The sky’s a pale moonstone—blue, gentle and a contrast to the rich salmon bark shredding off the eucalypts, lying in strips at the base of the trees, their branches held and contorted like the freeze-framed arms of dancers. Rip is concentrating on the glass ball. He flips it into the air and it lands between his index and middle fingers. He flips it back and catches it in his joined thumb and index finger. It bounces back and forth then drops into the leaf litter at his feet. He sighs, picks up a stone and scratches his name into the tree trunk.
Watchya doing?
Rip looks over and sees Dream leaning against a tipi. How did you get there?
Dream laughs. I flew in. I’m a fairy, didn’t you know?
You look like a fairy, Rip says.
Dream lifts the end of her shimmering turquoise skirt and curtsies. Why thank you. The skirt gathers at her hips where a jewelled belt gives way to a white bodice, laced up the front with ribbon. Her head is crowned with a beaded headpiece, strings of tiny pearls and crystals meeting on her forehead around a metallic star. Come over here.
Rip realises it’s the first time he’s ever carved his name without adding Sahara’s after it. He drops the carving stone. No way, I’m not up for those tipis right now.
It won’t be like before, I promise, Dream says. She holds her arms out to him. No Yiska or Asha, just us. Come on.
Rip retrieves his ball and walks over to the tipis. The expected panic doesn’t come. Hmmm … Not so bad today.
That’s because you’re getting lighter, you’ve dropped some of that blackness that was hanging around you.
Rip touches the star on her forehead. Maybe it’s because you’re here.
Maybe, she says, taking his hand and leading him into the middle of the tipi circle.
I’m not going inside any of those things, Rip says.
No, you’re not. Today we’re going outside. We’re going on an adventure.
There’s nowhere to go. I’ve already tried that. The forest’s like a brick wall.
Not with me it’s not. Dream places two faded velvet pillows on the ground next to each other. She sits on one and pats the other.
Hell no, I’m not up for any more freaky shit.
Dream grabs his ankle. Just sit, okay?
Reluctantly, Rip sits on the velvet cushion, his legs stretched out in the dirt. He folds his arms in defiance.
Get over yourself, will you? Dream says. I’m about to blow your mind.
As if I need more of that right now.
Dream pulls a pouch out of her bodice and empties the contents on the ground between them. A glass vial and two orange flowers.
Looks like you’re going to do a spell on me, Rip says.
Spells are for beginners. And besides, your whole life is a spell. You’re always weaving magic, didn’t you know?
I’m sure I’ve seen that on a bumper sticker, not very original. You just sound like a bombed-out Byron hippie. He sees a flash of light cross Dream’s eyes.
What will it take for you to trust me?
Rip frowns.
I get it. It’s been scary and I know you feel like you’re on some bad acid trip or something, but this is how it is. You’re getting a glimpse of the cosmic order of things and it’s a lot for a human mind to take in. That’s why we can’t know all of this down there, it’s too much information.
But some people must know, Rip says. If it’s all how you and Asha say, people who go back after being here must know something.
Everyone knows something. Life is merely a process of remembering.
Rip rubs his eyes. Please, no more.
Okay. Dream smiles. She opens the vial and tips thick silver syrup into the mouth of each flower. The vial goes back into the pouch and she lays the flowers on the earth. One each, she says.
Rip watches Dream place the flower on her tongue and close her lips around it. He does the same and sweet nectar fills his mouth.
Dream gulps. Swallow, she says, taking his hands. Okay. It is my pleasure to show you the beauty of the realm you previously inhabited.
Rip looks around. Nothing’s changed.
Let’s go. Dream rises and walks out of the ring of tipis. She heads towards the back of the property through a meadow scattered with the orange flowers they’ve just eaten.
She starts running and Rip runs after her to catch up but she streaks ahead of him. He runs as fast as he can, crushing the orange blooms as he goes, calling out for her. He’s about to catch her when she leaps, throws her body forward and vanishes.
Dream!
Rip! she answers.
He hears her voice, bright and inviting, but he can’t see her anywhere. Where are you?
Same place you are, she says.
No you’re not, I can’t see you.
That’s because you stopped trusting. You didn’t jump like I did, you faltered.
Rip folds his arms. Don’t be stupid, I’m not throwing myself in the air, I’ll get hurt.
You look pretty stupid right now standing in a meadow talking to yourself, Dream calls.
Fuck it, Rip says and runs a few metres, then jumps as high as he can. He screams as his body falls forwards, but just as he’s about to hit the ground he feels Dream’s hand on his and he’s standing waist-deep in water.
See, told you it’d be okay. She dips under the water and comes up again. The material has vanished off her body, and the water around her is now webbed with swirling pools of turquoise.
You’re naked, Rip says.
Dream splashes water in his face. So are you, silly.
His first instinct is to cover himself with his hands; his own nakedness, reflected by the water, leaves him feeling awkward, but he looks over her glistening body and suddenly feels at ease. Where are we?
