THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS DARKLY
A True Tale of Awakening
BY
JOSHUA DYLAN ROBERTS
Contents:
Introduction
CHAPTER 0.5: A Flash from the Future
PART 1: PRIMITIVE MONISM
CHAPTER 1: A Mug Shot of this Capetonian
CHAPTER 2: “Jolling” – Punk’s Alcoholic Pop
CHAPTER 3: ESTROGEN CRUSADE
Chapter 3.1: Estrogen Crusade - Intoxicated with Lust
Chapter 3.2: Estrogen Crusade – One Choice Eliminates Millions
CHAPTER 4: SURFING
Chapter 4.1: Surfing - Salt Water’s Song
Chapter 4.2: Surfing - Something Sinister Lurks Beneath Complacency
INTERLUDE:
CHAPTER 5: Empty Jaws of Life
CHAPTER 6: Synthetic Green Therapist
PART 2: DIFFERENTIATED SPLIT
CHAPTER 7: The White Rabbit Rears his Head
CHAPTER 8: THE RABBIT HOLE is a Confusing One-Way Street
CHAPTER 8.1 The Rabbit Hole – Looking into It
CHAPTER 8.2 The Rabbit Hole – Sucking Kai’s Relationships In
CHAPTER 8.3: The Rabbit Hole – A Whole Lotta Reality
CHAPTER 8.4: The Rabbit Hole – It’s Dark in Here
CHAPTER 8.5: The Rabbit Hole – And One of Its Inhabitants
CHAPTER 9: WHICH PATH Leads to the Rabbit’s Party?
CHAPTER 9.1: Which Path – Feasting on Nutritious Meat and Potatoes
CHAPTER 9.2: Which Path - Tantalizingly Spicy Asian
CHAPTER 10: THE CIRCULAR O DISH
CHAPTER 10.1: The Circular O Dish– A Direct Channel to Ohm
CHAPTER 10.2: The Circular O Dish - Enlarging the Circle
CHAPTER 11: Spicy Asian Heartburn
CHAPTER 12: Bland Potatoes have Deep Roots
CHAPTER 13: Portals are not Toys
CHAPTER 14: The Simple Charm of Black and White
CHAPTER 15: Life and Death
CHAPTER 16: Everywhere You Go, There You Are
CHAPTER 17: The Big Black Backward Spiral
CHAPTER 18: Dark Light Shines through a Cracked Mind
CHAPTER 19: Reinventing the Wheel
CHAPTER 20: New Construction Requires Demolition
PART 3: DIFFERENTIATED UNITY
CHAPTER 21: The Necessity of Surgery
CHAPTER 22: An Ironic Full Circle – the Extraordinary is Found in the Ordinary
INTRODUCTION:
Birth always happens on either end of our candlestick of life. But sometimes the light of consciousness will reveal a new birth halfway through the process of burning out. This tale happens to be based on a true account of just such an awakening.
The journey involved in these dawnings, however, is seldom linear, nor peaceful. This is especially true if we rebel against Kairos’ seasons by forcing the awakening synthetically. We then arise before the Sun does – to a world abundant in darkness, to a Wonderland that is confusing and hazardous. “For now we see through a [looking-] glass, darkly” (1 Cor. 13:12).
Yes, this Wonderland has been glimpsed in all cultures – Lewis Carroll depicted it as a place where you grow or shrink depending on the type of nourishment you consume; where the Mad Hatter dares to ask a riddle that he doesn’t even know the answer to, and then is marveled at the mystery of it when it’s asked back to him; a strange place where a quest for home is preceded by the question, “Who are you?”
Alice couldn’t answer the question of identity. And neither could our new friend Malakai when he was asleep in his adolescent knowledge.
“I don’t know sir,” Alice replied to the caterpillar, “I’ve changed so many times since this morning, you see…everything is so confusing.”
Indeed it is. Well, when one wants to tell a story about a journey home, the maddest of them all - the Mad Hatter himself - has certain advice:
“Start at the beginning, and when you come to the end…stop.”
But we shall ignore the fool and start in the thick of things.
CHAPTER 0.5: A Flash from the Future
Cape Town, South Africa – Kai’s 25th rotation around the sun
Malakai’s sweaty hand clung to the orange plastic of the axe handle, unable to let go. It was the axe that had the grip on him, and the spirit that had the grip on the axe. Cold Cape Town rain relentlessly dampened Kai’s now matted hair as it stuck to his head like a failed film of protection. He knew all too well that it wasn’t him who needed the protection.
His wet hand automatically stretched itself out into the darkened doorway to ring the bell of his grandfather’s house. He could picture Papa’s droopy cheeks quiver into a surprised smile when he would creak open the door to discover his drenched grandson on the porch at 4:30am. He wouldn’t have a chance to see the axe. Kai knew that what he had come to do, he had to do quickly. He would have to go out of himself temporarily and launch into the first hack. It would be the only way that he’d be able to get through the gruesome process and finally eat him. He wished with clenched teeth that he didn’t have to go through with this. But it was blatantly the will of god, and Kai was his servant.
