Excerpt from Crystal Vision, Chapter 1
Mya is my deity, my guiding light, goddess and angel, all rolled into one neat ball of alternative energy. She rescued me fifteen years ago at a point of crisis when my mother was lying face-up on the rear veranda.
Mya told me what to do. She told me to call the ambulance.
‘Hang on to the syringe,’ she said. ‘Show it to the man’. And then she held my hand when the paramedic, who was kneeling over my mother, started yelling instructions.
Amy screamed from her cot. I heard him call ‘clear’ and saw my mother’s body jump like a puppet on a trampoline. The pads of his machine (which I now know to be a defibrillator) were pressed hard into her chest. And when the man looked up at me, his eyelids were low over his eyes. I felt my hand being squeezed and her whisper ran through my mind, ‘Don’t be afraid’, she said, ‘I’m here’. That was the beginning, and the last time I saw my mother.
Now, in the years I’ve known Mya I’ve come to fully understand what she represents and it’s vital you understand her too because it is she, she who holds the answer to the mystery of our existence.
It is Mya who showed me that only through scientific advancement in combination with spiritual enlightenment will the answers to the Big Mystery be revealed. She trumps everything. Period.
Without Mya I could not have dragged myself from the depths of my dark pit to the lofty echelons of research. She is guiding me towards the full understanding of human consciousness and its role in the universe. Plus I owe her. Big-time. That’s why she summoned me.
Back in the Hi-Fi store, a stinging buzz reminiscent of the song of excited cicadas was building. I checked about. The world outside my psychedelic bubble continued unaltered.
I could smell the sweet metallic odour of cosmic gases streaming from the darkest corners. I felt a constricting feeling in my ankles, looked down and saw myself shrinking, shrinking, shrinking, like that little girl in the fairy tale. A chill settled on my skin. I squeezed my eyes against this unfathomable reality.
I felt a draught and my eyes opened to an echoing space – the vast emptiness of an atom surrounded me (I’ve studied them so I know). My feet were whooshed from under me and I found myself flailing in something akin to egg white, The floating sensation was not entirely unpleasant I realised, spotting what looked like glitter floating by. She was treating me to a unique experience. But why?
An arduous and dizzying episode followed. Ever been caught in a washing machine with some hippie’s tie-dyed bed linen? Or been to an action flick while intoxicated? Forget that boring 3D stuff, this was definitely what I call the Fourth Dimension.
It culminated in a message delivered with Mya’s familiar echoing lilt. She was summoning me to rescue from the spiritual abyss a businessman of some 35 years, whose life, she claims, is severely out of balance. ‘Me?’ I queried, and she nodded.
But it was the ending of her little ‘movie’ that left me truly aghast. My little house in the valley emerged from the haze and I saw myself folding clothes into suitcases, taping up boxes and arranging the re-direction of mail.
I watched the colourful vision morph to grey, my mouth a gaping hole. The soundtrack transmuted from the birdsong and goat-bleat of the Queensland hinterland to the bustle and roar of the highway, the soft curve of nature was transforming to the angular severity of concrete, the emotional undercurrent from serenity to commotion. A view of the city was before me. Her plan? To immerse me in that man’s living quarters for the duration.
Now wait a darn minute! I thought, knowing she’s a mind reader. Leave my cool grassy bowl in the rural wilderness? Swap my worms and veggies for that simmering crucible known as Brisbane? She sensed my hesitation.
What’s in it for me? It took her several million nanoseconds to respond. Finally she replied with one word that settled the deal. The answer was not ‘what’ but ‘who’. As the spots of coloured light vibrated, converged and arranged themselves before me to spell it out, I already knew what that one word would read. Amy.
Before she left I asked her a favour. I wanted the power to create those movies of hers.
Moments passed. I felt a rush of energy sweep through me followed by activity in my head that turned me dizzy once again. It was as if an App was being installed in my frontal lobe. Then it went quiet. Great! I thought picking myself up off the floor. Now all I need is an instruction manual and someone to experiment on.
