Skrying the Vision

Skrying the Vision by M.K.O 'Brian

Remembrance through dream-haunted slumber, twinges, conscious shift and visions of vaguely recalled destinations. A dormant eye stirring towards awakening, shrugging off the veils of confusion. That which has been glimpsed through stimuli remains within a liquid mirror obscured by ripples of mercury. Limbo, the bemusing obstacle, the sensation of being at once totally enlightened and yet, at the same time, nonchalantly ignorant.

Then, a calming of the restless metallic surface becomes apparent. Rejuvenated vision focusing, clarity attained, and regression completed. A hazy explosion of lilac illuminations.

*

We lope through the darkness of a shadow-engulfed forest track, sleek grey spectres silently intent on our errand. Ahead of me runs the alpha male, while some distance behind the pack follows up. Above, the dense enshrouding canopy denies any hint of our objective. The brisk night air possesses a stimulating clarity, contributing in heightening already-increasing perception. Effortless, invigorating motion, vitality surging through my graceful flowing form – skin prickling, fur abristle.

A doe with fawn sheltering beneath an oak causes me to deviate from my course; I brush past them, aware of their palpitating hearts and paralysed conditions. Their fear is instinctive, but unwarranted - it is not the living we seek this night. Single-minded, the pack plunges on, the ground varying from leaf litter to needle carpet, until the density of the forest gives way to sparse woodlands, intermittent clearings, streams and spongy ground. Gradually, the terrain firms, inclining to meet the base of the black mountain.

The fell’s ominous silhouette appears tinged with a subtle aura of opalescent quality, hinting at our purpose, as yet, still invisible beyond the beckoning peak. Inspired, we launch into the climb, revelling in the sensation of cold black stone against yielding sensitive pads. The sound of claws scratching the slope behind informs me that the pack has begun the ascent. As we reach the trail leading to the summit, low-pitched whining provides evidence of the pack's mounting hysteria. The winds of exhilaration seize hold of me; incapable of restraint, I race on ahead of my mate.

We meet at the summit, lupine servant and heavenly mistress, moonbeams illuminating my silvery pelt. Transfixed with pounding heart, I gaze in awe upon Luna, the abode; the matrix of the psi. Enhanced vision intensifies as the opaline orb shimmers before me. I prance about the peak, whining softly and urinating inadvertently as I leap upwards in deluded attempts to reach my enchantress and her incandescent embrace.

No longer alone in my inebriated moon dance, I join with the packs whining, pushing it to fever pitch. It’s then that we espy them ascending to sanctuary – spirits, recently released from the earthly domain, wisps of intangible energy rising up from the forested valley. Responding first, I offer a melancholy howl, which is promptly taken up by my companions. Our calls drift out to the departing souls, offering encouragement to those that falter. It’s rightly so, as we had dispatched many of them from their physical existence. We had fed well and the euphoria surfaced in our song to Luna.

*

I react to every tremor, any hint implied by the forewarning forest; ears twitching, nervously seeking a trace of alarm. Before the birth of my fawn, I had led a relatively carefree existence, frolicking with playmates, racing the wind through sunbathed meadows of luscious grass. The woodlands were my shelter and abundant source of sustenance and pleasure.

Negative vibrations shake the ground. I freeze, alerted by the atmospheric shift that has seized the woodlands and its denizens. Mammals and birds alike take flight, seeking refuge. I burst into action, leading the little one towards the security of the grazing herd beyond the tree line. We hit the clearing at full speed only to discover the absence of the herd and its proffered anonymity.

Our pursuers are now audibly crashing through the undergrowth we have just vacated. Without checking speed, we continue heading for the opposite tree line, where I sense the herd has fled. It is on reaching the centre of the clearing that the horrifying realisation strikes: it is we who have been specifically cut out by the pack. A trio of grey shapes emerge from the thicket for which we are headed. Instantaneously veering off course, searching desperately for an alternative outlet only to be greeted by the sight of two more hunters appearing out of the foliage on cue. They lope towards us, tongues drooling out the side of malevolently grinning jaws. We double back to once more traverse the centre of the clearing, only to be met by a similar ominous sight.

The pack is in no great haste, the inevitability of the outcome causing them to savour the pleasure of a prolonged kill. There is no escape, yet I’m compelled to maintain perpetual motion, so keeping the nervous system from freezing. I spring around the fated arena, the little one synchronizing to my every move, fleeing in no particular direction or away from any specific hunter, but round and round the interior of the leisurely closing circle. Amused, the pack gazes upon our death dance in apparent fascination.

As I sense my heart sure to burst through the rush of adrenalin, the pack closes in, initially intent upon the fawn. Desperation remains by me; in futility I cling to this life, leaping and stamping the ribs of those who come beneath my flailing hooves. My offspring is down beneath the swarming onslaught, limbs torn in every direction by frenzied jaws. The sight strikes me numb, enabling fangs to clamp onto my throat. Others drag down my hind legs. The earth shudders as my body hits it; yet, I’m barely aware of the pain as the pack engulfs me. One assailant relentlessly grips my throat, though not sufficiently to cause suffocation. Rumbling, chesty, competitive growls become the focal point of my consciousness as the pack gnaws into my stomach.

The fawn is finished, torn asunder before my eyes. At long last I’m slipping away, the merciful relief of acceptance allowing me to relinquish possession of the now obsolete body. In departing, I attempt to make eye contact with my liberators; they, however, are intent on disputing my intestines. Elevating above the scene, the sight of my ruined carcass seems detached and impersonal to my essence. I turn my vision to the remains of the little one, partially consumed; but the lingering aura is still intact in the shape of a fawn, vainly clinging to the short life just lost.

*

The struggle is fiercely competitive; I’m amongst an innumerable host of entities striving for a nascent grip in physical existence. Striving, rejected, and persevering, akin to intermittent submergences and the ensuing frantic efforts to reach the surface. Tumbling through eternity – reeling along the infinite combinations that search existence, the unfocused giddiness of apprehending the wholeness, the loss of identity, the frustration of being without physical sensation.

Perseverance, success and elation.

I enter the womb of the earthly body that will be my means of re-entry to the physical reality. Enveloped in benevolence, adrift in that most contenting of sanctuaries. But still am I aware of the ominous presence of the environment without. Existing in, yet within. A time for memory and its wisdom to slip into the subconscious, renewal, reawakening – naïveté restored.

But the chosen retain the third eye; I had been the possessor of wolf and deer, one journey of the intrinsic cycle completed. The environment without holds no great mystery for me, though the illogical portion of the immature brain at my disposal provokes rejection of the thought. Eventually, I’m lulled back into the bliss of nonchalance by the soothing pulsations of my mother’s heartbeat.

The epitome of contentment all too brief, the euphoria of entering matched only by the disappointment of exiting. Blissful slumber disturbed, spasms, contractions, involuntarily forced along the passage. Mind screaming rejection of reality, to no avail. Ousted, from comfortable anonymity into the overwhelming light and coldness of rebirth. The only possible succour available following the nightmare of rebirth is to be suckled at the pap; slowly, but surely it banishes the trauma to a recess of the mind. Even the adept during this stage of physical immaturity succumb to the enticing flesh and its bittersweet sustenance.