PART 1: PRIMITIVE MONISM
…5 Years Earlier…
CHAPTER 1: A Mug Shot of this Capetonian
In most areas of life Kai had trouble committing to decisions. One thing that he was certain of, though, was that Friday night was the best night of the week – hands down!
“Oooo life is good!” Kai’s excitement bubbled up into a verbal outpouring of emotion as he prepared himself for a night on the town. He’d dressed himself in vibrant, complementary colors in order to attract attention. He joined in the complementary nature of his clothes’ colors by stamping his seal of approval on the reflection that stared back at him from the lounge mirror. Finally the hair. He strategically ruffled his lightly-gelled locks, intentionally creating the look of being unintentional. His hair was a big part of what got him chicks, he reckoned. It stood up so he stood out. Africa was quickly catching up with the self-expression of Western Individualism and, being a surfer, Kai was ready to ride the forefront of that wave!
The flash of his silver watch reflected the gleam in his eye as he checked to see how much longer he had to wait ‘til he could pick his buddy up. This was the adult version of “Are we there yet?” and he was delighted that the watch resounded with an affirmative answer: “9:15pm - the time has come!”
Every time the line “the time has come” reared up in his thoughts, a part of his brain automatically generated the remaining verses from his childhood obsession with Alice in Wonderland: “‘The time has come,’ the Walrus said, ‘to talk of other things, of shoes and ships and ceiling wax, of cabbages and kings.’” Now Kai was an oyster who was neither in the process of being eaten by the Walrus nor the Carpenter. Buddha and Jesus were as mythological as Alice herself because, unbeknownst to Kai, his shell was still too tightly closed from the inside to be in any danger of being consumed by them. Nay, out of all the things in Lewis Carroll’s line, Kai was most likely to be the king! A Capetonian king! (Cabbage was relevant too: his friend JP’s place did in fact smell like cabbage perennially. But never fear, Kai would soon alleviate his misfortunate friend of the stench of his poverty in…20 minutes and counting.)
JP lived in one of Cape Town’s slums, Mitchell’s Plain - a smorgasbord of tin and cardboard ingeniously fused together with the remnants of an African community mindset. He and his family were close. After all, 5 of them shared what resembled a one-bedroom place, with no bathroom door for crying out loud! The stench of poverty sometimes smells worse than cabbage.
But Kai’s mission was to introduce his bru to a more intimate kind of closeness, one that colored folk like JP seem to have a genetic predisposition towards: hooking up with a white girl! Yes. And if his social generosity happened to land Kai one of these Capetonian Caucasian catches too, then a worker deserves his wages, and he was ready for some frivolous spending. Ah life was indeed good. Who needs more than jolling (partying), estrogen crusades (girls), and a morning surf to kick the hangover?
Malakai’s car chugged to a halt at 9:42pm. The prearranged meeting place was devoid of JP’s eager smile. He was late; he was often late. Time in Africa doesn’t work like it does in the Western world; the party starts when everyone gets there. Time serves the people, not vice versa.
Only sets of still, shadowy figures made the place seem like it was inhabited. Kai’s 20 years had given him the foresight to veer away from venturing too far into the depths of Mitchell’s Plain’s crime-stricken streets after dark. He began a text to Sonya, his latest estrogen venture.
“How’s a cigarette my bru?” emerged the Cape Colored accent from deep within the solemn night. It was the echo-location of a beast searching for prey, and Kai was born in the year of the rat. ‘Ah I’m not in the mood man,’ he groaned to himself.
“Sorry bru, I don’t smoke,” he retorted like a semi-conscious fly swat. It’s a hand-waving mechanism that every Capetonian has to employ a dozen times a day to dismiss the beggars, the consumers of the rotten. But the swat was performed on fly territory this time and it was in vain as the hooded figures kept approaching Kai’s parked car. ‘What do these sketchy characters want?’
Halfway through his irritated thought, instinct rose to stabilize the blur of his distractibility. Danger! He reached for the window handle and began winding it up to put glass between their classes. The gang-member was too quick though, and lunged straight for the door handle. It was open. The door was wrenched from Kai’s clambering hand as his nonchalant attempt at dismissal rapidly evolved into an African survival of the fittest clash.
“Hey!!” Kai blared in an attempt to pollute his assailant’s senses with a noise cloud of ink. The smell of ash and dirty hair was upon Kai like the attack of a dust hurricane, and the battle of brain vs. brawn sucked him in. He swiveled in his driver’s seat and pushed himself back into the corner of the passenger side, heart pounding. His legs found themselves jammed out and kicking. A subconscious innovation had employed them as muscular springs that catapulted his attacker back a moment or two in time. This had gotten serious quickly and he was grateful for the time he had just bought himself. Time is everything.
His peripheral vision grew clustered with other teenage colored kids lunging into the pried-open door, trying to extract Kai like a limp sardine from the metal can of his car.
All yelling, swearing! Noise and shaking; Kai was sweating.
Darkness was trying to get in.