She’s a doozy of a character Mya is. Her parting trick? She omitted to share how I was to find this man, let alone get the necessary invitation to shack up in his abode.
Struggling back to work, the heat playing havoc with my weary body, I caught my reflection in the glass door as I entered. It revealed an interesting side effect of my rendezvous. You may not know, I have very long hair, as straight as a string tied to a brick. Not now.
On first sight I admit I was rather pleased with the effect. If you’ve ever seen images of light waves you’ll get the idea. Rebecca, our lab receptionist asked me where I’d had it done.
“Your hair. Looks great, where’d you go?”
I lifted one of the locks and peered at it. What should I tell her? That this wave was a result of visiting the inside of a photon? Or of tasting the dust of the big bang? Perhaps an effect of the Fourth Dimension? Finally I said ‘Mad Mick’s’ and headed into the lab.
That night I lay awake, abandoned by my resolve and at the mercy of my over-active mind. I’d identified a pattern emerging, a plot. Things were changing.
Let me explain.
Three weeks ago, on reaching my twenty-ninth birthday, she’d begun entering my consciousness daily. It was my fault. I’d done something unheard of you see. I’d given myself a birthday present – my first mobile device, the latest Smart Phone.
Now, I do believe they’re dangerous things, but my colleague Li Xiu Ying, whose judgment I trust, informed me I could keep in touch with important stuff like the weather, like train delay updates and reminders that the moon’s in its first quarter so I should plant my melons, that sort of thing.
And it’s via this device that she, Mya, has begun to turn up the volume, to spread her influence, take advantage of these points of contact.
She’d described the target as a male with a lifestyle as empty as an atom – a world of deals and contracts, fancy cars, and business breakfasts. Oh, and the odd floozy or two, of course.
But how on the planet did she expect me to manage, deprived of my organic existence and swamped 24/7 by that turbid city? All that perfume, all those lies. All those jam-packed shopping malls?
My phone jumped and fell to the floor. Picking it up, the screen was boiling with a rainbow-coloured mist. It cleared to reveal a recording taken of a rather fancy cityscape. While I wondered about the warranty on my device, given it’s rather unconventional treatment, a large and luxurious building came into view.
The frame panned towards the entrance gate and zoomed in on the entry system panel. An address was acid-etched into the stainless steel plate surrounding it and a series of buttons with names stood adjacent. 45 Eagle Street. I felt my jaw clench as it dawned that I was to present myself at the address and somehow manoeuvre myself into this man’s world.
My nerve had rapidly quit me, and I let her know it. This is beyond my scope I said. I had only been a little bored I emphasised. I wasn’t looking for some James-Bond-style adventure, honestly. Something more, um, unwieldy might suit my style rather better. Get my drift?
She smiled knowingly and in that captivating, hypnotic voice of hers that I always associate with my childhood bedtimes, reassured me I was severely under-estimating myself. She pointed out that this was excellent preparation for the bigger mission ahead – the demanding task of finding Amy.
After a long moment I gathered myself. That was all well and good I said, but it did rather deviate from my vision of reaching that goal. It was somewhat indirect, know what I mean? She told me she understood but politely enquired whether she had ever let me down in the past. Not waiting for my reply she pointed out that I was, in effect, in training for that significant task, the most important one I would ever undertake, starting tomorrow. No point in delaying, she said.
The recording was moving again. One of the buttons – the top one – suddenly lit-up and a few seconds later a male voice was heard.
“Yep?” it said. There was a pause.
“Hello,” the voice queried. I drew back. A delay then, “who is this?”
An irritated sigh was followed by the crackly slam of the intercom shutting off. The image began to fade behind the coloured mist.
I sighed and dropped the phone to the floor. How was I going to coax my way into this man’s abode? And why was it necessary to shack up there? Couldn’t we do this some other way? Like, by remote control somehow? I grabbed the phone but she was gone. She does that.
I groaned and fell back onto my bed. As I lay there I could feel the *twenty-two year old memory of jelly oozing across my thighs.
*You’ll have to get the book in order to understand the relevance of that.