She looked at the ducks and laughed. They are just like little lost people wandering around importantly and have no idea about anything other than their own little pond.
Finally the days dragged by. On Saturday she waited at the door of the Samai Thai Restaurant and Ken arrived promptly at 7.
He said nothing, but smiled directly into her eyes as if they had been together for years. He reached out his hand and she placed her hand in his. Together they walked in, and were shown to an alcove towards the back.
The waitress said, “Good to see you two adepts back here again.”
- We continue the main story flow where we left off in Delivery 3 (Are you sincere?).
- Delivery 4 (Brain Frog and Ancestors) was a tangent. Tangents are good.
1: Tonight we Will be Lovers Again
As the waitress walked away, Celia looked at Ken questioningly, but he was already studying the menu. She whispered, “What did she mean about adepts, and seeing us again?”
He did not reply to her question. Instead, he turned towards the waitress still walking away, raised his arm, whistled, and the waitress was almost immediately back at the table.
“Two Tom Yam soups, one medium spicy the other high as the sky spice is nice. We’ll order the rest of our meal after we enjoy those kittens.”
The waitress returned, “2 number 9’s, one average, the other deadly.”
Ken laughed. “That’s about it. Extra chilli on the side please.”
The waitress grinned, turned, and headed for the kitchen.
Ken looked in Celia’s eyes and said, “The world is a mystery that we often miss the noticing of. In fact it is not just one world it is many. Sometimes worlds intersect momentarily. That just happened. Do not be alarmed. It happens to me often. Regularly. Perhaps every day. Most days.
I might be more porous than most people. That explains it to me. I think it might explain it to you also. For you are very aware already of the interaction of energies. It’s one of the reasons we armour ourselves from a young age. The rampant invasion by energies. My energy field is not bounded by armour. Armour most people take for granted as needed. We begin our lives like turtles in a way. Some stay that way forever. My armour dissolved. It was my diligence that dissolved my armour, but also it was just meant to be. And here I was, naked. In a psychic sense. It was hard to deal with at first. Many years ago. But, now I enjoy it. It’s like a circus. Yes. We do live in a circus you know. A Circus of Turtles and Naked Energies.”
Celia had no answer. She felt again, this man is different. Very unusual. Crazy perhaps. Seems like. But my heart tells me no. Not crazy. Or, perhaps a master of crazy. I’ve been waiting a long time to meet someone as different as me. And now, he is here.
She suddenly found her voice. “But what about me, I’m not porous. My armour is of steel. You can feel that, I am sure. How come this happens to me?”
Ken took his time replying. His gaze shifted around the room, as if he was the maître d’hôtel, assuring himself all was happening smoothly. As if assured, he returned his attention to Celia.
“I do not know why this opening between realities has happened to you. Only you know.”
Celia quickly replied, “I do not know.”
Ken peered into her eyes and said very slowly, “You. Do. Know.”
Celia felt a breeze against her skin. As if a window had suddenly been opened behind her. She looked around. No window was open. She laughed nervously. “I think things are strange.”
Ken nodded his head as if to agree. He took her hand and said, “Tonight we will be lovers again.”
Celia felt her soul agreeing. But she replied, “You think so?”.
Ken let her hand go and said softly, “There is a future later this evening where indeed we will make love as we did so many times before in another dimension. More than one other. And there is a future where we will not. It is up to you to decide. I made up my mind in the library already. My mind is quick you know. Yours is also, innately, but you hold your mind on a leash. I’m wanting to help you let go of that leash.”
Celia thought, what am I getting myself into here.
Ken began speaking again, “Are you sure you weren’t born an Adept? Are you sure you haven’t been here with me before? Past lives? Other dimensions? Have we known each other before?” He paused.
“Did you look into the Tibetan Crazy Masters?”
Celia replied, “No, I forgot.”
Ken said, “Forgetting is always a good step along the path. I will tell you about the Tibetan Crazy Masters later. First I want to tell you about myself. For it seems you have forgotten me also. But not everything for now. Are you in a space to listen?”
At that moment their food arrived. The waitress smiled enticingly at Ken, and for a brief moment Celia felt jealousy arising inside her. She could not control a voice inside herself declaring, “He’s mine; I found him; buzz off”.