Some of the gang went around to the passenger door. Thank you Lord that it was locked or it would have been the end of his fight! It’d only be a matter of time ‘til they broke that window and broke his defense along with it. Kai was faced with the choice of whether he was going to succumb to the invasion and give them what they wanted, or aggravate them further with his sustained resistance. What did they want? His wallet, his car, his life? ‘Over my dead body you punks!’ Kai resolutely determined to himself between gritting teeth.
As if in opposition to Kai’s resolve, the situation rose to the occasion and threatened his mortality. The cold silver of a dull blade gleaned Kai’s wrist as the primary penetrator writhed to get the knife to his throat.
“Gimme yo bliksem se wallet,” sneered the squinted-eyed dirty face.
“No WAYS brah!” Kai blurted, “HELP!!”
His primary concern was that he had his driver’s license in his wallet, and if it was stolen it would be a mission and half to get another one in disorganized Africa. Without it he couldn’t get into clubs. And that’s exactly where he was on his way to! It was too big a part of who he was. ‘I could play this game all night,’ Kai’s adrenaline told him. But no, he preferred his partying plans and these little kids were not about to steal them!
His rational mind was silently surprised at this valiant attempt to save something not worth saving. He knew this was a robbery attempt; he knew it was a serious one. But from somewhere unexpected within him came an invigorating assertiveness and defiance. It was a game. Life was a quest. He knew he could hold them back, but not for much longer.
“Help!” he coursed out again with bellowing tenacity. Where were the police when you need them? Curse South Africa and its lawlessness!
“Oi!” boomed a triumphant cry in the distance, and instantly the little rat was off Kai, scurrying away into the night like a hyena running from an approaching lion. The group scattered along with him, limp flesh stripped of its bones. ‘It must be JP!’ Kai slammed the door shut and locked it, squinting through his salted-up windscreen to see his local buddy disperse the shadows with his light.
Fireworks were unleashed in full force inside Kai’s chest cavity, devoid of color in their explosions. Just black. Now the fear was setting in.
‘It’s over,’ he repeated to himself insistently. When the broken down record of his mind would once again respond to the DJ, he was permitted to think, ‘and those little punks didn’t get my wallet!’ Suddenly he was amped!
Whenever heartbeats are shoved into a constricted timespan, time itself makes room for them. It must have been a few seconds, but it felt like minutes, before JP was banging on the window of Kai’s metal-enclosed safe zone that shut the dark world out. His friend’s familiar and acknowledging eyes never looked so human, and Kai opened his heart, and the door for his good buddy.
“What the hell bru?!” JP proclaimed with itchy pent-up fists and a mild snarl. His face was a testimony to his protest against the injustice Kai had just been exposed to on his home turf. His protest quickly melted into smile lines and a chuckle, however, after noticing that Kai’s eyes were now gleaming with amusement. Being outraged at injustice on a continent like Africa is just wasted gas in a cul-de-sac. Mutually friendly teeth bore wide smiles – lion’s teeth aren’t always viscous. They slapped hands into a firm grip that unites brethren, and Kai’s world felt like home again. Home – a place packed with life’s epic pursuits: partying, girls, and surfing.
CHAPTER 2: “Jolling” – Punk’s Alcoholic Pop
“Yoh!” JP yelled unnecessarily loudly when they were cozy in their car cage. “Let’s bail boet, blast it!”
Kai instantly RSVP’d yes to JP’s invitation to join him in party mode. In moments the punk rock bass re-immersed the two boytjies in safe South Africa – the rainbow nation, where gold triumphs over cold steel at the end of many a colorful journey. Kai jammed the up volume button, taking out any pent up anxiety on his eardrums.
Blink 182’s pacey harmonics reverberated with their increasingly shared heartbeats and ignited the latent energy within them.
“I got no regrets right now (I’m feeling this)…
Where do we go from here (I’m feeling this)…
Let me go in her room (I’m feeling this)…
I wanna take off her clothes (I’m feeling this).
Fate fell short this time, smile fades in the summer.
Place your hand in mine, I’ll leave when I wanna.”
Fate had fallen short this time, at least for those rats – Kai still had his life and his driver’s license. Girls were their destiny now. Blink’s raw basal energy and light-hearted lyrics echoed the carefree, short-range exhilaration of Kai’s youth. The Californian music scene resonated with the beats of third-world hearts – South Africa was all about American music, as the globe increasingly shared a unifying culture.
‘All’s well that ends well,’ Kai thought. Besides, the added dose of adrenalin was starting Friday night off on the right foot. (It’s well known that the left one is too fickle a foot to start a dance move out on. Unless of course you’re wasted, and then nothing mattered.) Kai couldn’t wait for the intoxicated annihilation of worries to set in, and a preliminary trip to the local Shebeen solidified the oblivion’s imminent arrival.
Kai always felt a little sketchy swinging by those places, where he was inevitably the only white guy amidst a sea of drunk and suspicious colored peeps. Suspicion abounded between the races: suspicious-looking individuals, suspiciously gawking at Kai. He did his best to keep his eyes down.
Shebeens were garages attached to the houses of locals in the South African ghettos. They were the only places that sold alcohol after all the liquor stores closed at 5. So it was a necessary endeavor, and one embarked on by every sketchy hoodlum in the vicinity. Kai hadn’t been comfortable with these African wateri