All these objects and non-objects are brought back to the new dwelling site, and in accordance with their notions of music, dance, poetry and non-sense these objects are given to the moment. Now remember that Goblin is not space-time as our reality but time-space – so the moment is a place where you can store and position objects, just as a shelf is in our reality. That moment then acts as a kind of seed. If it is watered with care and attention for 27 days then at the end of this period a dwelling will materialise. In fact, Aargen Darvurg assures me the 27 days are not essential – that it can be done as a rushed job in 27 hours, 27 minutes or even 27 seconds, but most, I am told, prefer to make a celebration of it and use the allotted 27 days.

Well by now, dear reader, you’re probably aware that something has shifted in story – or in my version of story at least. You will recall that the last chapter ended somewhat hesitantly, even gloomily – with the words “but where to flee – I have no answer”, which was the honest truth at the time of writing, and was still true until half an hour ago, but in the meantime I discovered that Goblin has been reverse engineering a timeline for me – they’re good at doing things backwards you know – at least backwards from our perspective.

So to try and avoid over-confusing the issue – about 27 minutes ago I discovered that I have an encounter with a goblin called Aargen Darvurg. This encounter is initially the kind that elicits a Munchian scream – have a look at the picture and you’ll know what I’m talking about. Now the scream is an existential moment – it’s like you and the universe completely fall out of step, out of kilter and then swap places. Unnerving is not the word. It’s like every atom in your body has been realigned... I’ll try not to go on about it – but when to my enormous surprise I discover that I haven’t been obliterated, that in fact I’ve already been visiting Goblin for the last, yes, you’ve guessed it, 27 days, then I realise that nothing is quite as it seems.

It’s the first time in my life that I’ve ever experienced what it’s like to be a house – and I’m enjoying the experience greatly. You see, here in time-space we’re able to experience the other side of the Earthy 3D reality you know and probably cherish. Here, for example, the goblins are loving, gentle peaceful beings. Rather cute. A cross between a bunny rabbit, a chinchilla and a snowflake. Now that they’ve taken me in as one of their houses I’m plugged into the system – I’m one of them – which is a beautiful sharing, caring experience. Ah the joys of Goblini.

So why, you might ask, do they appear so frightful and demonic in our reality? Why indeed? And why were they there with King Cnut at the very inception of the dreaded Modern Era?

Ah... these are indeed good questions worthy of serious consideration. To be honest it’s difficult to answer them if you’ve not yet experiencing “what is”. If you’re still in “what matters” reality then almost everything you take for granted only makes sense because the wires are crossed.

Aargen Darvurg has been very helpful – more than helpful, I should add. Although officially I have the status of “habitable dwelling place” – goblins do not have the same fixed ideas about what matters – they do not really distinguish between biological and non-biological life forms – and on this side of creation we humans are most definitely non-biological. Aargen Darvurg is happy to maintain friendly relations with the other side of the life-matters curve – and spends many 27s of moment locked in conversation with his new dwelling place. More of that at a later date. The goblins, I need hardly add, would appreciate it if we could be a little more charitable to them in our reality, but to date they’ve had no such luck. We humans have at best ignored and more often than not demonised them.

So, where was I? Yes, things get a bit back to front in one’s mind – it’s a lot like jet lag – passing through Munch’s scream is just like passing through the vortex at the centre of our universe – and coming into the equal and opposite universe on the other side of zero point. Interestingly, their universe would be the size of a pinhead if you could transpose it into our reality, but then the same could be said of what we consider time: the whole of time in our universe would amount to 1/27 of a moment in theirs...

The mind, dear readers, if you could stroke it gently like a dear cat or dog, give it a biscuit and let it settle down for a snooze, you’ll find it much easier to tune in to Goblin – and trust me, if you would, tuning in is the only way to make head or tails of it.

So, let me give an example of how we can work with Goblin rather than trying to explain what the mind cannot yet comprehend. There’s obviously lots of negativity in our reality, and goblins are drawn in magnetically to assist with negativity – for negativity must flow through the system until it can once again become positive. So, yes, goblins in our universe are most certainly connected with all sorts of negative happenings, and if you activate your beetle mark you’ll see one standing next to Adolf Hitler grinning wickedly, but that doesn’t mean the goblin has any personal involvement in it. The goblin is more just a servant of nature – including human nature. When we closed down Faery, that didn’t make it cease to exist – it merely became invisible to us humans. Well the goblin doesn’t instigate any negativity – merely acts, dances, performs in accordance with our negative thoughts and ideas. We might unknowingly send a goblin to raid someone’s house if we’re angry with that person, or even worse. Fortunately, goblins act without malice even if we humans don’t.

Now, if you are able to face your deepest darkest fears, if you are able to face what you’ve been trying not to see – then something happens – you’re able to see the goblin. At first you’re horrified, mesmerised – it looks like the devil itself, but then nature is rightfully restored – you see your goblin transform right in front of your eyes – that all the fear and evil was being projected onto it – that goblin was just like a screen – nothing more – and you were the one filling it with your own deepest darkness.

Well folks, that may sound reassuring but trust me – it ain’t gonna help you much if and when you decide the time has come to face the goblin standing opposite you, lurking in the shadows of your fear. It’s still gonna scare the heebie jeebies out of you. It scares me just thinking about it – but fear – beloved reader – what is fear I ask you? Think of the wonder of coming back to all that is, and that fear pales to insignificance.

Because goblins are the bearers of negative polarity in our reality it means that we can use them to solve the world’s worst problems. They can handle any situation no matter how dire – for them it’s just energy. It’s amazing really – we’re so fixated with solving problems by material intervention, we fail to notice the simplest most direct route – to fix stuff at the quantum level 0=1. Goblins can take us into any disaster – like Fukushima for example – and all being equal can turn it into story.

“Er... sorry Josh, not quite sure what you’re on about...”

“Oh, nice to have you back, Zeph. "Turning it into story" is what happens when we reactivate Faery. It makes no sense whatsoever until then... Suffice it to say that you are an integral part of the entire universe – so integral that you can, at a quantum level, completely reprogram the universe, even things that have already happened, if you’re willing to do so.”

“What, you mean I can reprogram Fukushima and make it go away?”

“You can do better than that – you can use Fukushima to transform the world into a garden paradise if you so wish – but only if you reconnect Faery, otherwise you’re powerless to work with Story.”

“But Story’s just a thing you read in a book – it doesn’t alter reality.”

“Correct Zeph, that's true - there are story books but there's something else that no one talks about - Story itself. Reality isn’t going to be altered as long as you’re fixed in the linear, modern reality controlled by what King Cnut did a thousand years ago. That’s a fear based reality that is rigid and locked by all its conspirators. It’s not, however, the only reality. Once you’re ready to reconnect, reality is no longer controlled by fear or someone else’s story – you become the active force, the Storymaster.”

“Ok – so maybe I can change reality – but why would I want to work with goblins – they’re evil. I just know it.”

“Yes, they are evil and your knowledge is good as far as it goes. But it only goes as far as King Cnut. No further. If you go back before the inception of the modern era you come to Faery, and goblins are negative in the same way night is dark or the south pole of a magnet is negative. If you pass through the zero point of space and time and visit their side of the life-matter curve, you discover the positive side to their negative – and it’s a joyous sight to behold. You’re no longer trapped in a duality of good and bad. Hallelujah J

Chapter 10 - in which I sift through the debris and discover beauty

I’m on my own really. Now that I’ve seen all that happened at Cnut’s beach party, and seen how it continues to this day – there’s no one I can turn to for help, as they’re all avoiding the goblin that’s standing before them, Dr Fenwick included.