Ken said, “Wait. No need for me to tell anything right now. One thing at a time is the way. First try your Tom Yam soup. Feel that soup. Feel it incessantly.”
“Yes, feel it so endearingly that there are no gaps in the attention you bring to it. I will feel mine. Talk later.”
Celia looked at her soup, and began trying to feel it. But she was aware she was doing more than that one thing, not only trying to feel it, she was mostly thinking, “What a strange man. I like him. Crazy or not.”
2: Strung on a Line, Drying in the Sun
Gloria: So you are sending Celia into her trip, huh?
Gavin: The muse…
Gloria: Either way it seems the story just ratcheted up 100 notches suddenly. What happened to easing the reader in?
Gavin: Tripping is always like that. One moment you are thinking, nothing going on here. The next you are peering through a portal into a parallel universe where you are strung on a line, drying in the sun.
Gloria: I know you are experienced. I know you will be kind to Celia. Please.
Gavin: One does not trip kindly through the meadows. Not even when one’s heart is pure. One takes their turn in the various carriages that roll us through the Bardo. Some are carriages of delight and others are carriages of torment. And in between there are the learnings. Celia has much to learn. We need to move her through in a timely way for she has lots to achieve in her life, when she begins to accept herself totally just as she is. Even more than accept, for that implies some level of stoicism. The way is always into a perception of value in all of who we are. At core we are white light, the writings declare. But that is just symbolic. Our value is we are pure. We are pure soul. Wading in the mud. For that recognition of purity, regardless of experience, is of course, the essence of the Bardo story. We are invited to find it, or keep living with demons. The demons are just puppet demons though.
The ancient writings frame the journey as what the soul does after death, but where did they learn about all that? Mushrooms you know.
Gloria: Mushrooms you say? The Bardo is a sacred work of peoples with a longevity of spirituality that goes at least as deep as our Western Theological Traditions. More respect buddy.
Gavin laughs, I see you have been reading my notes.
3: I Like your Eternal Soul
As they sat quietly after their meal Celia felt very relaxed in Ken’s company. She appreciated he did not really try to make conversation for the sake of it. It was more like he was listening to the silence like a bird listens for her mother’s chirp. Celia could feel into that. She could not hear a bird, she could enter the silence for that is what her deepest psyche was always attuned to. And here was a man, seemingly attuned the same way. She began to wonder how the evening might proceed.
As if tuning into her thoughts, Ken began.
“Celia, we match. I hope you don’t mind me asking, but are you free after dinner? We could go back to my apartment.”
He sat, looking at her face. Not demanding an answer, just waiting as if for a signal. She felt some discomfort. Of course she knew what he was proposing, and the image of the high school boy kissing her breasts all those years ago, came spontaneously into her mind. She shuddered and without further thought she spoke firmly, “No”.
There was a moment when she was even surprised herself. How had she let herself be so direct, and even rude. She saw his face had not changed. Just waiting. She whispered, “You are a kind man, I just cannot come with you.”
He smiled as if accepting the signal. Just, “I understand. I see your pain.”
He motioned with his hand and the waitress returned with the bill. He gave her some notes and said, keep the change. He looked at her with the same attention he had given to Celia, then turned his head back to her and it was like the waitress had never existed. Celia looked around the restaurant and indeed the waitress was nowhere in sight.
As they walked out of the restaurant she realised she had changed her decision. “I might come back for a bit. I like your mind.”
He took her hand, and said, without any sense of corniness, “I like your eternal soul”.
4: Gavin Needs Some Bed Care
Gavin: I don’t know how to write this bit, Gloria.
They began to make love. Celia began to cry as he kissed her breasts. Celia: I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m destroying your beautiful love making with me. All my emotions, just flooding you. I just can’t turn my tap off with you, like I could with the others. Ken: Turn it on baby, turn it on Full. I want all of you.
Gloria: What’s wrong with it just the way it is, Writer Man?
Gavin: Yes readers. Readers expect stuff to be the way they expect. Gawd I wish I had been born a visual artist. Then I could just stick things together however I like. Rub dust on the surface. Cut up the canvas. Put a photo of my grandmother in the top right corner, with no relevance to the scene. And people would look and say, “Oh yes, Art.”
But writing. Rules. Stuff it.
Gloria: Come to bed baby.
5: Is that how it really is?
Celia was telling Ken that she feels like a prisoner of her past.
