He brought his face closer to the brazier, the heat on his skin quickly becoming uncomfortable. To get a good look at the swirl of flames, tinged with color from the burning alloys, he got so close his nostrils were assaulted by the acrid smell of scorched oil and metal. Already feeling light headed from the ingestion of nutmeg, Alan’s mind began to wander as the flames hypnotized his suggestible mind. Flickering lights and crackling embers danced in his eyes, and ignited his imagination.
He had activated his phone’s voice recorder, and set the device on the table next to the scrying brazier. As the visions jumped in and out of his head, he called out what he saw in each moment, unconcerned with meaning or coherence.
“A silo in a cornfield wrecked by a tornado.”
“A submarine emerging from the sea amidst ice floes.”
“The bear’s blood covered jaws and the squeal of a salmon.”
“Shrieking cry of a woman as the knife plunges into her chest.”
On and on the visions came, and he called them out to the recorder. The heat and intensity of the visions caused him to sweat profusely from his brow. He wanted to wipe his forehead with a towel but dared not look up from the flames. Time had no meaning as the visions appeared and vanished in his face and in his mind.
“The gleaming ivory tower of Merlin the Magician.”
“Wild dogs tearing a lamb apart as a old shepherd shouts at them to leave it alone.”
“A camel spitting into the desert sand.”
“The crash of waves against rocky bluffs.”
The visions became steadily more intense, and more vivid, with details filling his remaining senses with explosions of feeling. Not merely seeing, he could now smell the offal from the slaughterhouse, felt the numbing cold on his fingertips as he climbed a mountain in Nepal. The mundanity of his basement apartment in South Boston lay a universe away as he leapt into astral projection.
He observed his body, still bent over the flames from the brazier, his voice still calling out visions to the voice recording phone. But now his mind was clear, he could see his physical form, but his consciousness lay above. He flew, ghostlike, above the apartment, detached from the material reality. He looked around, and saw beings like jellyfish floating beside him. A jolt, like an electric shock, startled him as one of the jellyfish flowed through him.
“Pardon me, sir,” it said to him, though not audible. Telepathy.
Alan felt rage, then calm, then sadness, then ravenous hunger, jealousy, ecstasy, excitement, and lust, all in fleeting moments, and in haphazard order. The emotions varied in intensity, and were elicited by no thoughts or stimulations. He just felt them, and then stopped feeling them to feel something else. He could be anxious one moment, then yield to euphoria before being gripped with the most intense fear.
Below him, Alan the diviner still called out visions, but he could not make out the words. The recorder he hoped, would have success in recalling what he was seeing.
And then it stopped. Suddenly, painfully. Alan’s face dipped too close to the flames, and his beard caught light. He brought his hand up to swat out the flames. Running to the bathroom, he splashed cold water on his face, to ease the stinging. He looked up into the mirror at his singed beard. Smiling, he went back to the brazier and doused the flames. Picking up the smartphone, he sat at his desk, and recorded his visions in his notebook.
He had activated his phone’s voice recorder, and set the device on the table next to the scrying brazier. As the visions jumped in and out of his head, he called out what he saw in each moment, unconcerned with meaning or coherence.
“A silo in a cornfield wrecked by a tornado.”
“A submarine emerging from the sea amidst ice floes.”
“The bear’s blood covered jaws and the squeal of a salmon.”
“Shrieking cry of a woman as the knife plunges into her chest.”
On and on the visions came, and he called them out to the recorder. The heat and intensity of the visions caused him to sweat profusely from his brow. He wanted to wipe his forehead with a towel but dared not look up from the flames. Time had no meaning as the visions appeared and vanished in his face and in his mind.
“The gleaming ivory tower of Merlin the Magician.”
“Wild dogs tearing a lamb apart as a old shepherd shouts at them to leave it alone.”
“A camel spitting into the desert sand.”
“The crash of waves against rocky bluffs.”
The visions became steadily more intense, and more vivid, with details filling his remaining senses with explosions of feeling. Not merely seeing, he could now smell the offal from the slaughterhouse, felt the numbing cold on his fingertips as he climbed a mountain in Nepal. The mundanity of his basement apartment in South Boston lay a universe away as he leapt into astral projection.
He observed his body, still bent over the flames from the brazier, his voice still calling out visions to the voice recording phone. But now his mind was clear, he could see his physical form, but his consciousness lay above. He flew, ghostlike, above the apartment, detached from the material reality. He looked around, and saw beings like jellyfish floating beside him. A jolt, like an electric shock, startled him as one of the jellyfish flowed through him.
“Pardon me, sir,” it said to him, though not audible. Telepathy.
Alan felt rage, then calm, then sadness, then ravenous hunger, jealousy, ecstasy, excitement, and lust, all in fleeting moments, and in haphazard order. The emotions varied in intensity, and were elicited by no thoughts or stimulations. He just felt them, and then stopped feeling them to feel something else. He could be anxious one moment, then yield to euphoria before being gripped with the most intense fear.
Below him, Alan the diviner still called out visions, but he could not make out the words. The recorder he hoped, would have success in recalling what he was seeing.
And then it stopped. Suddenly, painfully. Alan’s face dipped too close to the flames, and his beard caught light. He brought his hand up to swat out the flames. Running to the bathroom, he splashed cold water on his face, to ease the stinging. He looked up into the mirror at his singed beard. Smiling, he went back to the brazier and doused the flames. Picking up the smartphone, he sat at his desk, and recorded his visions in his notebook.