Crash! The whole of my reality support structure has collapsed in one fell swoop. Nothing that anyone is saying or doing is going to make a blind bit of difference, coz they’re all avoiding the simple truth, they’re all players in Cnut’s drama whether they realise it or not. The only ones who are for real are the ones who’ve agreed to face their darkest fears and see the nasty looking goblin.

You know, I’ve been back to that beach more times than I care to remember, and I was wondering if the goblin is fundamentally evil – a demon of sorts – and yes – in 3D that’s how you’d see it, but in terms of what is – from Faery perspective it perfectly matches whatever we needed in order to enter the particular side branch of story that we call the “modern age”. In their natural habitat, doing what goblin’s naturally do – they’re no better or worse than anything else – though you’re going to find that exceptionally hard to believe the first time you lay eyes on this ugly brute. You see, in order to create this somewhat artificial reality – in order to create this deviation from story’s broadest channel, it was necessary to cross wires – and that’s bound to create disharmony and ugliness. So with the wires crossed, and humanity willing to go along with Cnut’s proposal, we find ourselves in a world where it makes perfect sense to amass wealth at the expense of fellow humans, where it makes sense to destroy the very planet you’re living on, where it makes sense to live in fear of death and ask what the meaning of life might be – what else would you expect when the wires are crossed.

Uncrossing them ain’t difficult – it simply requires you to face what is – unconditionally. Now, when I say “ain’t difficult” in a sort of stylised American slang, I mean it doesn’t require any advanced, technical or magicky knowledge. It’s all good old fashioned heart based soul yearning for what simply is, as opposed to what seems to be. Once I’ve had enough of all the lies and deception – and they’ll never end until I’ve really had enough and completely made up my mind to be done with them – why then it’s child’s play. A moment of crisis. A complete shift of perspective. A sudden awareness that nothing is as it seems, and then, shock horror, a grotesque goblin leering at me – doing everything in its power to get me to step back into the modern mind of “what matters”.

It’s a bit like the old folk tale Tam Lin – his pregnant bride-to-be can only rescue him from the Queen of the Fairies if she holds on to him through thick and thin, even when he turns into a lion, a bear, a lizard, a snake... When he finally turns into a burning coal she’s to throw him into the well, and then he’s hers – happy ending. Well, the modern mind is willing to try almost any trick to get us to back off. It’ll put the fear of God into us, give us panic attacks, make us see demons, whatever it takes to keep us in thrall to Cnut’s story amendment – but once you understand the process – that neither your mind nor the goblin nor anyone else can hurt you – then it’s all just water off a duck’s back. You face your deepest darkest fear – and find yourself exactly where you were a moment ago – only this is real and that was seem. Here your mind is your own and working in harmony with Story, whereas there, in seem, the wires are crossed and no matter what you do, or how hard you try, you always end up serving the very cause you most wish to oppose and defeat. That’s a paradox if ever I saw one.

So, are you ready to get REAL? Are you ready to face the simple truth, the isness of be. It ain’t hard though it’s going to rock you to the very core. Can you handle that, or are you a drama queen who’d prefer to die than to admit you’ve been living a half-baked lie, that you were complicit in this right from the very start – even though you like to think “they’re the bad guys” and you’re the unwilling victim.

“Er... Josh old man. I don’t mean to interrupt you in the flow and all, but how can you say that we were all complicit? That was like a thousand years ago. We couldn’t possibly have had anything to do with it – unless you’re being all biblical about this and saying the sins of the fathers are visited on the children?”

Oh, hi Gwyn, nice of you to join me. Yes, I do tend to get carried away with my tub thumping rhetoric, don’t I... now, remember that this is story so time as you know it doesn’t really exist. You see, in terms of story we’re in fractal territory. Nothing new is ever created unless you go back to the source, back to creation itself, and you can’t do that when you or your fathers have agreed to look away collectively, and enter a reality in which “what” –  “matters”. Unless you consciously choose to go back and deal with the issue, you’re nothing more than a subset, a fraction of your fathers. It means that, strange though it may seem, until you deal with the issue within yourself, you were there, present on the strand with Cnut, no less than your great-grandfather³⁶ all those years ago.

But that’s er...

Impossible. Yes. Precisely. It makes absolutely no sense to the rational mind which insists on thinking within the box of linear space-time. End of story. Don’t even bother trying to go down that road – it ain’t gonna work. Leave the rational modern mind of “what matters” at home to clean the dishes, and experience this directly if you choose to, consciously, if and only if you truly desire to get back to what simply is: the isness of be.

Er... so I have to just take your word for it – isn’t that what you’re saying?

No Gwyn, my main man. Take it with a large pinch of salt, or a vodka martini, or however you like – it’s entirely up to you. But if, perchance, you’ve noticed that nothing seems to be right in your world, and that try as you might, collectively, you just don’t seem to be able to fix it – you might, for a change, consider that this is precisely the way things should and would naturally be when you enter a conspiracy with sorcerer King Cnut to shunt reality from Story’s mainline quantum stream into a fetid sideline that promises the world but never quite delivers. It’s a mathematical certainty that your world will, and, can only collapse as it has an expiry date. Such is the nature of story. No illusion can last forever, like a bubble blown – no matter how hard people try to keep it going. Why do you think there was so much killing in the 20^th Century?

No idea.

Blood sacrifices – feeding the beast, so to speak. It was the only way to keep that reality from collapsing under the weight of its internal contradictions. But this, you see, is a kind of ponzi scheme that requires exponential increases to sustain its self-consuming appetite. In any case, there are a load of children coming into the world now who weren’t signatories to this agreement – which is making it even harder to sustain the so called “modern age”.

So how come you have children slipping through the net into this world if they’re not part of this story?

Well, that’s because Cnut and his followers were never able to completely cut out Faery. People went along with their version of reality unwillingly, under compulsion, but they carried on being human beings, inspired by nature, writing, painting, dancing, creating, and so they opened portals, gateways into this reality, which came to look like a swiss cheese riddled with holes.

So you mean that art really matters? It’s not just a pleasant distraction?

Yep – 100%. It was Dostoevsky who said beauty would save the world, and he wasn’t talking about a beautiful woman or landscape. “Beauty” is seen whenever we create something magical – for to do so we transcend the illusion of our material age, and rediscover Faery’s limitless...

Er... limitless what?

You can call it that if you like – Faery’s limitless “what”, though I prefer to give it no name whatsoever.

Listening to myself speaking with Gwyn and others it’s bizarre – I sound like I’m Faery’s greatest advocate, selling its produce and wares, but I’m the one who chose to shut it out, and the thought of going back to Gill and Roger’s world is still off limits - too much to handle.

So I’m in a kind of twilight zone – on the one hand I’m using Faery magic by activating my beetle mark. Doing so means I can see the wood from the trees and make sense of our cart-before-the-horse, wires-are-crossed reality. And Faery is growing bigger regardless of my resistance, for example, there’s what I call "hyperspace". It’s not quite the same as in Star trek – you don’t need a spaceship travelling at the speed of light because light doesn’t actually have a speed at all. Hyperspace, as I use the term, refers to space that doesn’t fit into our 3D box reality grid – what you call the matrix. The only trouble is you’re almost completely unaware of it as long as you’re stuck in the modern mind of “what really matters”. Once you start facing reality – once you’ve dealt with the goblin and his cohorts, yes, there’s more than one, but of that another time, you’re ready to see what is... and being multi-dimensional, it goes without saying that space-time is not going to be uniformly even. It’s like a river where the current varies, or a sea that is tidal and has currents flowing in different directions. It can also be like a website with pop-up windows and hyperlinks connecting with other sites. I tell you this merely as a teaser – to whet your imagination – to encourage you to consider the alternative to your flat Cartesian 3D reality.