Somewhere, she says, somewhere lost and found, depending how you look at it.
They’re in a deep canyon with straight rockface walls stretching upwards. The water is cool, clear and seems to have taken on the colour of Dream’s skirt, like water after a paintbrush has been dipped into it. Rip swims out deeper into the pool until he can’t touch the bottom. He lies on his back and floats, his fingers and feet trawling on the surface. The pool is surrounded by vegetation, lush ferns surrender their weight to the water, tendrils touching lightly on the surface. Giant trees, firmly rooted in the bank, reach over the pool with their long thick arms, shading Rip and Dream from the dazzling sunlight above. The branches end in bursts of bright green foliage and large egg-shaped seedpods.
Pretty nice, huh? Dream says, swimming over to Rip.
Rip splashes water up into the air and watches the full globe drops come down over him. I’ve been here before, I swear. There’s this place back home that I used to go with waterholes and a rope swing.
Dream points to a tree hanging over the water; a long rope hangs from it, with a plank of wood tied at the bottom.
I don’t get it, how can this place exist here and down there?
Same way you can, she says. She takes in a mouthful of water and sprays it at him through her two front teeth.
They drift like two naturelings, beings that civilisation forgot. It’s as if they have always existed here, always inhabited this tranquil pool of water that rocks their naked bodies. They dive down, as far as their lungs can take them, but still they see no bottom, just water; it doesn’t darken or turn cold, just extends downwards forever in perfect clarity.
Rip scrambles up the bank of the pool and lies on the fine sand that’s thick and charcoal black. Dream leaves the water too, and he takes in the wet sheen of her skin. She comes to his feet and kneels, digging her hands into the earth. She breaks open the bank and squeezes the thick mud in her hands, then rubs it firmly over Rip’s feet, up his shins and around his calves. The mud sticks to him, seeping around the light hairs on his legs.
Rip watches her work awhile. He notices, like before, that her hands are tools for lovemaking and as she slaps the cold mud on him, his soft penis hardens.
She smiles at the careless erection but does not touch it. She continues to layer Rip’s body with mud—up his torso, over his muscular chest and down his arms. He lies still while the mud dries and hardens.
All done! she announces with glee.
Can I do you?
Dream nods and lies down next to him in the sun. He moves and his mud-shell cracks to pieces like parched earth desperate for a storm. He scoops mud from the hole she’s created and smears it across her chest, over her shoulders and down her arms. He gathers more of the rich black squelch and wipes it across her ribs, her belly and down her thighs. He spreads it thinner than the mud she put on him, so he can still see patches of her white skin. It streaks, rather than covers, and he smiles as he rubs it onto her breasts. First left, taking care to build the mud up around her nipple, and then across to the other side where he packs her right breast with mud.
How’s that? He sits back to admire his handiwork.
You have a really soft touch, Dream says, satisfied. She rolls onto her side so she can see him and the water. Is she the only person you’ve ever been with?
Rip nods and blushes.
It’s okay, you don’t have to be embarrassed. It’s a beautiful thing.
Rip looks across her body from the tight nipples to the triangle of hair between her legs. It’s coarser and darker than Sahara’s. She says nothing as he inspects her nakedness.
The sun is over them, beating down in turmeric and ginger hues of light which envelopes them, drying their bodies, hardening the layers of carefully applied mud like a kiln.
It’s like I can see everything moving all around us, like the plants and the trees. I think they’re actually growing faster than usual. Look. Rip points to the big tree angled over the water. Watch that branch. Doesn’t it look like it’s getting closer?
Of course it’s getting closer. Everything that’s alive is always growing. Dream laughs and the mud around her chin cracks and flakes off. Plants breathe and grow just like we do. We’re just too dense to see it most of the time.
So that tree is actually moving towards us?
Yes. In the Wilderness time is different, it’s not linear like you’re used to. It bends and curves and it accelerates and slows down. It’s not fixed, doesn’t have the same meaning. So all trees are always moving towards something, even just the sun, but here we can see it happen because we’re freer and there’s no restriction on what’s possible in terms of time. Things happen up here at a rate different from down there. Dream reaches out her hand and points a finger towards the tree. She counts aloud to ten and as her lips are about to sound the next number, the end of the branch meets her skin from across the water, touching her as if with a kiss.
Rip picks a leaf off the tree and the branch shoots back across the water. That’s crazy. He looks around; everything is vibrating with a subtle buzz that creates a shadow around each leaf, blade of grass, even the water has this holographic residue around it. Rip looks down at his hands and they have it too, a shadow like the negative of a photograph. Holy shit.
Dream jumps into the water and when she comes up for air he sees a pink mist around her. There are patterns and shadows of her extended right back to the rock wall, as if she were reflected in a room of mirrors. She waves and her hand flicks light across the water; this action is repeated by the hundreds of hands he sees around it.