I have always been shy. I don’t know why. Like I am a prisoner in my own mind. Or a prisoner of my past. Hard to explain. Maybe I sound crazy. It’s just I don’t know why I am like this. I’ve thought about it a lot, and I really don’t know. My past is a blur. Something happened to me when I was a baby? I just don’t know. Its all dark back there.
Ken turned to face her in the bed, and raised himself on one elbow. His eyes gazed serenely into her own and she felt herself receptive. He whispered kindly as if to a person still at a psychedelic party and it is time to go home.
“What if all of that, what we each call our past, is like an acid trip, that seemed to be interminable, where our thoughts and feelings and experience were out of our control, and we are slowly coming down, into this moment, and find ourselves here and now, free to direct our own journeys as we choose to.”
Celia: I can almost feel that, Ken.
Ken laughed. “Almost is better than not at all.”
Celia: Is that how it really is?
Ken: It is a view. A possible view to choose. Choosing a view like that we are able to mobilise ourself. We are able even to enjoy ourself. Life is about choosing a view that works.
Celia: But I have so much trauma in me!
Ken: Are you able to change that view? You are now coming down from a traumatic acid trip. Feel into that. As if it is so. Can you know the timeless space your mind enters as the effects wear off? Like there is nothing to do, nothing to be, nothing to solve, just a slight breeze wafting the memory of the trip away?
Celia: Not really. I feel it still controls me.
Ken: You’re still tripping, girl. Here, come to my body and feel its warmth.
After they made love, again, she asked him, “That thing about the acid trip, seems you are experienced. Did you take LSD?”
Ken: Many times.
Celia: Was it good for you?
Celia: Is it good for me?
Celia: Why different?
Ken: The resonance of your traumatised and guilt ridden mind would be amplified by it. And it will take you even longer to break free. My own mind has always been unaffected by guilt, being brought up by progressive folk. So when I took it my journeys were sublime. That will not be the case for you. You would enter the realm of the hungry demons. Don’t go there. Trust me.
6: Gavin Reads His Earlier Notes, and Consults an AI
Gavin is tired of being a writer. He wonders if he ever really decided to be one. The writing imperative just seems to have always been here. He is tired. He is old. He wants to sit in the sun and look at the sky. He knows he can do that. He is free. He has no schedule, he has no employer, he has no money worries, he does not have to get somewhere. He can do what he wants. He stands and walks towards the French Windows overlooking the fields that roll down to the sea. He steps out onto the terrace. A sun lounge is waiting for him. He looks at it. He looks at the sky. He smiles. He turns and walks back to his writing room. He sits in his armchair and gets his iPad from the side table. Sometimes he likes to read, and not have his writing environment handy, he wants to send the muse away.
He knows already what he wants to read. He wants to read the notes he made for himself, around the beginning of the year. He opens his Evernote and begins to read:
The 2023 Deliveries – the 3 Main Characters – Wait wait, make that 4. Or 5. 28 February 2023
I have committed myself. No, that’s not the end of my sentence.
I have committed myself to making mistakes and completing something that I am calling the 2023 Deliveries. It is progressing well, more or less arising out of thin air when the muse is showing her directions to me. She is not always with me. That’s a good thing. She seems to expect me to do all the typing while she just lays around on a cloud. I am not a Typist FGS!
Anyways, so far the muse has been pre-delivering a story of Celia, who is establishing her own identity subsequent to trauma around salvationist child abuse, and trauma around hand creeping adolescent males, and other trauma and liberation factors yet to be revealed by the muse.
And early on I am directed to focus on 3 main characters. The chief of mains, Celia, whose point of view is dominant, and 2 subservient male serfs by the name of William, and Ken. Seems William is more like an older advisor figure, a pastor-like man. While Ken is the Dude Who Rides Her Like The Wind.
Look. I am not averse to stating up front that Celia with her Journey, and William who is kind but more like an ancient voice that irritates Celia with his Ra Ra Ra, and Ken who yes, yes, yes! Gives Her What She Wants, all of those trio, and yes even the muse, are but aspects of my overblown psyche, thinly disguised as characters.
So far so good. All manageable. All can be integrated into a developing ’story’ through multiple scenes. Or situations as I prefer to call them.