I seem to be losing the battle as you can see. There seems to be no way back into the Matrix. I have no wish to deny the truth of what I have learnt, what is...

So, here I am, like King Cnut an age earlier, on the fast diminishing strand before the floodtide of Faery, yet feeling decidedly un-Canutish – more James the Second-ish – planning to make myself scarce, to flee unceremoniously, disguised as a woman if need be. I’m not proud. I’m not afraid to be the laughing stock of popular history. Sanity rather than salinity is my chief concern and “impending” is the operative word, as I sense the sickle sword of Faery slicing through the final threads of my lifeline to normality. But where to flee – I have as yet no answer. 

Chapter 9 again - in which Dr Fenwick sees a goblin

I’m having recurring dreams night after night. Blocking off Faery has provided me with a respite from the madness of hearing bugs talking in my mind, but seems to be merely shifting the weirdness to another part of my sub-consciousness – hence the dreams.

You know, I can handle recurring dreams. They’re not killing me or anything like that, but I’m afraid that they’re sucking me deeper into Faery whether I like it or not. For a start they’re giving me information, and the more I see and know about Faery, the harder it is to simply dismiss it outright as an unwelcome intrusion or an aberration. Take these dreams, for example... you’ll probably laugh when you hear what they’re about. At first I couldn’t see any link with Faery whatsoever – it just seemed like some kind of bizarre hyper-realistic history lesson – and when I say “hyper-realistic” I’m referring to the fact that they’re more lifelike than anything I’ve ever dreamt before. So lifelike, in fact, that I have to pinch myself to make sure I’m dreaming – which ought to wake me up, but just draws attention to the fact that my hand is er... I’ll tell you later.

So to end your suspense, there’s a beach and a figure that looks like someone important. He’s got a bunch of followers with him – this is what I get at the purely visual level but if there’s anything extra I need to know I can zoom in, and access names, dates, it’s all there.

“So it’s just like using google maps, you could say?”

That’s Dr Fenwick – here’s a hotshot psychoanalyst who’s agreed to help me deal with this personal crisis I’m going through.

Yeah – a bit like that, though to be honest, anything you see on the internet doesn’t come close to it.

“What do you mean?”

This is so much more real – there’s absolute clarity, and the information – you don’t have to read it as such – it’s just there, the moment you reach for it.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah – it turns out this is King Canute. I mean, can you believe it? Why would I have any interest whatsoever in King Canute? I’ve never been a fan of history, still less medieval history. I don’t even remember studying him at school, though I’m sure we did in passing, many years ago. So here I am, night after night, back on the same beach, like I’m supposed to get it or something.

“Get it? What do you mean?”

Like I’m supposed to figure something out. Do you remember that movie, I think it was Tom Hanks, Groundhog day – he keeps waking on the same day and eventually he knows every tiny detail – what everyone in that small town are doing at any moment on that particular day. I’m beginning to feel the same way about King Cnut, as he calls himself, and that God forsaken beach.”

“Er... why God forsaken?”

Well, apart from the bit that everyone knows – the chair before the incoming tide, the imperious command, the wet feet, egg on the royal face and all that... after a few weeks of this I got a bit more adventurous... I started experimenting, moving around, viewing the action from different positions, until one day... er...

Dr Fenwick waits calmly, patiently a minute or more, until curiosity seems to get the better of him:

“Yes, what happened?”

I find myself wanting to piece it all together, to solve the jigsaw puzzle, so to speak. I have this irresistible feeling that I can – that if I draw all the strands together – if I use my full vision – that I’ll get it. And that’s when I notice a part of my mind that’s been quietly blocking anything that might contradict the official version – you know – the rational way of seeing and thinking.

“Interesting. How exactly do you notice it?”

Well, for a start I can see that something doesn’t quite add up. Remember, by now I know the story inside out – Cnut, each of his courtiers, the soldiers and hangers on – their clothes, their belongings, even what they’re thinking. But there are some minor inconsistencies which at first didn’t bother me in the slightest, but now are yelling at me like a big Neon sign.

“For example?”

Their eyes – they seem to be trying to avoid seeing something that scares them. They’re looking at the King, but instead of being amused or mildly shocked by the silliness of what’s going on – they have half-concealed expressions of horror, a grimace – and I can’t for the life of me see what’s causing it – even when I get into their minds – because they’re blocking it too well – because it’s irrational, even though it’s palpably real.

“So what do you do? How do you break the truth embargo?”

I... I’ve told you about Faery already. You seemed to handle it alright. Well, even though I’m doing everything I can to keep it out of my life, it seems like I’ve already been changed from within... I mean, it would have been the end of the world for me to start looking the other way – to start seeing things from this different perspective... but after a couple of weeks on the beach with Cnut every night – it seemed completely natural to try using Faery to unlock the riddle.

“You mean you contacted Gill or Roger – the, er... beetles?”

No, there’s no need for that, even if I knew how. I just remembered how I’d been seeing things when I was with Gill – how I’d shifted ever so slightly into another perspective which was in some way connected with the beetle mark that Roger had opened up on my forehead. So I did the same thing on the beach. I had to make an effort to do so. There was some internal resistance. It was almost like I was opening it for the first time.”

My mind seems to wander off for a moment, before Dr Fenwick brings me back with a slight cough and an enquiring look – “Is everything alright?” he asks.

Oh, sorry Dr Fenwick – I was just re-experiencing it one more time. Yes – it was bizarre. It was as if Roger had never actually opened the portal – that I had to do it for myself – which is what I did. And then I remembered him explaining at the time that I had a bigger part to play in opening it than I realised, and I suppose that’s what he meant. That at different times and places we both opened the portal – or perhaps – that he only appeared to do so in 3D reality because I was able to do so myself, at a later date, if that makes sense.

“Yes, I think it does. But do go on.”

So, once I’ve opened up the beetle mark, as I call it, I’m able to see everything on the beach in stereo, or in 3D, or, how do I explain it – the dream had always been 3D in the sense that I was able to move around and it felt completely real, but now there’s another dimension at play, and what had been glimmer or shadows suddenly pops out into view – like a pop-up window to continue using the internet as analogy. Finally I get to see what’s been freaking everyone out, and the weird thing is that I’d been seeing it all along, I simply hadn’t been aware.

“How do you mean? Surely if you’d been “seeing it” you’d have been aware – isn’t that the definition of seeing?”

I don’t know for sure – I can only tell you how it felt. I’m looking at Cnut, or King Cnut as I should call him, and I’m almost rubbing my eyes in disbelief because there’s this small, dark, scary looking figure that’s dancing around before him, waving and pointing at the courtiers, signalling them, terrifying them, even though they desperately trying to avoid the fact that they’re able to see it.

“I’m not sure I follow what you’re saying...”

I’m not surprised Dr Fenwick, it’s rather confusing when you think about it rationally as we are.

“Yes, well don’t worry too much about being rational right now – we’ll sort that out later. Let’s just try to get all the salient information out and then we’ll piece it together rationally if we can.”

Ok. So, this creature – it’s a goblin.

“A goblin?!” Dr Fenwick tries not to sound surprised but doesn’t quite conceal the fact.

“Yes, I know it sounds ridiculous, but that’s the only way I can describe it, and more than that, I’m able to verify everything in dream by pointing at it and lo and behold – the information pops out that it’s a goblin – whatever that is. So, there you have it... King Cnut addressing his court piously declaring that only God is King, and only God can protect us from the elements, while at the same moment there’s this evil looking goblin dancing around in front of the King, putting the fear of God, excuse the pun, into Canute’s audience, not surprisingly. Seeing it clearly I realised I’d always been seeing it, but hadn’t been able to process half of what I was seeing. Bizarre.

