Today they are a leader, healer and caretaker. Today they are wolves chasing a wild river through the forest. Tomorrow that might change. The river might turn into a lake or a small creek while the forest twists and turns into something else entirely. Even the wolves change shape as if their metamorphosis is as easy and natural as ice melting in the sun.Their world is a dreamscape. They live in the time out of time, the everywhen. Once they were, or will be, satyrs with cocks as thick as tree trunks and legs as strong roots going deep through the earth. Then they are monkeys flying through a giant honeycomb grid sucking on the sweet nectar of beings we will call, for lack of a better word, gods. They might as well be giant bees. They are also gusts of wind, following the intoxicating notes of a song.
Sometimes, when the world settles in darkness, they melt into each other. Their strong, hard bodies become soft and malleable and their minds float peacefully through the everywhen. When they wake up they are a Rarotonga peppermint angelfish, a Wallachian ram and a Tanzanian red clawed scorpion. They hold court high up in the stars to discuss the prints they left behind on each other. Scientist might call these petrosomatoglyphs of the soul, like hands imprinted on their individual cores.
“That’s a bit much, don’t you think?” the phantomape says.
Is it the petrosomatoglyph part?
“No that’s quite clever. But it reads live Ovid had a trip with some aboriginals and woke up without pants the next day.”
Well, that’s the only way I can describe it, little tarsier.
“Then you must be in deep. From the house you destroyed for me, through the harlequin fields you finally reached the wild forest.”
Are you pretending to be a wise mentor through my journey to manhood?
“Might as well. Train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose.”
Upādāna. Wait, did you just quote Yoda?
“He was a wise muppet.”
