Dreaming to the Tides of Time / Jonathan Beckham

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

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.

I check my phone. Eleven minutes have passed. I open up an app for current news and am met with a mesh of ritual headlines. Disaster! Record profits. Debt bubbles. Glaciers melting. SEX. Poverty lingering. Billionaire bailouts. Police brutality. Systematic racism. Prison slavery. Garbage islands, SEX. Financial crashes. Political Corruption. Ecological collapse. XXX. Homeless increase. Millions protest. Forest burning. Shadow War. 1000 and 1 cute kittens.

I pause. A moment feathers by. I gaze on the current state of the world. An undying darkness seems to poison every pocket of existence. Immense grief swelters within my heart. Is what I’ve seen in my dreams possible? Can my visions come true beyond thunderous cataclysms? I breath deeply and look out into the roaming vistas. It is another beautiful day in paradise. Grace and beauty herald throughout the land. I release my breath. Eden permeates within and without. Then, gently, sweetly, I hum a melody. I open myself to the sky to ponder: this is a gift, this respiring moment is more than enough. I relax into my experience and dream for my dream and every dream to come true, in stillness working to leave nothing undone until my time has passed. I smile and take another smoke of the crystal flower. I dream forth. Time passes. I wander back down to the valley. To my home. A slithery friend crosses my path, and warns me of their presence. Shika shika shika shika. A beautifully scaled rattle snake coils. I feel a reverence towards them, with a notable gratitude for my time here on this land. I peacefully stride a distance between us. As I return to my cabin, I hear my favorite

sound, that of the duck. I quack back and laugh. The lone duck who resides in the pond and feeds on locust in the fields waddles towards me. I feel happiness. Perhaps, it is due to my lack of company, but I feel I have a friend welcoming me to enjoy the levity of the day. For what remains of the daylight, I paint and write stories to unravel the mysteries of my crystal flower dream. The sun sets over the western ridge and I lay down on my cot and make myself comfortable. A smattering of painful memories arise. I remember losing my faith in my own foundations as a teenager and the years of grief that followed. I remember treating people unkindly and selfishly, losing trust, both other peoples and my own. I remember the first time I sat with a shaman and drank the secrets of plant medicines. I remember years of coming into myself and building character that serves livelihood and well-being. I remember the path that led me to take a leap of faith and move across the country to a shaky job. I remember the feeling of making my own way. Compromising less and less as I moved forward. Pain dissolves. Lightness radiates. Sleep drifts me to softer realms. The sun breaks over the hill side. The dream cascades into an earthen home and a warm hearth. Time passes in harmony. New faces emerge from the path. A village rises, home by home, nestled in the valleys. Starry-eyed dreamers crest high with shimmering rainbow souls, dreaming a dream forever onwards—across unknown oblivion and hardy challenge to a world lit by blooming brilliant minds and a keen resilience beget between heartfelt belief and a well-tended dream. r