“So what’s your conclusion Josh? Have you solved the mystery?”

Ah – well now that I’m able to use the beetle mark, I’m able to get the whole picture, so to speak, and it starts making sense. It seems that the events on the beach that day were happening on two levels – the normal reality level – where the King pulls an absurd stunt to demonstrate that he’s only human and that we should look to God for our deliverance, and Faery, the other level, in which he’s doing something to the assembled throng.

“Yes, but doing what? Was the information forthcoming?”

Dr Fenwick, you seem to have a particular interest in this subject. Is there anything you’re not telling me?

For a moment Dr Fenwick looks put out – like he’s revealed too much – and then something gives – he seems to have chosen the path of glasnost – as Mikhail Gorbachev would put it – or “openness”.

“I do have a certain professional interest in what your describing Josh... I haven’t said anything till now because I didn’t want to influence or prejudice your account in any way, but if I said that you’re not the first person to come in and tell me about this particular scene, you might realise that it seems to hold a deeper significance for all of us.”

Yes, Dr Fenwick. That’s exactly what I perceived. You see the more I examined things, and weighed all the inconsistencies, the minutiae – what those present were admitting to themselves and what they were not – I realised that the whole thing was a set up, and they were all in some way complicit.

“Ah ha...”

They may not have realised it consciously, but they were at a tipping point in history, in which things could go either way. His ambitious courtiers chose the path of fear because that seemed to be the path that would give them greater power and influence in the long term, and when I say long term I mean from then until now.

“What? I don’t follow what you’re saying.”

I mean, that when they chose to go along with Cnut’s beach show, they were effectively being presented with a choice – that they, the elite, could be powerful and lord it over the people from that day until this, if they were willing to accept fear.

“What kind of fear?”

The only kind of fear that really works – fear of the unknown.

“So how did it work? How did they accept fear of the unknown?”

They were all signatories to a kind of contract – that they would agree not to see what they could see, not to know what they could know – by blocking out Faery for once and for all. If they agreed to that, as almost all of them did, they would have power and wealth, but they’d always have a nagging doubt because in their hearts they knew and would continue to know from generation to generation that they were blocking something out, something that would sooner or later come back and bite them in the rear.

“So it was a Faustian deal – they sold their souls you’re saying.”

No, not as much as that. Our souls, you see, are never really for sale because they don’t belong to us – we cannot sell what we don’t own.

“Then who do they belong to if not us?”

Dr Fenwick – you’re putting the cart before the horse, as we all tend to do in this back-to-front version of reality. WE belong to our souls, not the other way round. We can sell ourselves – that much is true, but our souls are never lost, and nor, perchance are we – not completely – not when you see this all from the perspective of Faery.

“Which is?”

Isn’t it obvious? From Faery’s perspective this is all just a strange, sometimes terrible, but nevertheless weird and wonderful game. It’s story. Story in the making. Story that is never fundamentally good or evil – because to be fundamentally good or evil it would have to be real.

“And what? You’re saying it isn’t?”

Oh dear, it does sound confusing at times, but I assure you – now that I can see it from Faery’s perspective it’s starting to make more sense. When the characters on the beach agreed to go along with King Cnut’s new story line – that was the beginning of a whole new age – the modern age we call it. That’s what we’ve been living in. That’s where we still are – or we were – until Roger and Gill started interfering with me and various others along the way. So now, you see, those who agreed to wilful blindness and the shortsightedness of material gain – they’re no less responsible for what’s now happening than Roger and Gill, as we’re all actors together in one morphogenic drama.

“I’m not sure I follow.”

No. What I meant to say is that – hey ho the wind and the rain... We take everything so very seriously. We try to put together rational explanations, but in the end, things only truly start making sense if you’re willing to face and see the logical inconsistencies inherent in 3D reality, because this is only half the picture. Once the rest is pasted in it starts making perfect sense, but to do so, to paste it in, we have to face our deepest fear – we have to face the goblin standing before King Canute, and the fear the courtiers had of losing face, or falling from favour, of getting left behind, of being all alone before the relentless power of nature’s incoming tide. And so, at the time they chose power and a storyline that was skewed heavily towards “what matters” rather than “what is” – but in doing so they made themselves weak. All except Roger, that is.

“Roger? Your Roger?”

Well he’s hardly mine – but yes, he was there – just a boy in fact – cook’s boy. He was the only one who didn’t ignore the evil goblin’s piercing gaze, and for that he was rewarded with special powers – the gnomiki saw he was their man and he’s been serving them ever since.

“So how old is he?”

Dr Fenwick, once we accept Faery, things like age don’t really matter. There’s... how can I put it? Maybe that’s all I should say – there is – a constant vast, interwoven field or stream of “there is” – and we’re a part of it. It’s only divided up into neat square sections when you remove Faery from the equation. Then you only get one small frame at a time. So, have I answered your question Dr Fenwick? Are you content?

I stare with surprise as Dr Fenwick seems to be struggling, struggling with something bigger than he can quite grasp. I feel the beetle mark on my forehead tingling so I activate it without a second thought...

But of course – Dr Fenwick was there too – how foolish of me.

Dr Fenwick, now a court physician is desperately trying to avert his gaze from the diabolical goblin, and his mind is doing everything it possibly can to deny the fact that there is anything there at all. “P-42” he murmurs to himself in a trancelike state – and the terrible weight of seeing too much vanishes. Ignorance is bliss, as they say.

“P-42” I ask... whatever’s that?

Dr Fenwick looks bemused. “I’m sorry? Did you say something?”

Oh no, nothing at all... 

Chapter 9 - in which King Canute rewrites his-story

The g-nome portal chat rooms are open, the upper reading room is humming with expectation, the main lecture theatre is full to capacity – even I’m surprised by the excitement that is building in anticipation of the release of Chapter 9. But then again, when you consider we’ve been working towards this moment for the best part of a thousand years now – it’s hardly surprising that the sense of something big and beautiful being about to break is building to fever pitch.

At the stroke of 9 the chapter is distributed to all and sundry... with silence as eyes scan the first page. There are some murmurs and mutterings – “impending tide? Whatever’s that meant to mean?”

“impending tide? No respect for the English language!”

“impending tide? Damn foolish if you ask me!”

Really, there’s no pleasing some folk! G-nome portal’s language committee looked at the matter in great detail and, like most committees, failed to come to a clear consensus. Personally, I happen to like the idea of an “impending” tide. I’m prepared to admit they don’t usually hang overhead like a sword about to fall on you, but the word “impending” is so much more mellifluous than “incoming”, and is thick with doom and gloom, so this sort-of-solecism should, I feel, be excused. I need the drama of the word. Other concerns are secondary.

Questions are appearing in the chat room, even before readers have got to the end of the first page. Honestly, it would make life a lot simpler if people would read the entire text before commenting. The chances are you’ll find the answer on page three or four, if you can just hang on that long. For example, the question: “Why Canute? What’s that gotta do with Josh’s failure to return to normal reality.”

As questions go it isn’t a bad one – so I’m not really complaining. The answer should be obvious to the more poetically minded among you – “holding back the tide” – “holding back the inevitable” – “the impossibility of stopping nature having its way” – or for the more mathematically minded among you “mean reversion” - that kind of thing. The mind can always find associations if it tries. Or maybe Canute is just a pleasant digression into a intriguing area of English history – intriguing because it so obviously doesn’t quite add up. Speaking of which, I recall a lecture I attended many years ago on King Canute by Rudford Spoon. Fascinating stuff – but none of it true.