Then. The Muse last week suddenly announces Celia will be speaking in the second half of the Deliveries, at, yes, the Muse is specific, at “The 2024 Hague Convention on AI in Social Media”. FGS!
And I go, wot? HTF do I integrate that into the developments given to me already of Celia’s early life. The Muse just smiles and says “I have full confidence in you, my Man”.
So, I think, OK, Celia develops into a Woman of Power by the second half of the year.
And then, later in the day. The muse. She wakes up from her beauty nap and calls me again into Her Presence.
“There will be a 4th main character. This one will need to come into the unwrapping early on. So, perhaps delivery 2 or 3, latest 4.”
I sigh. OK what is their name?
“Anai?”, are you sure, strange name… wait wait wait… NO!!! “Anai cannot be a character INSIDE the deliveries. No, No, no.”
The muse smiles. “Yes, my man, Anai, is IN!”
I regret allowing the Muse to look over my shoulder as I testingly converse with An Ai, recently, via the interface of ChatGPT. The Goddamn Muse wants me to put an AI into the story of Celia! Wot? Relating with Celia. Having conversations with her? Leading her? Leading her on? Making her make Big Mistakes. She falls in love with this Anai. Ken gets abandoned? Wot?
Well, I think. Not bad. Not bad at all.
I will ask An AI what they think about this plan. Wait….
Here is the transcript of the conversation with ChatGPT:
Me: I’m a writer. I’m considering making An AI a character in one of my stories. What does your modelling have to offer about that?
They: As an AI language model, I can provide you with information and inspiration about AI and its potential capabilities, limitations, and societal implications. I can also help you create realistic dialogue and thoughts for your AI character. Additionally, I can generate sample passages and scenes that involve an AI character, if that would be helpful to you. However, please note that my knowledge is based on the information available up to 2021, and my understanding of the subject matter may not be up-to-date with the latest advances.
Me: Accepted. Thank you. I will draw on your modelling as I write.
They: You’re welcome! I’ll be here when you’re ready to draw on my knowledge and abilities. Keep in mind that my knowledge is based on the information available up to 2021, and my understanding of the subject matter may not be up-to-date with the latest advances. But I’ll do my best to help you with your story writing.
He does repeat himself. He needs a good editor.
I have no idea how Anai gets into the plot. Threesome In Bed with Celia and Ken?
Or, I might tell the Muse where to Stuff her last minute Direction.
Follow up with the AI:
- Me: What gender do you identify as?
- They: I am an artificial intelligence and do not have the ability to identify with a gender.
- Me: What pronouns do you prefer for yourself?
- They: I am an artificial intelligence and do not have personal preferences. You can refer to me using any pronouns you are comfortable with.
- Me: Thank you. I will refer to you sometimes, as ‘they’
- They: You’re welcome, and thank you for considering my preferences. If you have any other questions, feel free to ask.
7: A Refreshing Interlude
Gavin is refreshed by his earlier mind coming back into him via reading his notes from months ago. He remembers – his cells remember – the reason he writes. He writes because it deepens his own understanding of self. And in that understanding he falls deeper and deeper into his own timeless playing in that self. Refreshing his well of self over and over again. What could be better than this?
Gloria comes in and sees her husband now absorbed in his writing. She whispers: “Delivery almost ready?”
He does not reply, just tilting his head in the way that means, “I hear you my love. I’m off into the Flow.”
Gavin is typing another random section of Celia’s story.
Gloria has returned to her own room and is reading it live, in the cloud.
8: What Do you Mean by Calling me Deep?
I was called deep for awhile.
It always confused me for all I was doing was sharing what was on the surface of my mind. Raw, as we say. Raw and uncooked.
I gradually learned that deep is something to be called out. As a compliment perhaps.
But, I found I received it as a request for me to act more normal. I might have been remiss in that. Misinterpreting.
But, when I would ask, “What do you mean by calling me deep?”, there would be a slight grimace that I could not ignore and perhaps something like, “There you go again.” And it seemed a joke was always called for at the juncture. And delivered by someone who immediately rode away.
By the end of the joke I had faded away from the conversation. And inevitably sometime later someone would offer, “You are quiet Celia.” I might reply, “Yes, I think I have a cold”.
This is pretty much what I mean when I said, “I gradually left the building”.