Rip stands, his body tingling, coursing with energy. He can no longer feel the separation between himself and the waterhole: it’s one and the same. He can feel the rocks and the green leaves inside him, like he has spread out to fill the expanse and even Dream is floating around in this new realm he inhabits. He sees his skin stretch and snap back into place, it does this over and over again, each time taking in a new sound, smell or sensation. Soon there is too much to filter and analyse, his mind has no words for the things it feels, it merges into one amazing sensation.
Dream swims to him, he can see her body moving in the water, nymphlike and glossy, but she is now a part of him too and each splash, each movement forward he feels inside as if she were breast-stroking through his bloodstream. He can see and feel the pink mist that surrounds her, it’s all over him, pulsing in his body, coming out with his breath. She’s no longer in the water or on the sand, but he feels a tug on his groin and an instant surge of desire. It’s coming from inside him, he can feel a tantalising caress on the inside of his penis, a succulent stroking. He thinks of her hands; his erection grows. Rip rubs his eyes, trying to locate himself. All he sees now are fractal patterns of everything, repeated thousands of times over. Green, trees, leaves, ferns, rocks, water, dripping moss, mud, his own body, the pink haze that Dream has disappeared into—it’s all inside him and yet he observes everything too, like he is somehow outside of it all at the same time. It’s a euphoric feeling, being in and out of everything like this. He holds his arms and cries out, feeling the tingling of every living thing, the flutter of insect, the crescendo of the frogs like hummingbirds beating their wings on the breeze. He feels like he can fly and inhabit the skies too, if he wishes. There’s so much energy, too intense; the nerves inside are wired and about to spark. He feels all of existence in his body. His eyes are open to the pristine blue sky as he climaxes, spraying his juices onto the earth.
Rip’s breathing slows and the hot energy in his body evaporates. He feels instantly calm and still. There is nothing left inside him. He feels clean, utterly and completely. He looks around at the scenery that has stopped its magic light show; there are no patterns or shadows now, just a serene pool of water with a surface like glass, reflecting the silent trees that arch over it and the ferns shivering in the breeze.
Dream appears in the water, her head rising slowly out, piercing eyes resting just above the surface. She comes over to Rip and wraps her arms around him. There is no arousal in this contact; her body is spread over his, but his genitals are sleeping. What he feels from her is a steady stream of light, a feeling of indescribable unconditional love coming straight into his chest. He is dumbfounded, unable to wrap his arms around her, receiving this transmission of something he could never put into words.
When she steps away she has tears in her eyes. You are beautiful, she says. If you end up back down there, hang around this time. Be there for others, be part of something, get stuck in, have compassion for those in your life, you’ll be okay.
Rip absorbs these words like he absorbed her heart. He sits quietly on the sand, unable to speak.
Dream has her eyes shut. Imagine the best food in the world, right now, she says. Whatever you want, imagine yourself eating it. Imagine how good it tastes, how nice and full your stomach feels, imagine the different textures on your tongue.
They open their eyes and the sand in front of them is spread with a pink sarong, mottled with a white hibiscus print. There’s a piece of white cloth with a loaf of spelt and olive bread on top, balls of spirulina, chia seeds, linseeds, crushed almonds, Inca berries, raw cacao, ginger, sunflower seeds and figs. Dream rinses three green apples in the water and lays them next to a glass bottle of ginger beer and a chunk of partially melted raw chocolate on waxed paper.
I can see your powers of imagination are a bit rusty, Dream says. I don’t see any burgers or pizzas here. You mustn’t have thought very hard, Rip.
Rip looks at the spread of food, suddenly famished. He remembers the orange flowers they ate at the tipis. What was in those flowers?
Those flowers were flowers, Dream says, tearing the bread in half. Just something to get you in the mood, to open you up to possibility, but there was nothing special about them. All you need is your mind.
They sit and eat contentedly while time preens itself. It is absolutely still, love stretches over them like a quilt. There is nothing to remember, nothing to forget. Only wet skin, soft breath and the mottled shade of the afternoon.
Dream?
Yes, Rip?
He skims a stone across the water. Am I in trouble for the suicide thing?
Why would you be?
You know, they always say it’s like the worst thing you can do, to God and stuff. Don’t you end up in eternal hell or something? I’m sure we got told that in religious studies in school.
Dream wraps up the leftover picnic up in her sarong. Does this look or feel like eternal hell? There’s no judgement, Rip. It’s no one else’s business what another soul chooses, and we don’t know the workings of each other’s journey anyway. How can we say what is or isn’t meant to happen? It’s weird, yes, to end your own life, but so what? You can drop that guilt, there’s no one to answer to.
So I don’t end up in a worse place than everyone else in the end?
No, sweets. There’s no punishment, so you can quit worrying. We are all loved, no matter what, okay?
The relief is obvious on his face. That’s the best news I’ve ever heard.