I adjust my glasses, clear my throat, take a sip from the glass of water on the dais and proceed evenly:

King Canute is, of course, famous for demonstrating to his courtiers the limitations of absolute monarchy. What better way to do so than by commanding the incoming tide to forebear from advancing to where he stands defiantly before it. It’s lonely at the top and Canute must have been quietly amused by this theatrical demonstration of regal impotence, not to mention the consternation of his sycophantic court. His words at the time were carefully recorded: “Let all men know how empty and worthless is the power of kings, for there is none worthy of the name, but He whom heaven, earth, and sea obey by eternal laws,” and thus Cnut, as we should rightly call him, earns the reputation of being a pious and devout ruler. Or that, at least, is the official version, but was this, I ask you, one of history’s great Ozymandias moments, or a carefully staged event with a hidden agenda? Those in the Ozymandias camp see Cnut as a ruler who, like the hero in Shelley’s poem, could not but appear feeble and inconsequential before the irresistible duo of time and nature. My apologies for this foray into what may seem like needless erudition, but the poem was compulsory reading at school and must have made a lasting impression...

But seriously, if you believe that a man of Canute’s power, political savvy and ambitions was stupid enough to have a confrontation with the sea, merely in order to persuade the general populace that he was humble, pious and devout – think again. You don’t get as far as Canute had with a North Sea empire comprising England, Denmark and Norway, by staging “humble and holy” PR events. On the contrary, you’d tend to do as Queen Elizabeth when attacked by the Spanish Armada, and claim the storms that routed the Spanish fleet were sent by God to protect you and your dominions, thus proving you to be the rightful ruler. No... Cnut evidently had a different reason for his highly ambiguous and somewhat disturbing “life’s a beach” PR stunt. He must have known something that we don’t, and felt confident that he had nothing to lose and everything to gain – if only we knew what...

The lights dim and the speaker now proceeds in barely a whisper, taking the auditorium into a trance-like state:

King Cnut, like many a great ruler, was first and foremost storymaster. He knew intuitively how to write story code, how to shape and affect reality at a quantum level. In normal parlance you would refer to him as a “wizard”, but this word sounds ridiculous so I’d prefer you didn’t. As storymaster it was Cnut’s job to shift the storyline into whatever trajectory best suited his needs and those of...er... story. To do so he applied Shakespeare’s “all the world’s a stage” methodology. Using high theatre and the unfamiliar setting of a beach, he delivered a psychological blow to the assembled courtiers who saw, not only their king in dire straits before the advancing tide, ho hum, but couldn’t help but picture themselves in his place. In the words of Professor Jubblethwaite Nobble [1702] “‘Twas an act of inspired genius, a master-stroke of sorcery by a consummate storymaster.”

“But how?” I hear you cry. “What did this achieve?” Well put yourself in the minds of his entourage for whom Cnut was all powerful Sovereign. It was a shock to the system to see their Lord and King going to such lengths to expose himself to ridicule, as if the Emperor himself had chosen to reveal the fact that he was wearing no clothes at the most embarrassing, inopportune moment. His courtiers were suddenly infected with a deep-seated fear of losing face, of appearing ridiculous in the eyes of their fellow men, and a disturbing awareness of human vulnerability. This was exactly the state Cnut needed them to be in if he was to administer new story code to replace the old. And that’s precisely what he did.

It isn’t really possible to explain in layman’s terms how story code is inserted – suffice it to say that everyone on the beach that day knew exactly what had to be done in order to avoid the abyss of fear and uncertainty that had opened up within them. There was no alternative. They had to focus wholly on material reality, and stand with whatever power and authority the king and church represented. They knew they had to close down Faery by reactivating P-42. Anything less would place them at the mercy of the impending tide which had entered their minds like a snarling wolf. Of this they had not the slightest doubt, and each of them proceeded accordingly.

“So, what exactly is P-42?” you’re asking.

It’s a short sequence of code that disrupts our Faery connection. Prior to Cnut’s rewrite of reality, almost everyone lived in a binary state with both Faery and a limited version of 3D “I-mind: what-matters” functioning in tandem. We were all able to see and experience other realities, other dimensions, but this caused difficulties when growing up, hence the need for P-42. It was used by children to block Faery while they were learning to speak and establish the rational platform “I-mind: what-matters”. Without P-42 it was almost impossible to get the hang of this back-to-front material reality, and very few succeeded. With Faery temporarily hidden from sight, the rational mind assumes this reality is all there is, and therefore makes a concerted effort to settle in and assimilate. However, once the rational mind has taken root we would remove and delete P-42, reopening our connection with Faery in order to enjoy the best of both worlds until, that is, Cnut sees fit to change the storyline, just under 1000 years ago, causing us to permanently reactivate P-42.

It’s like a chain reaction that starts with his courtiers on the beach and they, of course, are a powerful and influential bunch. One by one the entire populace succumbs to this new Faery-less modus operandi. Religion, politics and public opinion all play their part making it all but impossible for people to resist the relentless advance of the modern age of pure reason. It becomes socially and politically unacceptable to deactivate P-42 – you’d be branded a witch, a wizard, a nutcase or a freak – you’d be hounded from society, persecuted, lynched... so we the people wisely bow to the inevitable and choose the path of least resistance, preferring to make a virtue of necessity. We discover, however, that although now permanently disconnected from Faery, it is not completely gone. Although the rational mind rejects and denies it, Faery still permeates the membrane of mind through nature and the creative arts, all of which are inspired by Faery and transcend 3D reality, thereby helping to transmit Faery’s pirate signal and disseminate its delightfully subversive message. Were it not for this, humanity would have suffocated long ago, destroyed by abject boredom and despair.

Obviously, the trillion dollar question is why Canute as story master par excellence decided to do this in the first place – effectively turning reality into a wasteland... what did he hope to gain by shutting off Faery? This is a subject that has been written about extensively by g-nomers throughout the ensuing period. What we can say with absolute certainty is had he not done so, with Faery even partially online, most people would never have taken their kings and rulers seriously. It’s hard to believe priests and politicians who seek to impose their version of reality, their truth, when you can hear trees, spiders, birds and gnomiki, all of whom are telling a quite different tale that intuitively makes a lot more sense, based as it is on harmony, creativity and isness.

So, for whatever reason, Cnut acts out his part in story. In an inspired moment of high drama he gives us the first lines of the new chapter which has been playing out ever since as “the modern age”, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Speaking of which, it’s time we returned to Josh the not so Jubilant who, as yet, knows nothing of King Cnut and the role he played in the ebb and flow of Faery.

Chapter 8 - in which I try to revert to normality

So here I am the morning after, as we so often are, in a world that looks and feels completely different. What is it about the morning after that turns the best laid plans, the brightest dreams, the greatest discoveries into the stuff of childish fancy and Tom-foolery? In the sober light of the new day yesterday’s adventures with Gill are now a distant, embarrassing dream, and the quietly efficient rational mind is trying to sweep them under the chequered carpet of common sense, out of harm’s way – “Talking beetle? How ridiculous – don’t be absurd,” it keeps repeating.

“Having second thoughts?” I ask myself, but nearly leap out of my skin as my eyes notice a spider on the wall opposite. Why, you might ask, would I react so hysterically? A spider, after all, is hardly frightening for a grown man who is known for being down-to-earth and practical. Wait a second – was that me or the spider thinking just then?  As I glance at the spider suspiciously I sense it smiling mischievously. “It wasn’t me,” it thinks aloud in a kind of exaggerated stage whisper, “...didn’t say anything” and it turns away, busying itself with a spot of web maintenance, trying to look all innocent.

You see, my world is falling to pieces. I’m hearing insects talking and I’m not even certain which are my thoughts and which are theirs. Ready yourself, I feel the moment coming to a crescendo, something’s about to hit the fan...

