DREAMING TO THE TIDES OF TIME / JONATHAN BECKHAM Fiction
The sun breaks over the hillside. Light slowly fills the rocky valley with its soft kiss of life. The prior night was cold; the bitter winds sharp and howling. A steaming cup of coffee has me shuffling from the warm cocoon of my bed to shake off the chill, making sure to brew exactly one cup in my French press. Conserving water is necessary—supplies coming in and out of the valley take a week to secure and I have run out before. I look to check the time on my phone: 8:33. I place it back on its charging pad and notice: it hasn’t been charging. I flick the breaker off to the battery cells connected to the solar array on my way out the door to let the batteries recharge until noon. Today is a watering day. My schedule shifts depending on local weather patterns and the growth cycle of the crystal flowers. The flowers are sensitive to the arid desert climate in which they grow and need extra attention based on how they are adapting to the barren land. I examine the vast fields. The flowers roar with color and magic; each plant is carefully manicured to cultivate the desirable holotropic effects from the crystals of this strange herb. A few plants have been pushed over by the strong winds from the night before. I firmly place bamboo support sticks into the ground and delicately tie twine to the stalks. They will grow to new heights. I clip a few browned leaves that have naturally wilted through the plant’s vegetative cycle. The work feels honest and kind. After the plants are tended, I move towards the dosatron to balance the nutrients and chemical pH of the automatic watering system. 3 gallons of acid goes into a 50 gallon barrel of water to set the pH to a neutral 6.0, a prime condition for the flowers to thrive. I press one button and the generator ignites into the 21st century, powering the automatic pump connected to the pond, serving life giving water. The soil drinks with a voracious 22
thirst. Sourcing green springing growth and burly root bundled in the cool ground. Other than cooking modest meals, the rest of my time is engaged in the luxurious repose of dreaming. A mix of mindful meditation and the dazzling effects of the crystal flower. I walk to the high hill. It peaks to a beautiful view of the valley below. A dusty, bowlshaped pocket, with generously curvy hills rolling far in all directions. In the distance majestic blue mountains stand noble and rugged. The land is scarred and hot—fires raged a year before, scourging the pines and brush to ash. Only charred skeletal timbers remain, yet life persists sprouts of pale sage with ecstatic yellow flowers dot the hillsides and new shoots of emerald shrubs spiraling upwards to the sun, working diligently to repropagate the soil. Birds are chirping and small lizards scurry with fervor. Once atop the hill, I fill an abundant bowl of crystal flower into my wooden pipe and clear my soul. Flick, fire, smoke. Deep visions awake. I am no longer on earth. Thoughts of peace and joy dance nakedly. The future flourishes in lucid progression. A world of wonder and gifts unites. Eons of light transforming the miraculous excited mud ball of earth. Human consciousness entering a state of hypercultural exaltation. Life is enriching. Psychic presence of astonishing novelty is normal. Optimization is born into every component of society, with self-harmonizing and community as the keys. Nature is unbounded. Love is winning. Consciousness; liberated beyond imagination. Every being on earth has the clarity of fruitful lifetimes and opportunity to seek out their own infinite soul with health and wellness beholden all. Every moment is a rapture of originality. Then suddenly, in the wisp of an instant, I fold back down to earth. Lush embodiment surrounds me, the return from the far reaches of inner space is pleasant with a deep tingling of my mind’s eye.
