SEAKIE

I follow the Sun west to the horizon extending eternally my days longer in light. I follow the light like a moth, burning myself in the endless mystery.

I danced on the rocks at the bottom of the ocean, beside the Sierra Nevada Mountains, with the jungle rolling down to the coconut trees, on white beaches that are a road to other worlds. So I follow them.

West.

Across horizons of beaches, waves and giant grey rocks. Whales lying, stretching themselves out across the line between the mountains and the Ocean.

“When I was in the sea, in my mummy.” said Carla.

They named him Ratboy because he was a monster and they didn’t want to be afraid of him. Boys are not scary. Rats are. Sometimes. I danced across the rocks underneath my name, Ratboy, protected by the spells of the gods that put me here, who allowed me to come and play in this world, Earth.

I am guarded by the fairys of my imagination that are real to me like the Duende dancing in the jungle. Adas con Allas. They have a kind of spells, too, like magic, real magic that plays with the plant spirits. I like to feel the spirits that groove together in the giant bubble of the jungles, all wrapped in each other and through me as I charge quietly across the canopy.

Some leaves are huge, so massive universes that take lifetimes to cross in caravans of passion. To the west we travelled across green deserts to streams then rivers of venous sap. Oceans of dew fell out of the mornings like fire.

We hid in caves. The cave people tell beautiful strange stories of life transcendental. They travel in worlds we barely glimpse. They spear baracuda and make things from the bones like chimes. There are lots of mosquitos in the caves when it rains. Three times I was born in the mountains. Waterfalls defracting star beams through glistening drops of glacier water. Crystalline caves of geodes. Universes that fold back on themselves in endless rangesof valleys of glass. Amethyst walnuts with shells of stone trap genies inside who long for the freedom of the air. We crack them with the feathers of living birds, with songs like the icaros
of the jungle. The genies scream out across the sky with dangerous power, wielding universes in their grace. We see them cruising across the sky at night camoflaged as shooting stars. Chameleons are genies too. Shapeshifters visiting us in our waking dreams. Friends from lifetimes long ago, warning us of pending disaster, singing strange songs of love unfading.

Don’t fall in love with a genie they are careless with hearts.

Once upon a midnight feast in a world untamed Ratboy fell in love with a genie. She was a goddess from Ayawaskar who was kind beyond measure, beautiful as the northern lights, as the stars in the sand of
phosphorescent seas. Her existence was eternal as moments. I forgot.

She was gone before I saw her. A shooting star. So he pined away in a coconut until it fell off the tree and
cracked him on the head.

Awakened.

Under a palm tree he awakened on a beach far away with a jungle so lush he could live forever without moving. The orchids rained honey into rivers of papaya. Passionfruit littered the ground of his feet.

His feet pounded the earth in the rhythms of his days until he remembered again the celebration of being. He longed for his tribe. The nomads found him and showed him the way, networks of oases described his path unfolding. And he realized he was on his path again, always, and floated on it rising up!

Rise up, rise up Ratboy, my brother, myself. We are only one person, one self in a changing body of darkness and light. Focus on the darkness and see the Rat, the naughty scavenger of passion filled greed
and rotten joy. Focus on the light and see the spirit of free love and bliss that pulls you away like a riptide of mournful reminiscence.

Dancing is the way that we travel. In caravans. Disguised as the gypsies of our progeny we walk on rivers and somersault over mountainous deserts. We juggle spheres of energy, feast on air, compromise our
hearts and wear feathers. Birds fly up to the heavens and catch the dreams of gods in their color. The feathers of living birds are our prayers, we communicate by telepathy.

Some people say that we are naughty, Ratboy, because we carry no responsibility or burden of existence. But they do not know the weight of our kind unmoving. Movement is a lightforce addicting as life. When
we dance we drink the source energy unwaining.

Our ways are as dangerous as the open road. We fly kites in hurricanes and smoke scorpions. The peace that can be found in moments of overwhelming chaos is more delicious than coffee chocolate with
biscuits. Green mandarin liquors with hazlenut fudge.

The fairies laid out a feast before me and ate it all up. They offered me morsels that I could not eat. Wafers disappeared in my mouth like air. Cigarettes melted to mush. They shrugged their shoulders at my inability to share and floated off down the river on rafts. Some took the bus.

Come and play with us on this planet of green, jump into the rivers, lagoons of glistening rainwater will be your pillows, feel the sun burning your face, the water flowing through your body mirroring the
changing of your spirit.

For in this dance, this game of joy, we know we are alive.