“No, No, No, No” – that’s four big “no’s” which should be enough for anyone to get the message, “I’m definitely not having this”. A desperate rearguard action is being fought. I have to retreat to the tried-and-tested, the fortified high ground of pre-Faery mind – secure and proudly isolated from all other streams of what I consider inferior, sub-human consciousness, otherwise I’m going to lose the plot. “My mind is my castle” – I boldly declare, “an island unto myself”, and post “keep out”, “private property”, “trespassers will be prosecuted” and “insect teleportation strictly prohibited” signs all around. Phew! I’m safe again. There’ll be no more funny business. That’s a relief, and I happily revert back to my former self.

This seems to work. For the next two or three days I have no more problems with insects appearing unexpectedly in my room or trying to jump dimensions via my beetle mark, nor do I overhear any unsolicited remarks. “I’m the boss,” I keep telling myself. “It’s my mind and no one’s going to send me into a childish, fantasy delirium of fairies or talking arthropods.” I’m resolute as never before, even if I am muddling my taxonomy.

I immerse myself in my work, start jogging again to get back in shape, and go on a date with a lawyer who represented the company I work for in a libel action suit a few months ago – er...

“So how did it end?” you ask.

“The date?”

“No, not the date...”

“Coz I learnt a lot of very useful legal terminology that night, even if we didn’t quite hit it off. Funny the way lawyers seem to be wholly unimpressed by poetry. I’d have thought...” and for the next twenty minutes I’m discussing the need for a revival of the courtly love tradition – a pet subject that I like to bring up in conversation whenever I can, but eventually you steer me back with a pointed “is that the time?” glance at your watch and a careful folding of your napkin.

“How did it end?” The unanswered question hovers over me like a mayfly. Something in my mind is still putting up resistance, struggling to avoid the recollection. A moment’s silence as I gently coax the rational mind to let go. But it’s rigid, locked.

“Alpha” I hear myself give the command without understanding how or why, and amazingly, can feel the calm, peaceful meditative state returning – just like when Roger was providing emergency alpha support. Amazing! I simply side step the rational mind and I’m free to proceed – without conflict.

“How did you do that?” I hear you ask.

“Do what?” – I reply, bemused.

“You’re floating! You’re... I must be dreaming... where did he go?” I hear your voice fade as I let myself shift into a more comfortable frequency, allowing space and time to undulate, ripple and flow through and around me.

As you can see, my attempt to put back the clock, to return to normal reality has ended in abject failure, and here’s how...”

Chapter 7 - in which I discover what is

When Gill has got her breath back she resumes her discourse... “Faery gives us direct access to “that which is” so we no longer need to waste our time trying to define or explain things. Things are things... zombie land – don’t go there unless you want to say goodbye to Faerie and become a servant of the thing machine we call “reality”...

Gill chats on for a minute or two, and I'm content to hear the rise and fall of her voice – and whatever she is saying seems to make perfect sense.

“Suffice it to say that nothing can really make sense,” she concludes, “until you understand the basis... the simple truth...”

“Which is?”

“Correct. Which is... Is.”

For a second I flinch at the intellectual profundity of what is going through my alpha mind – snatches of lost wisdom and forgotten, concealed or deliberately distorted truths... and yet with a kind of wild abandonment another me is elated, like a surfer riding an impossibly big wave or a guppy fish out-swimming the mother of all sharks. I’m still able to feel bodily the floating-falling sensation I experienced watching Gill hovering between wing beats a few moments ago.

I’m suddenly acutely aware of I-mind struggling to get a handle on this, trying to understand, to explain... until I let go, knowing it’s futile – the 3D mind cannot go beyond what matters.

“Yes, it takes some getting used to,” Gill looks at me sympathetically, almost tenderly for a minute as I let it all sink in, as I feel myself gently rising and falling on the quantum tide of consciousness.

“Away with the faeries...” I think to myself, “I must be losing it...” but I know that I’m not.

Gill brings me back down again with a big grin and “Welcome to the Real world Josh.”

“Oh my God,” I think, “it sounds like the Matrix movie.”

Gill giggles – “Yes it’s unavoidable. Art and life are interwoven. Your limited reality is at the end of its cycle so one by one you’re all awakening. That film was part of the process.”

“Ok,” I reason, “so if Faery is reality with a capital R, then what’s g-nome – sounds a bit like “genome”. Is it connected to DNA?”

“Yes, of course. Everything’s connected. These words are no exception. There’s masses and masses of code in your DNA which isn’t simply biological landscape design, but enables your conscious-awareness to start perceiving what otherwise would be invisible or non-existent. That’s why with g-nome largely disconnected, Faery’s been a kind of fairytale for most people. With a few exceptions, only children have been able to access it and their ability to do so usually shuts down when they start attending school.”

“Ah...”

“Yes, isn’t it just! Big, long, Aaah...!” Gill smiles.

“Wait a minute, how can I see you smile – you’re just a beetle?”

“Do you know many beetles called Gill?” she asks.

“Can’t say I do,” I reply, “in fact, you’re the first,” which sets my mind in motion. Wheels start turning, thoughts flowing and pieces of the puzzle clicking together... “So you’re not just a beetle...” I surmise with a surprising degree of certainty.

“And you’re not just a human” she replies, with a twinkle in her eye. “As Faery opens wider and g-nome is reactivated you stop needing to define beings or things in terms of their race or species. Conscious-awareness is like a quantum stream and we’re able to move throughout, no longer bound by one particular shape or form.”

“So are you beetle by choice or by design?”

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll let you answer that question yourself as soon as you’re ready, but to do so you’ll need to get some rest and assimilate a lot of information that your mind is now downloading and absorbing. It’s going to take a while before it feels comfortable.”

“One more question,” I ask... “Am I going to have a lot more insects popping through my forehead?”

“Are you sure that’s what has been happening? It doesn’t sound very rational,” she smiles.

“Well, I hear this little crack and then there’s an insect nearby and my beetle mark is suddenly prominent, so yes, I put two and two together...”

“And got four, but in Faery you can just as easily get five or some other number.”

“So to answer my question?”

“Does it particularly bother you having insects appearing in this way?”

“No, but it’s a little disconcerting?”

“Unfamiliar, you mean. Almost everything about Faery is unfamiliar, particularly at the stage you’re now at. You were living in isolation, quarantined from other realities, from the vast multiversality of Is, and now you’re beginning to experience how they’re all connected. Every time one of these creatures teleports with you as intermediate, they pay for the service with a little information, a little packet of awareness, so to answer your question – yes, if you continue to give your energetic consent, Faery will continue the process of your reconnection and reintegration.”

“So I’m definitely consenting, you’re saying, even though I’m not aware of it?”

“Without a doubt. Without consent nothing can happen.”

“And the part of me that’s consenting is compos mentis?”

“Of sound mind – yes – except it isn’t a “part of you” as you put it.”

“No? I thought you said...”

“It isn’t a “part of you” that’s taking control. It’s the whole of you – the “All that I am, the multi-dimensional Self”.

“Oh!”

“You see Josh – “Faery” doesn’t refer to a magic kingdom or a piece of the jigsaw puzzle. It’s the whole, the so-called “Be all and end all”, which means that any decision you make regarding Faery can only happen at the highest level of your being... But don’t take my word for it, test it and decide for yourself if it’s true or not, because you can only proceed if you pass the Reality test by accepting what is.”

“What is?” It seems so vague. My mind starts looking for something to hold onto.

Yep, simply what is, nothing more, nothing less.

“Oh!”

Chapter 6 - in which actions speak louder than words

...but before Chumba Wumba can say another word or Fidgy Temoral for that matter, story imperceptibly shifts back into gear and on it streams.

