Chapter 5 - Storming Heaven

Back in reality, the Guild of Illusion was gathering momentum. We had some new business cards and were developing something of a reputation. Or at least, that was our main objective. To create a legend, a continuous and constant subliminal media campaign to spread the idea of the arrival of a secret guild that possessed knowledge of awesome new esoteric technology. Between the five of us we covered a lot of ground, spreading our incredible tales with the zeal of believers.

We had developed a certain patter, I guess you could say, a way of talking. In and out of the trip we had been seriously considering such subjects as elemental animatronics and I for one was pumping out dozens of short essays on subjects of mental manipulation and deep communication, flooded though they were with obscure, overly complex references and invented terminologies. The very cohesion and consistency of the whole story however was to prove very powerful and flipped switches in all sorts of partially unhinged drug users.

More than the patter, we had developed a way of moving and acting. From early on in the trip we had all begun to train together. I guess I was the biggest influence in this regard – given my fascination with the ninja – but to a much greater extent, the athletic power of the Loreicelien’s was not only an unending inspiration but provided us with volumes of information about movement and bodily dynamics. As Elemental Illusionists, we learned ways of moving smoothly and gracefully and beautifully. Our hand movements during conversation were mesmerising, seeming to carry the enthusiasm and mystery of our messages.

A story illustrates this point, the event unfolding years later when I was working for a publishing company as an educational concept planner. A woman who worked there - one of those scary politically correct people – developed a slight fascination with some of the things I let drop in the guarded conversation I reserved for that place. One day while chatting over a cigarette I did this little twirling movement with my hand, a movement very characteristic of our ‘style’. Immediately, she focused on the movement and asked me where I had learned it.

‘It is a Loreicelien movement.’ Said I. It was a strong behavioural trait of mine to be obscure when relating to my trip, especially when it came to words downloaded from my visions.

She sorted of exploded with wonder - like a person chronically in need of wonder - and related this story of how she had travelled with a mystical intention to the Hog’s Back Mountains, a wondrous place that we will return to soon in this story. By a remarkable coincidence, our group were there at the time, training and tripping, on our second visit to the area. While I was leaping from tree top to tree top somewhere else in the valley, some of the other members of the group ran across this woman and her companions and demonstrated – as they did with little provocation – a dance with several of the sacred movements.

‘It is the Loreicelien way.’ One of them explained.

Six or so years later and these sparkling and intriguing memories were laid before her in the unglamorous grey corridors of the company. I did not claim ownership of the movement or even reveal my membership of the inner circle of the Guild of Illusion, instead claiming that I had met the same group somewhere and remembered the movement. I guess you could say that my desperate desire for public recognition was overpowered by my reluctance to endanger the aura of the mystery by admitting that the skinny little rat in front of her was the grand magus of the Order.

Back then though I did not imagine the scenario that I would have to actually work for somebody. On the contrary, we were making big plans. I was pretty insistent on reinforcing the Guild of Illusion identity and felt that it was my job to get everyone in shape and committed to the cause. Some of the members were less ‘active’ than others, for reasons that ranged from the fact that they thought I was a raving lunatic with chronic psychotic megalomania to the fact that the whole trip was a bewildering and frightening dream that dragged them along despite their most inner silent reservations.

Ian I gave the job of creating a public spectacle to demonstrate our presence and he eventually decided that the perfect vehicle to the young minds was to throw a party, of the kind called ‘Rave’, a concept which had just then surfaced in South Africa and involved massive groups of teens dancing to frenetic trance inducing music in industrial, neo-gothic environments. It was to be the first of the Guild of Illusion ‘spectacles’ and was named: ‘Welcome to the outer circle’ – as opposed to the inner circle, with its five mysterious warlords.

Intimidated by the pressure to gather the quite considerable resources needed to throw the event, Ian had made the rather rash decision to borrow money from a Mafia family who had given him employ at one of their casinos. We tried to avoid thinking of the consequences and instead filled our time by working out marvellous new ways of blowing people’s minds at the party to come. These projects included constructing a life-size meditating warrior cast in plaster, which was suspended above the dance floor and irradiated with wonderful disco lights. Other ideas, like magnetically polarised mist sprays around the dance floor, were abandoned.

The party was every shade of disaster, attracting only a fraction of our potential converts and costing our entire budget. Not even the ‘free liquor’ bar was enough to draw the crowds. Most noticeable in fact was a guy with three self amputated fingers who arrived in battle fatigues, with a loaded crossbow. Our guild had achieved some microscopic infamy for arriving at clubs in ninja gear and even full weaponry. It was always a great joke when they asked us if we had any weapons and Ian drew the sword of Grey Melken from the scabbard on his back while we piled up the rest of our hidden terrorist implements. This guy obviously thought we were to be admired for that affectation and was horribly disappointed when we insisted on disarming him.

