Insane or Inspired? One Man’s Bid to End Patriarchy Forever (Part 22)

Kumari

Lucy’s words must have triggered something in my unconscious, because I awoke from a night of perpetual lucidity. By which I mean, I recognised my dreams for what they truly were. I think it may have been her comment about how we’ve all, “bought into the apparent reality of own projections.” For this is precisely the mechanism that leads to dreams, as we typically experience them. And not just dreams, of course, but life itself.

I was some sort of shopkeeper, in my first dream of the night. And I was being visited by an evil inspector, whose eyes were completely black. I hurriedly grabbed two bottles from a nearby shelf, because they were illicit, and hid them behind my back. I then furtively handed them on to my assistant, who skulked away to hide them. The inspector, meanwhile, had begun winding on the electricity meter, so that I’d have to pay more. And it was at this moment that I became angry. Not with the inspector, but with myself, for buying into this completely nonsensical scenario.

I could have chosen to simply end the dream at this point, but I didn’t. Instead, I picked the inspector up by his hair and threw him against the wall. To say that he looked surprised would be an understatement. Then, remembering a scene from one of the Matrix films, I thrust my hand into his chest and slowly turned him into my doppelgänger. Which, in retrospect, would seem to have been an unwittingly symbolic act on my part. For the ‘conversion’ of others, through their realisation of the One underlying Self, was very much part of our agenda. And, symbolically, I had not destroyed evil, but merely removed the mask of evil, to reveal its true identity. In any case, I didn’t lose lucidity again after that, for the rest of the night. But neither did I want to lose it during the day, either.

Lucy was happy to hear about my lucid dream adventures, but I could tell that she was eager to share some news of her own. “Look at this, Melanie,” she said, waving a document under my nose. “This is what girls here are given, at birth, and are encouraged to begin reading as soon as they are able. It’s basically a reassurance, by the community, of how much they are valued, and why. It’s also a promise, that they’ll be loved and cared for, from cradle to grave.”

Reading the document got me thinking about what the actual message to newborns might be. “Lucy Rainer. You are a hairless ape in a dead, meaningless universe. There is nothing important or special about you. You are the property of the state. We own you. Do not look to your parents for help, because we own them too. Your childhood belongs to us, and you shall spend it in preparation for your life as an economic slave. We own the media. We own politicians. We own religion. We own everything, including your perception of reality. There is no escape. Have a nice life. P.S. Don’t forget to pay for your death, in advance, on your way out.”

Lucy laughed at my characterization. “Yeah, but I did escape,” she said, “thanks to you, and Jay, and Ana, and everyone else here. And now I’m going to bust the others out too.”

“What others?”

“Anyone who’ll listen.”

Jay leant in from behind the sofa and whispered into my ear: “She has a plan, man.”

Lucy went on to explain that we had been hiding in the shadows for long enough, and that it was time to step out into the light. “The Kumari ceremony normally happens in a cave,” she said, at low tide. But screw that! Why not have it on the beach, where everyone can see? There are loads of tourists around, at this time of the year, and there’ll be no shortage of interest in what we’re doing. I’ve even printed up some flyers, which the group are going to distribute, ahead of time.”

Jay then handed me one of the leaflets in question. “It’s really rather clever,” he said. “She’s made it sound like a traditional Cornish event, without actually stating that explicitly. She’s also highlighted the benefits of returning to the ‘old ways’, without referencing any time or place in particular. So most people will just assume that it’s a local thing. But, hopefully, some of them will also be interested enough to investigate further.”

“Yeah, Lucy has always shown a certain creativity when it comes to the truth.”

“Hey!” she protested. “What you’re holding there is a work of genius.”

“We’ll see,” I replied.

I had never actually heard of a ‘palanquin’ before, but it was apparently an enclosed box, for one passenger, carried on horizontal poles, usually by four men.

“Wow,” said Lucy, upon seeing her palanquin for the first time. And, indeed, it was an impressive sight. No mere ‘box’, this, but an ornate, golden egg, of which Fabergé himself would surely have been proud. It had filigree style side openings, so that the occupant could see out, and was richly encrusted with tumbled gemstones.

I shook my head in astonishment.

“What does it all mean?” asked Lucy, clambering inside.

Jay explained that the egg symbolised the divine feminine Source, from which we all came. And Lucy, in stepping out of the egg, during the ceremony, symbolised Her presence, with us, in the flesh.

“What will I be wearing?” she asked.

“Normally, the Kumari would be naked. But seeing as this is going to be a public event, I think a simple, white gown would be appropriate.”

“And makeup?”

“One cannot improve upon perfection,” he told her.

“That,” she replied, with conviction, “is romantic twaddle, with no basis in reality. But, seeing as I don’t actually have any zits at the moment, I’m okay with facial nudity.”

I’m not entirely sure that Lucy remained true to her word, in that regard. But, either way, when the time finally came to leave, that evening, she looked absolutely stunning. Morwenna had styled her hair and infused it with exotic flowers. Which, combined with her elegant, off-the-shoulder gown, made my sister look like a bride on her wedding day. And that’s apparently how she felt, too. “Well, I’d certainly marry you, Lucy,” said Morwenna. “You look good enough to eat.”

Our arrival at the popular harbour town was unexpectedly marked with cheers, applause, and the throwing of flower petals. It seemed that our advance party hadn’t merely informed tourists, of what we were planning to do, but also persuaded them to participate. Lucy immediately seized upon the fact that they’d all been duped into worshipping the Goddess, whether they liked it or not. “Yeah, I’m not sure that counts,” I told her.

We then slowly made our way to the nearby car park, trying not to run anyone over. And it was here that Lucy transferred to the palanquin, before being lifted aloft by four of our hunkiest members. Yes, they were topless; yes, they were oiled-up; and, yes, they looked like Roman gladiators.

Moments later, we found ourselves besieged by hordes of excited children, eager to throw their petals in Lucy’s direction. Needless to say, our procession along the harbour itself took a lot longer than we had anticipated. Despite the carnival atmosphere, however, I was very much aware that, if the crowd somehow realised what we were actually doing, then it would very quickly turn into a lynch mob. And instead of throwing petals at us, they’d be hurling rocks. For this was not ‘our’ community, but the general public. And that placed all of us all in extreme and imminent danger.

As we arrived at the beach, and assessed the unexpected size of the audience, a hasty decision was made to forego the various odes and songs that had been planned. For this would surely have revealed what we were doing, and made the public question what it was, exactly, that they were doing, participating in such an event.

Nevertheless, with Lucy’s egg perched safely upon a rocky outcrop, Jay took control of the situation and persuaded the gathering to prostrate themselves, in an act of obeisance. Although, he obviously didn’t describe what they were doing in those terms. “He has balls of steel,” said Kerensa, admiringly. It was obviously quite a spectacle, and I became slightly concerned at the number of people who were recording the event, or perhaps even streaming it live, around the world.

Jay himself then dropped to his knees, as Lucy emerged from the egg. The sun had just begun to set, rather spectacularly, behind her. And as the wind proceeded to toy lovingly with her hair, it was hard not to admit that, yes, she was indeed a goddesss, in every sense of the word.

But how had any of this this happened? In less than a week I had gone from being a hard-nosed journalist, with no particular belief in God, to worshipping my own sister, as an embodiment of the Divine. It seemed to defy all logic and reason. And yet, it was predominantly logic and reason that had led me to this place, both literally and figuratively speaking. Had I gone insane, or was the world already so insane that apparent insanity could now be used as a reliable indicator of mental health?

To Be Continued