Gill shrugs, takes a deep breath, then flies up into the air and engages in what looks like a display of aerial acrobatics. My eyes are glued to her and my mind completely lets go of whatever I was just thinking about. Something inexplicable is happening – Gill appears to be flying more and more slowly around the room until she’s just hovering in the air – and I can see her individual wingbeats, like time has slowed down or I’ve speeded up. I’m completely riveted. Gill is now between wingbeats, frozen in mid-air, and it’s like the safety catch has been released – I move around the room and inspect the action-still from every angle, taking it all in. It’s only after peering at a strange looking form for a minute or two that click – I realise I’m examining my own face.

I know you’re probably expecting more hyper-ventilation and melodramatics, but no – it doesn’t happen that way. I’m so much more in the mind of the observer that I no longer attach great importance to the strangeness of being able to view my self. I hover over to the mirror on the wall hoping to catch sight of who or what I am, but it’s like a solar wind repels me. Ah... I hear the message as it trickles through, that I have to look within to see my Self.

Look within? I’m not into all that inward gazing stuff. I don’t do meditation. Never could see the point. Sitting there falling asleep for ten minutes. No noticeable result. Look within? – I wouldn’t know how to if you paid me... I’m thinking, and while doing so I notice a kind of itchy-scratchy sensation “inside me” – but not a place I can imagine being anatomically possible. It seems to be too far from any known organ or limb – and I don’t mean too far in one particular direction – curiouser and curiouser – as I pay more attention to this itchy-scratchy sensation I feel myself reversing into a world of sensation, a world of feeling, a world that opens up more and more, wider and wider the deeper I reverse, until I finally decide to turn my gaze around to see where I’m going.

Jaw dropping – I was expecting to see the inside of my body – tissue, organs, blood pumping as that’s where the itchy-scratchy sensation seemed to be taking me, but no – far from it – I’m viewing multiple... I’m not sure what – screens, images or realities –all of which are directly ahead of me in different directions – like the spokes of a wheel with me at the centre. Somehow I’m able to view them simultaneously in parallel. As soon as I turn my attention to one of them it fills my line of vision and I’m completely immersed in it, but with the scratch-itchy sensation persisting I’m easily able to return to the hub were all are visible at once.

In one I see scenes that look like my life on Earth – completely unremarkable – I can zoom forwards or back in what we’d call time. In the second I’m flying through what appears to be space; in the third I’m the size of a beetle seeing things as only a beetle can and does; in the fourth I’m a plant – a young tree in an amazing forest – I’m fairly sure it’s not on Earth but who knows – it may be Earth at another time or in another dimension. In the fifth I’m in a bubbly world of energy forms that bear little or no relation to matter and form as we know them – I love that place – it feels like home! In the sixth I appear to be a road junction in South London, not far from Clapham Common – and in the seventh I’m microbial and it’s very mathematical.

Feeling them in parallel is not just a turn of phrase – I mean it quite literally. All seven are different ways of viewing and experiencing one and the same – the isness of the quantum stream.

Do I have the faintest clue what the “isness of the quantum stream” means – or how to put it in plain English. No. Most definitely not, but the amazing thing about being here within Self is that I simply know what is, without needing to trouble how I know it, or why, or anything else. It’s a nice sensation.

I know, teachers at school use to tell us not to use the word “nice”, but really there is no other word. It isn’t pretentious. It isn’t spectacular or remarkable, nor amazing or delightful. It’s just plain old “nice” – good and simple.

This realisation that I don’t have to try and be clever – don’t have to try and explain everything to myself or to others, that I can just experience things the way they are allows another gate to open in the inner-mind and now I’m face to face with what can only be described as my true Self.

“Hello!” I smile radiantly.

“Hello!” my Self smiles back – no less radiantly.

“It’s been, er, a while, hasn’t it.”

“Yes. I’m glad you’ve made it.”

“Well I had a little help you know – Roger – Gill...”

“Not to mention everyone else you’ve ever met along the way, including your terrestrial family.”

“What? They were helping me find my way back to you?”

“Yep. They were doing more than anyone else really, by mirroring everything you preferred not to see, experience or know about yourself.”

“What – you mean there were things I didn’t want to know about you?”

“Yes, many things that didn’t fit your view of the world, or your view of your place in the world. There were things that you preferred not to see because they reminded you too much how you missed being apart from me, so even when your family and friends were driving you to distraction, they were still helping you deal with the million dollar question.”

“...which is?”

“How to be your own story.”

“Story? I wasn’t being my story.”

“Yes, I noticed. You found it difficult didn’t you. You chose instead to be a version of other people’s stories – a composite of story clichés.”

“Oh – that doesn’t sound right.”

“No – but that too brought you back to me – for you never, never for one moment stopped feeling who and what you truly are – or – I am.”

“But what about my story?”

“Well – you kept putting it off. I’ll write it when I finish my maths project, you told yourself, when I finish school, when I finish university, when I get a new job, when I get married, divorced, take a year out, retire, when I’ve had my heart operation.”

“I haven’t had a heart operation or a half of what you’re talking about.”

“No Josh, but that’s where you were heading.”

“And it was all pre-determined?”

“Only if you stayed on that storyless path, for as long as you were on that path you were fixed in linear time. You could bend the course a little to port or starboard, but the general direction was fairly predictable.”

“Oh. And what’s happening now?”

“What’s happening...?  You tell me.”

“I’ve come back to...” I’m not quite sure how to put it.

“Yes, you’ve come back to Is – your multi-dimensional allness. You’ve rediscovered Faery.”

“Amazing. I... it seemed impossible... I thought I’d never make it.”

“Yes, you were good at persuading yourself it couldn’t be done – because you didn’t really want to come back – you were having too much fun experiencing Is-not.”

“Is that what you call our reality?”

“What’s in a name?”

“True. Speaking of which Merry, I can call you that can’t I?”

“Of course.”

“Nothing’s going to be the same again, is it?”

“Was it ever?”

“No, not really.”

The words, the words – what do they convey? Tune in dear reader if you will. Tune in to your own Self if you wish to know what I’m feeling, experiencing at this moment out of time, for all is one... and so am I... and so are We.

Take your time... enjoy this moment if you will. Take your time...

“You’d better be going. Can’t keep Gill hanging around forever.”

“Oh – I forgot.”

I really have forgotten. At this moment the world that we think of as “reality” has ceased to exist, quite literally. It only pops back into being as I step through the doorway into one or other versions of my existence.

“I’ve given you something to take back with you. A little gift,” says Merry as I’m leaving. This leaves me momentarily bewildered as I can’t imagine how I can carry anything back to outer self physically, but already I feel a distant yet noticeable sensation – not the scratchy-itchiness that helped guide me inwards – more a tingly-bubbly one leading me back to the outer-self.

I’m watching Gill flying round in circles and I can’t for the life of me recall what’s going on, or where I’ve just been, but the feeling that has brought me back out remains constant and I look down at my hands which are now, I notice, clenched shut. I open them and see in each a pearl. The link has been established. The circle is complete.

“Thanks Merry,” I think inwardly, and immediately recollect all that I’ve just experienced.

 “Ah...” I murmur as Gill settles down again on the chair opposite. Gazing intently at me she evaluates my shift of awareness... content.

Chapter 5 - in which Gill pinks my Floyd

I’m having a bad dose of self-pity. It just came from nowhere. Disoriented, I can’t for the life of me work out what is wrong. I notice a beetle moving towards me. It looks like it is trying to say something. Absurd. Beetles can’t talk. Then... a buzzing in my ears.

“Your signal went down,” Gill explains.

“Er – signal? What’s that?”

