The Soldier

The Soldier "I strike the match and light my skunk ciggy. Engulfed in a cloud of lemony psychedelic fumes, those fumes slowly grip hold of me now. I feel my consciousness lift up, lifting me above the drunken haze and I can see a little clearer now. I see a man sitting very near to me, who for some reason I had not seen before.

My awareness has just been tweaked enough to make me realize how drunk I was already.

The man gently moves from side to side as he continues saying something to me. At the same time as I realize that I could be wrong, I realize that this guy is really a good man, I freak myself out as I momentarily tune into my psychedelically activated higher self as I catch myself wondering why then his aura appears to be carrying so much bad karma for him ?

'You're very brave' he's saying.

And listening to him is like gradually cutting into, gradually focusing into his surely spoken voice through the clitter-clutter of cutlery and multiplicity of further human voices to isolate his line of direct communication in this busy public house.

This weed brings on my clairvoyance, and I see the shadow that covers him, the one he can't shake, the one cause by the things he's done. But it's not him whose done them, and the shadow isn't him.

His aura, the outward radiance of his soul-nature, his essential inner being is trapped underneath the shadow, which gives it a murky coating. Sometimes through this gray shroud I perceive sparks of his true aura, represented as deep flouressences of greens, goldens and lilacs, lil' willow the wisps of light wanting to be free. It matched on the physical plain the golden tint of his brown skin somewhat.

And my clairvoyance certainly is confusing me. It's so weird this, not knowing on which level, which plane to focus. It was weird enough when I was only beginning to spiritually mutate, to develop the power; strange enough when I began to be as awake as I was when I was awake as when I was asleep.

The transition points were rough as well as smooth. To witness both the sleep, and the wake world, like, to witness the real soul/self of someone, to be aware of it bubbling up under the surface of the surface chatter. To see it's colours and hear how it's speak could isolate and repeat itself to your now psychically activated awareness, your supersense, it just sounded so much realer than all of that programmed be-es that surrounded it.

'Back to work soon, killing people; I don't know why were doing it...'

The calamitous chatter abruptly and suddenly stopped as the young soldier started saying 'killing people'.

There was a pause of total silence that seemed to hang over mid-air like a cliff-edge for a sheer improbable time before the man said 'I don't know why were doing it' and as he did so the previous familiar tumultuous chatter erupted on again, the gaps between the wall of din involving complete silence as familiarly erratic as dot-dash morse code signals..."