All in all it was a blow to our group confidence and we were seriously set back by the money we had spent, not to mention the damage to our reputation that all thirty-six of the expected two thousand entrants might have experienced. Eventually however, like the vigorous weeds we were, we adjusted to the loss and settled down to the future. Reality, on the other hand, insisted on bringing things back into perspective when Ian’s parents – who barely knew we had even thrown the party – were visited by six very vicious thugs in the middle of the night coming to collect the loan given over to us so kindly by the mafia crew. What a drama that was!

Beset by these powerful obstacles, we decided to contact the home base for support. This was not a decision taken lightly. Things had, after all, achieved a certain cataclysmic intensity with the sudden verification by five hundred armed warriors that the trip may in fact have accepted us. That’s the thing about acceptance; you never know when you’re going to get it. You have to be prepared.

Imagine a crew of angels of angels just arriving one day in your living room and saying:

- Okay, here’s the deal son, we’re real, so at least that’s that out of the way.

We went into the trip like warriors that had been defeated in the battle of the real, seeking guidance. I had no idea what might happen, to be honest. The trips were now getting to a level where you could experience nothing or everything indiscriminately. The random highways of our minds had been colonised by purpose and culture.

They had ‘welcomed’ me. What did that mean? Welcome to the club? What did that mean? Did I now possess an express credit card, a free pass to all the shows? A bit of the old backdoor angle maybe? My reality had been severely dented by the appearance of an entire universe right next to mine, the subjects of which had an agenda that may possibly have involved me. What was going on? What would happen? Should we even dare it?

We went in at George’s house, while his mother dallied at the bowls club with a jolly Jewish man called Danny. It was kind of a solemn moment really, as we waited, our spirits thrilling with expectation, waiting to see which way we would be chopped up. I won’t even try to lessen the impact of this experience by building up to any sort of climax, because it came of a shuddering sudden.

For a start, the ‘room’ got catapulted straight away to one of the high places. No aetheric life forms had the faintest moment to grow. No wasting time – straight into the docket, a phalanx of warriors spreading out in a business like manner, like they had absolutely no clue that I thought it was very odd for metal clad warriors to nip about through the standard reality of brick and mortar.

It wasn’t even a case of; let’s show this human an impressive piece of unbelievable. They were just doing their jobs. The elementals were there to assist us and the Maurelm just did what they always did; provide reconnaissance support in a protected intra-dimensional juncture. We were like the first humans on a new planet, our eyes square with all the marvels that sprouted around us.

Abruptly and with resounding power, the unreal had become the normal.

I remember a great many beings suddenly surrounding me, like I was in a crowded place, the air filled with strange, mechanical smells and bright light. It was very ordered, despite the chaos, reminding one of a large hospital, bustling with well-organised people. After this experience, I have always reserved a chuckle for those mid-American housewives and other odd - totally irrelevant – people that get caught up in alien craft.

Their description of their experiences is so very familiar to me, beginning with the sensation of bodily paralysis and the sensation of the staff and the long, silvery corridors. The whole alien abduction story, perfectly reproduced. A very important moment occurred at one point when I glanced over to the strange looking doctors and hovering in the background like a concerned friend saw Uriel, a dog mask pulled up to the top of his head.

Now this had all sorts of puzzling consequenses. This dog character, like the Black Panther guy Kilimien, had been visiting with us from early on in the trip, in many, many forms. Recently though we had begun to associate him with the force of Horus, the ancient Egyptian God who had been responsible for taking humans over to the next kingdom of life, the so-called afterlife. Uriel, my patient teacher and sponsor, wearing the drama mask of Horus in an astral hospital?

Instantly, he realised that I had seen him and pushed the mask down. Why was he hiding, instead of giving me support? I tried to move but a great sluggishness had overcome me and I felt them gently strapping me down, a very frightening experience. And for the entire time that night, I could hear voices talking with complete rationality, discussing my condition, my progress, talking to me, reassuring me, giving me instructions.

The evening evolved around my eyes. A dream team of technicians locked my eyes into a sort of hyper dimensional holding pattern and began to examine their structure. Clearly, further visions would require an evolution of the viewing apparatus. They spent literally two hours just on calibrations. These long fields appeared in front of my eyes with differing shades and patterns and they asked me dozens of questions about how I perceived things.

They were calibrating my perception. After this period of initial testing I heard a voice telling me that they were going to cut my peripheral vision. I was suddenly staring through a tunnel, about a foot wide, that went through the wall and into a grey mistiness. Far away in the distance I thought I could see some shapes moving around, as though I were looking the wrong way through some binoculars. Then it appeared as if they began dropping different lenses into the tunnel, neatly bisecting it with wafer thin sheets that were almost completely transparent.