Then it all comes flooding back in a flash, as they say, or a flush. I’m once again up to my eyeballs in liquid strangeness, and something in me would rather it went away.

“That’s the obliviator you can feel now. It’s guiding you to choose oblivion rather than deal with what is... You know, like the Pink Floyd song.”

This was Gill’s master stroke. I was happy to go along with the obliviator and forget all of this weirdness, but I’ve always had a soft spot for Pink Floyd, don’t know why – maybe because I’m a tad gloomy, and so the song she is referring to pops into mind: “Comfortably numb” I chirp, as chuffed as a schoolboy who’s correctly guessed the triple-points bonus question.

“Well done,” Gill smiles, evidently pleased to see her ruse has worked – that I’ve not gone the way so many choose – back into easy forgetfulness – we do so hate being confronted with strangeness, you know.

Well now my spirits are soaring – talk about mood swing – you couldn’t stop me if you tried. “No, Gill, I’m not the kind to take the soft option. I laugh in the face of danger and face difficulties without flinching. But the obliviator you referred to – is it a sentient being?”

“You could say so... in any case, it’s the obliviator that ensures no one gets back to Faery unless they’re ready to do so. They just blank out and reset in 3D reality.”

“Oh... And Faery...?” I press on, still far from clear what it might be, other than some kind of fantasy world beyond our own.

“Faery is...”

Gill pauses a moment as if searching for the right word, “... the unedited version of what you call “reality” – it’s broader, deeper, faster, fuller and...” another pause, “trans-dimensional.”

Well, if you’re anything like me, words like “trans-dimensional” aren’t going to fire your cylinders. I’d have glazed over by now under normal circumstances, but either the unappealing image of an obliviator snapping at my heels or the sudden pick me up mysteriously delivered by Pink Floyd makes me more receptive to Gill’s heroic, but near futile attempt to explain what Faery encompasses.

Sensing this she tries another tack. “Your version of reality is heavily redacted and badly distorted.  It’s easily controlled and manipulated because its flow has been restricted artificially, like a dammed river regulated by sluices. A cross between a machine, a work of art, a science project it’s both wondrous to behold yet diabolical, and though appearing to be realistic, it is no more “real” than the dreams you see at night.”

I don’t know about you, but I’ve never had a lot of sympathy for the “life’s just an illusion” crowd. It’s always seemed real enough to me, and falling out of bed onto a cold hard floor has always felt a lot more real than dreaming the same thing a few minutes earlier, so as you can imagine, I’m fairly lukewarm, tepid even, in my response to what Gill is saying. To her credit, she isn’t overly discouraged by my lack of faith and continues calmly:

“In your current version of reality humans seem to rule the roost. You tend to dismiss as inferior all other lifeforms. Likewise your planet is thought by many to be the only one of consequence in a vast universe. Faery changes this. It restores you to oneness with all life in one fell stroke, not by fancy magic tricks or technology but simply by untangling and reconnecting the threads of that which is.”

“Er... that which is what?” I think to myself.

“Not “what” but “is” – the natural state of being – what I call the “isness” of Be...”

I cannot help but sigh - the mind is wheezing and labouring so:  “Isness of Be? Is there no way you could be more specific Gill? I don’t do philosophy, you know.”

I told you we’re wasting our time, Chumba Wumba butts in, unable to contain himself. What do they teach these Earthlings in school? I expect they start with the mathematical fallacy that 1+1=2. Well, if that’s the case you can hardly blame Roger for being so slow on the uptake. I...

Chapter 4 - in which Chumba Wumba causes a disturbance

“Lost for aught? What on earth is that meant to mean?” – booms Chumba Wumba, shattering the shadowy silence of g-nome’s upper reading room, and well he might object. Trolls, as you know, are not exactly renowned for their sensitivity or empathy, and Chumba Wumba whose name means “forked lightening” in the native tongue, is no exception. Fidgy Temoral, the head librarian, sensing this to be a delicate matter requiring immediate personal assistance, scurries over to where Chumba is glowering menacingly, past several venerable g-nomers who look on as the portraits of former headmasters on the wall of a school assembly hall might.

Fidgy faces a dilemma: on the one hand to provide literary assistance to Chumba, a troll of limited emotional range who is nonetheless a respected and highly valued g-nomer, on the other to avoid incineration – the “forked lightening” part of Chumba’s name can and should be taken literally in moments of righteous indignation such as the present.

Fidgy opts for ingratiation. “Ah, I understand your concern Chumba. Josh, you see, is having a minor existential crisis and, being somewhat maudlin by nature, feels bereft... alone... lost on the wide open sea of life, particularly now that he’s beginning to experience Faery’s quantum field of material indeterminacy.”

Chumba isn’t impressed. He crackles and sparks dangerously. If there’s one thing that trolls can’t abide it’s self-indulgence or self-pity – both of which are oozing prolifically from Josh’s closing “lost to aught” remark.

“We’re bringing this kind of material into the hallowed halls of g-nome?!” Chumba splutters. “He isn’t ready. His link has crashed – look at the state he’s in.”

Fidgy takes a careful look and sees that Chumba is right – Josh’s g-nome uplink via Gill and Roger has indeed crashed as a result of the wave of self-pity that washes over him.

“Well that’s easy enough to fix,” Fidgy smiles pleasingly, reaching for the remote control.

“Fix? What’s the point? A dark night of the soul erupting from a tea cup of little depth or breadth. What has Josh to complain of? He should be singing with joy that at last he has access to Faery, that he can finally re-engage story that’s been on hold all his lacklustre life. He should be...”

“Well yes, Chumba, I know exactly what you’re getting at, but we have to assume it wasn’t Roger or Gill’s personal decision to reconnect Josh – that they were guided by Faery to do so, and that, despite appearances, he’s probably ready for this. You know what Earth humans are like – prone to melodramatics – it’ll all settle down soon enough. Always does.”

Chumba still bifurcates unconvinced, and how would you convince a troll that human emotions, though somewhat excessive, are part of our creative genius.

It’s like pathos. For one person it could be deeply touching and move them to tears, but for a troll it’s simply pathetic.

So we’re at a stalemate – story cannot proceed as long as Chumba stands like a heckler in the Globe theatre, shouting at Othello to stop being such a bloody idiot – that Desdemona didn’t do it. The fact that he's right is, of course, immaterial. Fortunately, Fidgy Temoral has both the experience and cunning needed to deal with this narrative hiccup.

It’s time to try another tack, he decides. The library is quietly rustling and signalling that it wishes order to be restored so Fidgy switches to plan B, slowly pulling a closely guarded ace from the pocket of concealment, and with a poker face of sweet innocence, he archly plays the Oneness card:

“Yes, come to think of it Chumba I agree with you. We should call Roger and Gill off the job... Josh is evidently not up to it, and yet I feel we owe it to Faery to ascertain the Oneness of this situation before doing so. It is after all our motto and belief here at g-nome that all is one in Faery – “Omnia est unum in Faeritate”. So, let’s quit talking and log in to i-story.”  

“I-story? Er...” suddenly Chumba looks flustered... troubled. Logging in to i-story will undoubtedly help his emotional development as a troll, but it’s going to feel anything but comfortable experiencing Josh’s tale from the first person perspective. “Er... good suggestion Fidgy. Unfortunately I’m hard pressed for time at the moment. It’ll require two or three hours, maybe more, for me to work through Josh’s emotional upheavals. Another time. Next week...” and Chumba meekly settles back into his comfortable leather chair and continues story from the safer 3^rd person perspective, as we now may too, unless you’d prefer to log in to i-story, in which case I’d ask you to proceed to bio-library reading room downstairs. My colleague Bryn Fennel will be happy to assist.