Land of the Midnight Suns ~ A Pictorial

A Thousand Dimensions

Part I 2014

Chapter One ~ Trip ~ Lift Off

The Land of the Midnight Suns,
where we are all one,
interconnected,
leaving behind Levels One to Four,
soaring to Level Seven through Five and Six.

The Universe.

This Space seen outside the contours of my mind, released,
free,
exterior,
not trapped within my skull.

The Land of the Giant Suns,
unlocking even youth itself,
when ancient Barritt
gazed upon Light Incandescent
and in life’s instant
Age fell away.
Time stood still
and then doubled-backed upon itself.

He stands again at Leary’s door.

A youth of twenty, smooth, unwrinkled, beautiful.

The man who had gazed upon GOD, he claims,

and contrary to fabric
of ancient scripts,
of religions, a myriad . . . LIVED!

The boy became the man
and did partake in the taste of mushroom
in chemical misdirection…

Let us leave him to his flights of fancy …

Chapter Two ~ Trip ~ I Surely Fly

Am I right to traverse the landscape of my mind?

Are we right to join in Piscean intimacy
and gaze with awe upon Gemini?

What are these contours that take me to the seventh level

opening my reasoning, my intellect, and my understanding?

Do we dare perchance

upon the sands

where Crowley and Neuberg

did enjoin in ritual

to call upon Choronzon?

And by synchronicity, a century on

did Leary and Barritt do the self-same thing

unbeknown to them

the relevance of the act and hour?!?

Do you and I dare to do as Crowley did,

and call upon Chaos?

Of course! Of course we must!

It can do no harm.

We merely experiment, my friend!

Yes, I agree, my friend.

We are, after all, intellectual beings, my very good friend.

It can do us no harm at all.

Oh, Mr Leary!

Oh, Mr Barritt!

What have we done? (in unison)

Chapter Three ~ Trip ~ I Surely Fly but Sense Oblivion Approaches

Oblivion?

Oblivion cannot be!

We merely explore, Mr Barritt

That is so very right, Mr Leary.

We explore

as the Ancients did.

Let us traverse the slopes, and fly the mountain-tops.

Let us see together the Origins of our Universe, and glance upon the wonders of Creation.

Let us see those times before visions enacted stiff religions, codified, comatose, lifeless …

Let us view our mind maps and plot the course of our trajectories.

Do we move from level plain and back again?

Do our mindmaps reflect the Blueprints of our lives Written on The Other Side?

Let us stand outside Time

and, thus ageless as indeed Ageless is.

Seize that moment!

Look upon the ashtray and trace its origin through hallucinogenic Vision…

Revere the snort.

Ignore those images of distended nostrils.

Allow each hallucino..gen..ikkk vishun

… showing us its own path from root and branch.

and, and, and, … uh … uhhh …

mentality working in fits and starts,

obscurity then bursts of clarity…

Metal and dust fashioned by hands, and beat upon the anvil.

Then gloriously anointed by our first kiss of ash from the leaf.

And thence our minds shoot aeons ahead and back and see the leaf, the forest, the soil, the earth, and its history.

But how did this happen? Was she mere hallucination?

Where did you go my darling?

Where did she go, he abjectly queried Oblivion!

Chapter Four ~ Most Wise Counsel

Good friend, I read your thoughts, your musing with interest, and caution care upon your quest for this enlightenment. Seriously. It is no enlightenment at all.

I have no doubts at all about the value of the study, the mapping of the mind, the bending of its will to stimulating drugs; and outside Space, Hallucination!

But I counsel this question.

In every trip, Is it real? Really real?

And I counsel further, if I may.

Consider Ledger Winehouse on the Heath.

Consider the boys that fly, as you describe.

Do they really?

Really?!

Could it be quite simply a Mushroom out of control?

Or is it only flying the hills and vales…

the mountain ranges…

the middle earth…

… and finally the subterranean places

of your

metrosexual imagination?

Four Chaotic Steps

Chaotic Approach

I know not where I am

Chaos Knocks upon the Door

No, it cannot be my door

Chaos Enters oh so lightly

Even with a gentle tap of reassurance upon the shoulder of my fast receding mind

Chaos in Occupaton

the last chink of light slides back through the door

just as it slams shut

and runs hell for leather

then walks across Dale Street

The Mercedes stops and waits patiently,

as we trip up on the kerb I hear the gentle purr

of that oh-so-smooth six-cylinder beauty.

I have not seen it so it has not seen me.

I am, how does it go?

“the master of my fate?”

Ah, yes.

I have seen him, but he has not seen me…

Chapter Five ~ In 2014 I Ponder

Yes, I ponder, reflecting upon this wisdom.

I shall pause awhile.

I leave it unfinished in this brief twilight hour in this dismal 2014.

… and if, perchance, the inspiration returns, then we shall draw this to its conclusion.

Poetry and Prose should ebb and flow and not be contrived.

Inspiration does not always accompany us hand-in-hand to the end. Suddenly we part company, and she becomes elusive, running through the trees, and in glimmers of light we might catch a glimpse but not enough to reconnect. The distance between us seems simply too great, as if the parkland is a supernatural chasm.

