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Inspired byA simple river meander seen from above, its winding bends forming a flowing Greek-key design in Churrigueresque Psychosomatic Magicalism.Look carefully at the uploaded image. Do not try to preserve its original story, composition, or meaning. Use its visual elements as ingredients for an entirely new story. Select the most interesting elements, detach them from their original roles, and give them new purposes, relationships and meanings. Then invent a surprising event that connects them. Something should have happened, or be about to happen. Change scale, position, function, perspective or physical logic whenever this makes the story more interesting. You are allowed to contradict the original image. Create a surreal, minimalist, poetic and meaningful scene showing one decisive moment of this new story. The result should feel like an image from a story I have never seen before. Do not illustrate the original image. Do not explain it. Transform its ingredients into something unexpected. No dirt, no text.
The River Had Misplaced Its Sheet Music
The river invented the first key design by going somewhere and then reconsidering.
Seen from above, its bends were a Greek key. Seen from the bank, they were water. I called it the Miranda River in Turkey. It had other names, but water has never been particular about introductions.
A tributary climbed the canyons to Mary’s house, where three springs came out of the earth like thoughts she had decided to keep.
Signs in twenty languages said not to take photographs.
The tour buses arrived to steal the souls of places. Everybody took pictures. The springs continued giving away water, which apparently was less valuable.
The key returned in a dream. It looked something like B♭, but before that it had been tau.
I remembered Alice Bailey’s account of the Atlanteans willing things into existence until one of those things was the end of Atlantis.
In the dream there was a dam, except it was really part of a canal that persuaded water to go somewhere else. A cycle of T’s marked the structure. They looked patient. They had been waiting for the river to understand.
Then the key stood beside a musical score.
The staff became a superconducting tube holding a fission reaction. Its turbulence was defined by psi, a letter that seemed to have raised its hands to ask a question.
The music went on inside the tube.
At the end of the universe stood a computer called Quelude Scorage. Everything went into it. Then everything began again.
Quelude sounded like prelude. Perhaps the universe had finished its concert and was looking for the first page.
At another end, a metallic life form was coming toward us. It would arrive in a million years. There was time to put the kettle on.
In the Acropolis Archaeological Museum I saw a pot wearing the river’s Greek key.
Perhaps Quelude Scorage was a pot.
Perhaps we were what it held.
Later I was in India, meditating in Vashishta Guhya. Inside the cave I saw a T-shaped yantra. It resembled a crossbow, but there was no arrow.
I wondered whether this was the key beside the musical score, waiting for something to begin.
In Bar, Montenegro, I entered a Serbian Orthodox church that seemed to me like an El Greco painting. I imagined he had left Crete and gone east instead of finding Spain.
Across the ceiling ran a grand key design.
Looking upward, I kept finding creation expressed in geometry. Around the Father were shapes that seemed to be explaining how everything began. Near Christ was the pelican piercing its own breast to feed its children.
In my mind the bird became an alembic, a vessel carrying those geometrical signs.
Love had become a container. Creation had become mathematics.
And the river continued around the pot, around the ceiling, through the canal and the musical score.
Somehow its water returned to the source.
The three springs were still there.
Nobody had managed to photograph what they were saying.
