Welcome to the continuing serialized version of Phantom Limbs' bassist Jim Parks' novel, Dust Of The Earth, a Tucson story about Tucson history, mystery, other worlds, desert mojo, forbidden love, and the fledgling Tucson music scene... (c) by Jim Parks, reprinted with permission
|"I had intercourse...with the Tree Of Life"|
I think Jorge and the sisters found me, or I found them. They pulled me along. The girls were like reindeer steering me through a sky full of Christmas lights. Sometimes I fell, and Jorge would pick me up and set me back into the sleigh. On Dinah! On Kleine! That couldn't have been their names! We went on like that for a lifetime. And then through a maze of alleyways -- beasts growling and barking on either side. The beasts spoke to me -- a secret language. THE SECRET. Yes, of course. You always learn the secret, only to forget upon awakening. This time I would remember it. I would write it down. But I had no pen and paper.
We started climbing a tree. I felt myself being pushed and pulled upward, supported by a thousand arms. The tree was alive, and Jorge and the girls were a part of it, their arms like branches. I whimpered and held on. I held on to a body, or a trunk. I kept holding on. I heard speech, and I spoke back. I had intercourse with the tree, with The Tree Of Life.
For what seemed like minutes. Falling, hitting.
You're supposed to wake up before you hit. So I was dead. That's what happens. That's the rule.
But I was picked up and carried. A giant spirit-angel picked me up like I was nothing. Of course, I was nothing. The wind could have picked me up and carried me. So this was a spirit of the wind who carried me and then set me down. I lay on something soft with a blanket over me, shivering. How can spirits shiver? A figure appeared, looking down at me. I saw a crucifix swinging slowly next to my face. The Pit and The Pendulum.
But no, I saw cleavage of all things, warm caramel flesh. I could almost taste it. My gaze traveled upwards, the chest, the neck, the shoulders, and then a face. How could this be? It was the face of Ana Socorro Castellano. She was in a nightgown and robe, which had parted as she bent over me to pull up the blanket.
To Be Continued...