And then suddenly, she is by our side again, beaming. And we continue our walk.

That is the secret  ~ never force her hand.

Author Note

I

I post this in the public domain so that all who love to write but are encouraged not, to persevere. There is a curious little quirk of human nature, and we all know it well. I see it often. Someone with great promise, a clear gift, a skill, is put down. No, they do not have a clear gift, no they do not have a skill, and then comes the devastating remark that is akin to a nuclear explosion. An explosion that because it is whispered makes it nuclear. I’m sorry, but I think you are delusional.

When this happens, quietly stand firm, stand ground, do not flinch, be polite. Then, when the door is closed or the iPhone call disconnects, do the proverbial imitation and run like a bat out of hell!

II

A theme presents itself and accompanies the writer … all is well. Paths are walked, lanes discovered, clifftops reached, and then just as suddenly, the theme exits.

Whenever we do something well, there will be criticism. That is fine. Indeed, it is essential when it is constructive and by people of very wide perspective. Constructive criticism often dons the cloak of envy. Keep that in mind.

III

Back to the theme. Hang on … Where have you gone? Why did you do that?

Do not give in. Quietly set aside the piece … for I guarantee that she or he, or even they, will one day return and continue the conversation that seemed hither, to have been so full of life, vibrancy and vitality and hope for our future.

It still is! But it tests our resolve. It tests our patience! It tests our resilience.

It is no different to the Artist’s studio.

We see canvasses. We see great works in the making.

We also, upon looking closer, see part works, unfinished works, works that suddenly stop …

But that is the joy and freedom of creating work. So, I say again. Let not Theme’s temporary departure put you off, or discourage you.

I repeat. She or he, or they, or maybe even it, will return, at a time of individual choosing. Rest assured, we shall be expected to be poised and ready to continue in our creativity.

Chapter Six ~ From Poetry to Prose

Published in A Thousand Dimensions 1 January 2022

I

Dimension Land of the Midnight Suns results from a study of the very controversial life of Timothy Leary. I did not enjoy the study, but I sensed its importance. Nine years on, it is even more important. A powerful international lobby seeks to legalise some forms of illegal drugs.

Every city, every town, and every village, has a problem with social drugs.

My friend across the Channel advised me to read the biography of Timothy Leary. This was not, as I say, a pleasant read, but most certainly, a very important act of research. One might say it was also, occasionally, one of enlightenment. There were many areas about which I had not the vaguest concept, let alone an understanding.

I then sat down to make sense of it and wrote Land of the Midnight Suns as a poem which I then changed to prose on 9 April 2020. The poetry version still exists but I have placed it in drafts. This prose version is the edition that matters.

II

Chapter One and Chapter Two cover what is often called ‘the trip’.

Chapter Three is my friend’s very wise counsel having read the poetry format. Keeping things in perspective, what I like about Chapter Three is that my friend was, at the time of that advice, still only in his early twenties. He had seen all too often at university in Paris, the wasteland created by the trip’s temporary euphoria.

Now very happily married, I know for sure, he is a wonderful husband and father, with a handle on life and on this century. And that is exactly what we need.

III

There are people who will speak of ecstatic moments in life as a result of their ‘harmless’ enjoyment of drugs.

I watched, however, one young man and still a good friend - a very talented chap - really wrestle with this. He eventually overcame, but the wrestle to the other side is more akin to the terrifying hand-to-hand fighting in warfare that we think doesn’t take place now.

This is the reality of this particular one of a Thousand Dimensions.

Social drugs are a dead end, you know nothing about it, you’ve gone, but your death certificate is handed to your next of kin in a daze. It is a terrifying moment. And your sudden departure will never be overcome. You are priceless. You are loved.

Again, too often, did this come home with distraught parents handing me their child’s death certificate when I practised law in Liverpool, Blackpool, Beaconsfield, Folkestone, Gloucester, Cheltenham, Worcester, Luton, Preston and Blackpool in Lancashire, London and always with that terrifying searching in their eyes but no words … what on earth do we do? How did this ever happen?

The Reality

The Reality

… the blood slowly draining back through the syringe… greyness descending, enveloping,

Benyamin was a very kind hearted and considerate young man. He enjoyed life, and was working well at Liverpool University. It is not a case of ‘falling in with the wrong crowd”, rather it was the social pressures under which everyone, especially young people, labour in this century of upheaval and conflict. By the time he was found, his body was already - beneath him - beginning its process of returning to the earth.

The autopsy showed high levels of ketamine. It also showed something else. The body had suffered a violent reaction to another substance Rohypnol. Rohypnol, along with GBL and GHB are, in the United Kingdom, the ‘date-rape’ drugs.

There was no evidence of sexual assault. Friends reported that Ben had suddenly stood up saying he was going to get some fresh air on the docks. They never saw him again. Other witnesses testified that they saw a young man staggering across the Strand from the Albert Dock and mounting the steps through the newly created woodland on the hill leading to Liverpool One and the Crown Courts.

22 July 2023
All Rights Reserved

© 2023 Kenneth Thomas Webb

Digital Artwork by Kenneth Thomas Webb