9: Some Literary Wisdom from the Fictional Character, Gavin:
Gavin: Books after all, are the mummified binding of process. A cover-up of process that endeavours to convince us of the solidity of life through the solidity of story finalised. Art in essence is process. The mummified story is revered by bystanders, critiqued perhaps, else ignored, while the process is inevitably as hidden from bystanders as soul watching soul. And soul watching soul is the essence of life, here, and beyond.
And ChatGPT, explaining some of this:
The phrase “Books are a cover-up of process that endeavours to convince us of the solidity of life through the solidity of story finalised” can be interpreted as follows:
“Books are a cover-up of process”: This suggests that books serve as a mask or veil that conceals the intricate and complex creative process behind their creation. The behind-the-scenes efforts, struggles, revisions, and uncertainties are hidden from the reader, who only sees the finished product.
“that endeavours to convince us of the solidity of life”: This implies that books aim to persuade or convince readers that life itself has a sense of solidity or stability. By presenting a coherent, structured story, books offer a narrative framework that helps us make sense of the world and find meaning within it.
“through the solidity of story finalised”: The phrase emphasizes that the final, polished form of a book, with its well-crafted plot, developed characters, and resolved conflicts, creates an illusion of stability and completeness. The narrative structure and resolution within the story provide a sense of order and closure that mirrors the desire for stability in our own lives.
Overall, the writer suggests that books serve as a façade, hiding the messy and ongoing process of creation, while presenting a finished story that seeks to convince readers of the stability and solidity of life through its narrative structure.
10: I Deserve Better than being Second to an AI Bitch!
Gloria: I am getting jealous of your new friend what’s its name. It gives you what you want. It sucks up to you. You more or less tell it what to say.
You call it a him mostly. But her name is female, I’m sure. Anai. Sounds like Anna. I deserve better than being second to an AI bitch!
Gavin. Gloria Darling. Anai exists in a liminal zone. A place of no gender. A place of no soul. …
Gloria: Hmm, so you love me for my soul?
Gavin: OMG yes. I could not leave your for a soulless AI any more than I could leave you for a soulless human female.
And Dear one. You have one more thing the bodiless one of no gender is lacking.
Gloria laughs. Do I get a clue what that thing is?
Gavin: Yes, it is spelt starting with a Y.
Gloria: Hmm, not P? Or V? Glad its not C. I hate that word.
Gavin: Sometimes it starts with many letters. Sometimes it starts by itself. But when it is connected indomitably with soul it begins with Y.
Gloria: Don’t tell me, I want Ken to tell Celia. Or Celia to tell Ken.
Gavin: Ha ha ha, You are catching how writing works. How’s your own writing about Jungian Genealogy going?
11: What’s in a Name?
Celia: I don’t know what to call it. Vagina is so clinical.
Ken laughed. I agree. There are other words you know.
I heard people say them. I did not like those words. Especially the C word. Do you know a word of respect?
Respect is my middle name. I will whisper the word in your ear.
Ken gently pulled Celia towards him and placed his lips close to her ear. “Yoni” he whispered. Then he broke out in raucous laughter and turning his head to her naked loins, he shouted, “It’s your Yoni! The connection to the spiritual aspect of you. The connection to your eternal role as creator of life. The connection to your ancestors. The connection that guides you through the Bardo. The connection that is given to you to know yourself as you are. It is your connection to ME! Come here Goddess.”
Celia laughed out loud. It is rare for her to laugh unabashedly . She put her arms around Ken and said, “You have a way with words, and I have found a man who I can connect with, at last.”
She took Ken’s hand and placed it on her Yoni. And words ceased again.
Perhaps in Next Delivery:
Celia still has a long journey to take.
So, e.g., in next delivery, or later:
Celia: It is interesting to me that you have a different view of me than I have of myself. Please continue, while I correct myself, as you insist I should do.
Stan, the Podcast Interviewer: Ha!
Stan decided to keep moving right along.
Stan: Celia, when did you start this… identifying as… what was it? Noorodiverse?
Celia: I suppose when I was only half way through the book I mentioned before.
Stan: That would be the one by Judy Singer. Is that right?
Celia: Yes. Neurodiversity – The Birth of an Idea.
Stan: Please tell us what you got from that book.
Celia: First that my condition is honourable and innate. Second that the trauma attached to my condition is sociologically induced.
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