Each lens changed my focus slightly. Some combinations sharpened the resolution of the image and then I immediately heard and felt them take note and then adjust the rate and frequencies of certain colours and at varying distances from my face. After a while I could no longer track the countless films and started to focus only on the far side, casually listening to the voices around me like one listens to the radio at the dentist. It was quite calming but I was very uncomfortable about being paralysed.

Suddenly I saw some pinpoints of light, like the tips of lasers, racing down the tunnel and going directly into my eyes. I tried to move away but I was completely numb and I listened with great distress to a voice trying to tell me to calm down and stay still. While the lasers flashed – I saw the image at the end of the tunnel suddenly jump in focus. It was like a gym of some kind, or a studio. The lasers continued for at least an hour. At certain times parts of my vision would go black or my vision would cross over or one eye would switch off at a time. At one point, I appeared to be looking at my own brain and the chamber behind the eye.

***

It was a chilling experience and took up all the time of the trip. At the end of it, my eyes felt sore and swollen and I couldn’t see much of anything. For two days they remained dry and scratchy. I was in no mood for any more tripping for a while, although I had the thrilling belief that my eyes had somehow been enhanced, cut up and reconnected. Ironically, today I cannot see much without glasses and I would hate to think there was a connection. The most likely scenario was that the changes would enable me to perceive the high gardens of Loreiciel. Perhaps they were going to have me over for dinner. I hoped they didn’t bring that star cheeked guy. Dining with royalty. That would be a treat.

I don’t know how I could have imagined that I could leave the trip alone for a while. I had surely gone too far in. With acceptance into the great guild, new responsibility would come. I couldn’t hope to skulk around in a dark little room, draining myself away while a princess waited to pay her respects. I wondered what her father would be like, fairly auspiciously I might add. On any account I could no more escape from the realities of the unfolding trip than it could escape me. All of the normal dramas of life, including parents and family, had to be put aside. Too much was at stake.

I could feel the continual presence in my life of the hidden forces which now shaped our destinies. They were all around us, in every shadow, just beyond every street corner. We were surrounded by an invisible aura of cold otherworldly steel. I imagined nothing could touch us and we walked through the streets as a gang with skin no steel could ever pierce. One night we were walking through Hillbrow and we came across some black men fighting in a doorway. As we walked past one of the men fled into the night while several chased and seconds later gunshots were fired. We turned and saw the dirty man stumble into a wet ditch on the side of the road. While I spun away from the danger, George ran back and grabbed a case of beer that the men had beer, drinking. He did not care becaue he believed he was untouchable.

That Saturday we got together in Georges room and instantly knew that the trip would go further than before. The trellis guards and wisps of faerie matter had already assembled in the room like an ancient chamber coated in cobwebs. We had to wade through the anticipation of the event. The first part of the evening, as the acid kicked in, was filled with largely mundane activity. Faint shadows of Blade warriors moved in and out of the view as if on official business. No demons or angels arrived. We were far beyond the small inconveniences of the lower middle astral plane.

It was to be a big night. I had mastered the far sight technique and my recent eye operation seemed to have somehow magnified the acuity of my perception. I also had some keys, some tantalising leads to paths that would lead to interesting places. I had the scent of the great nation of Lorelei and I wanted very much to visit there. Never had I been truly allowed to enter the outer gates, except in the case where they brought me into one of the hospitals or training areas to give me instruction or demonstrate something under strict supervision.

Now that I had been given some measure of trust I wanted to sneak in there and spy on them. The evening began with a demonstration. This was the start of a period of visions of the military apparatus of the Lorelei culture. I had always wondered why they fought so much and never truly understood it but what I did know was that they were extremely good at fighting. They were the greatest of all warriors. The thing that intrigued me most about them was that they never used any form of explosive weaponry. That means no guns or bombs.

I am not sure of the reason for this but a tale I heard at some later date offered an intriguing perspective. To start with, the culture was of course far, far older than human culture. The highest technological evolutions of our present day would be regarded by them as we do the Inca cultures. Whole civilisations of their people have risen and fallen over millions of years of evolution on their planet. At various points in their timeline the horrors of weapons like fusion bombs and some monstrosities that I could not even describe, including time bombs, had destroyed almost every living force.

Now an artificially crafted new type of space blanketed the planet and had the peculiar chronomic property of reversing the direction of time when the atmosphere reached certain pressure densities. The path of a bullet reached around twenty feet before the arc of its flight became a crystallised vein of time, freezing its motion and even slightly reversing it, like a thin line of shattered ice across distance. Bombs too would expand to a few feet before imploding. The fastest possible object in motion was about the speed of a high velocity arrow, fired from a tensile bow, or a blade hurled by a master.

