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G8 Features


G8 Protests - Scotland, June-July 2005

Theamy Bridge*

by Elizabeth Rose

Daime is removing da I from me at an exponential rate. There have been times when the whole world has disintegrated into patterns, where the eyes of this body can see the DNA of the universe, where previously solid foundations like space, time, mother, chair, public transport and sushi lose their delineations and become merely different facets of this great interconnecting spiraling web. Due to the rapid acceleration accessed through ayahuasca there have been days where the mind of this body felt crazed. Either she lived in the world of visual equations, a world of no language, no thought, of meditative dance playing with the perceived patterns, or a world of space, time, mother, chair, public transport and sushi. A world where her identity and ego crashed around her, causing distress as she felt that there was something much bigger, and that if she could access it on a day to day level her hand would naturally move to select the onigiri (rice ball) at the convenience store that contained seaweed as opposed to meat, despite the fact that her eyes could not decipher the Japanese symbols. Recent adventures at the G8 protest in Scotland have taught her to make bridges between these worlds, to allow the magic of one to flow into the other. This is the story of one bridge, a protest against the M74 highway through Glasgow.

The name of the physical bridge is unknown and immaterial, as this space is beyond borders, definitions and names. There are many bodies on it that all represent different aspects of our universal consciousness, and they are at this moment aligned into two camps. One of the state, the system, the structure that teaches us that delineations are very real, that identities exist, and that some are prioritized over others – the police. Of course, not conversing with the police as individuals this body can not know whether their egos play this game, but their bodies do. The other camp, a chaotic mish mash of other who are for many things but against the M74 being built. They come under many labels from neo Marxists, to feminists, to the clown army, to the samba band, to the black block to four specific bodies perhaps more aware of their part in the universal consciousness, who were representing the London pagan group, the Tribe of Bridgid. A male kinky Thelemic magician who visually presents as a traumatized Jesus, two beautiful female redheads, one celebrating her retreat into nothingness within her strawberry blonde curls, the other this body did not get to know on an identity level, but the universal consciousness loves her and her freckles that mirror the stars. And this body, a hairless female wearing a crotchless purple tutu, fairy wings, six false eyelashes and a water bottle on its head.

As the police aspect of the universal consciousness aligned themselves according to their strategy (form a line, pen them in, keep them there till they're bored, let them out in a trickle, and try not to smile or look under the tutu) the pagans of Bridgid felt there was a space for a spell. They found a place, centre of the bridge, at the head of a road arrow pointing directly to the lined up and uniformed aspect of the beloved universal me/you/us. Their intention was to direct love into this space of confrontation and at the world at large, and to use love to raise the level of human consciousness as a whole. They held hands, shut their eyes and grounded. And attracted something.

Another manifestation of the universal pronoun, who at this point had not woken up to the fact that he was such, and was sticking to the identity of being a drunk homeless Scotsman who had stumbled onto an illegal street party, felt the pull of the magic. On his conscious level it seemed his intention was to take the piss out of these hippies, or maybe to get closer to the crotchless purple tutu wearer who earlier, as there were no longer delineations between her identities, or even locations had used the bridge as a change room (and she’s much happier naked when there is no empirical need for clothes such as temperature or oil painting or pruning poison ivy) and had engaged with his drunken behavior openly and from a place of love, seeing him as another part of her. So, stubbie in hand, he came to stand between this body typing, and the redheaded body with the constellated freckles. This body was very aware of his body, and it knew what to do instantly, though for a moment ego did enter and offer various assorted doubts along the lines of “Well, who am I to include him? I'm the youngest here, and I'm not really of the Tribe of Bridgid, I’ve only known these people for two days, I don't know how they work, maybe he'll stuff it up and ruin the magic... and other such fearful prattle using the ego-laden I. Loving her ego, and so disintegrating it, her body aligned itself with the universal pronoun, and letting go of the hands of the beauteous redheads, with one hand she took the can of beer away (as if to mirror her action he swiped at her water bottle but missed as she set his alcohol down), she then took him by the hand, separated the redheads and included him in the circle. And he became one with us, manifesting our cosmic unity on a physical level.

The kinky Thelemic magician using the sparkly fairy wand that came with the wings did a full ceremonial calling in of the elements, North facing directly towards and being meters away from the uniformed, and doing their best to ignore this spectacle of magic, aspect of the universal us. Then the red head with the starry freckles invoked Bridgid, the red head with the strawberry blonde curls stated our intention of love, and the man who was previously a drunken homeless guy was invited to contribute. He declined, shuffling a little shyly saying he didn't really know much about what we were doing. And then, the spiral. Linking hands lead by the water balancer, then the strawberry, the kinkster, the star and the newcomer these bodies danced in a snaking line across the straight line and straight faces staring straight ahead of the bodies of the police singing

We are the rising of the moon
We are the shifting of the ground
We are the seed that takes root
As we bring the fortress down

Forwards and back, up and around, under the flag towards their/our/your bags/patterns of energy that contain other patterns of energy given moxcollumyew** names such as clothes, keys, and false eyelash containers.

And pause. Linking hands, opening eyes, looking at the other beautiful manifestations of the divine. The water balancer began the closing, the kinky Thelemic bid the elements farewell, the star thanked Bridgid and the strawberry spoke of love. The newcomer then felt comfortable enough to be verbal, he thanked the other bodies for their openness, said that he had never done anything like this before and that it had touched him in a very strong way, and that he was moved.

The circle is open but unbroken, merry meet and merry part and merry meet again. Blessed Be.

And so may the idea and action of love towards all as a magico-political act, may this memory, this story, be a bridge for this body, for what remains of this ego and for any others who care to cross on it to the beyond, to travel away from and into ourselves.



Footnotes

* "The-a-my " - "The" bridge, recognition of the modernist world from where we have come. "A" bridge, recognition of the postmodernist world where some say we still are. "My" bridge, recognition that "the" and "a" don't matter, and that each ego has its own journey into dissolving.

** This is a fairy word received from Salvia Divination meaning the human world and all its ridiculous accruements.



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