The warriors – or runners – on duty this particular evening took me on a military farsight exercise. The reason I mention some of the above is to illustrate that although this people seemed almost medieval in their culture and technology, they were in fact sophisticated beyond anything we can imagine. The concept of using farsight, a type of long distance astral projection, was very much the standard fare of your common foot soldier. They were into the technology of consciousness.

They took me high into the air and I watched what looked like the military manoeuvres of some other people, their enemies. It was an extraordinary idea that such an advanced and mighty nation might have enemies at all, but they did. It was really high tech weaponry. To warriors of their level, the sophisticated modern weaponry of our time is our greatest obstacle. We are pawns to our weaponry while they are its masters.

It was an amazing experience. I don’t why they thought it was so important for me to see this but I ended up watching, from high above, hundreds of beautiful warriors, practising on a plain, crisscrossing with arcing wing blades carrying the clashing colours of their home clans. It was awesome to watch, phalanxes of dedicated warriors swirling in stunning symmetry. In a second I had shifted from mere flashes of warriors to a foreign civilisation of their kind engaging in whole scale military manoeuvres. I was spying on the enemy. Suddenly, I saw flashing forces rising up to us and then the connection was cut. Apparently they have warriors adept at counteracting farsight specialists and my travelling companions had cut the training session short.

When I emerged from this experience it was around 10:00 pm. I was thrilled by the idea of using farsight to see actual races, as opposed to astral mumbo jumbo. I felt like a member of the astral CIA. Now I wanted to look on my own. It was a little like searching the internet and my first major success was when I ‘hacked’ into – at this point I might mention that the Lorelei culture can be collectively described as Élan – an Élan training university. It was beautiful – I saw these young warriors, training without their blades, refining techniques of attack and defence in immense, ivory coloured halls. Masters moved between them, old men with bodies that were almost already crossing into another world, so graceful were they in their every movement. At some point I was blocked off by counter-surveillance warriors, who were outraged that I was watching these private sessions.

I felt bad about spying on them, but I wanted more. Looking around the room I saw my crazed friends stumbling about, each of them locked into their own private fantasies. It was insane but I needed to go back in, to explore the new land and in this pursuit took a big breath of our inhalant, our dragons breath we lovingly described by its commercial name … letra-air.

I will never forget what I saw after that. I managed to go through all the barriers and enter the great forest of Loreiciel, where I witnessed a troupe of warrior in between the trees practising what I later came to know as the Ribbon Blade Ceremony.

Let me stop for a moment to describe the ribbon blade. Of all the battle regalia of a blade warrior, the blade with the furthest reach is the ribbon blade. It extends from the body to a distance that is measured by a rather complex mathematical relationship with the size and speed of the warrior, but for us lesser mortals translates as around thirty feet. At this distance, the overlapping metal scales of the blade form a long, narrow line that its outermost stretch is around a centimetre in width. It is razor sharp on all sides and can be controlled by the hand to flip into a U-shape so that either you feel the soft, silky coating of the underside or two clean blades slicing through you. It is both a seductive and dangerous weapon that demands extraordinary powers of dexterity and control. You might remember an example of their use when we first encountered runners earlier in this text.

A Ribbon Blade Ceremony, let me start by saying, is a very personal and sacred experience. I was spying on them at the time and it really is kind of private so I can’t express too much detail. Suffice to say that the young training warriors form small groups, made up of members from various clans and ethnicities. Loreiciel, a vast forest covering almost four fifths of their home planet, is where the clans live. When they join the Elarien – which is the military complex of the planet, they travel to the universities and training academies to work together en-masse. That is where, for example, you might learn to project yourself as a runner and perform corrective surgery on hapless human drug addicts.

To travel however beyond the great cities of Élan and into the forest is an experience of truly extraordinary proportions. Imagine a forest of that size, covering land masses greater than our own Russia in a world dedicated to the proliferation of species. Every section of forest filled with scenes of such utter natural beauty and variety that this author has neither the space nor the ability to describe them. That night was one of very, very few occasions that I got through to the forest itself and though at a later time I was invited there, that night I was drawn to the small group of warriors – which included Môn ten, Uriel and Sildarien - who were sort of on holiday at the time. I saw them dancing together that night, showing off the manoeuvres of the ribbon dance and I was deeply touched.

When they caught me spying, through the intervention of a roving patrol, it was a moment of profound embarrassment. They forgave me but I felt like I had soiled the ceremony somehow. They would voluntarily show me, by invitation, when the time was right, but I vowed there and then never to spy on them again.