Mysterious Copilot

I have the feeling that I’m not alone, although I’m in a space tunnel. Who has led me to this small and narrow way? I don’t know exactly so I look out my only port hole and name my mysterious copilot , Marigold , for the yellow splotches scattered on the sublime plaid purple space ahead. That’s the aim of my journey. The tunnel of space all around me is soft darkness in dim shades of green, red, and blue. I don’t mind it. I’m not afraid. The way ahead seems pleasant, and I trust Marigold holds my heart at these high altitudes giving me a touch of light to steer by. I don’t know why but I do.

There are some times and places where it’s just you and the universe. There’s no one to guide you and no one to argue with. A spaceship is one of those places and for lack of a ship, space consciousness is one of those places. The fractal experience of deep space, discovered by Elaine Lynn, artistically rendered by Fled Crump has opened many worm holes.

I settled into worm hole 357 of the first edition of 500. I have no idea how long I’ve been here. Patience is the first thing to grow in deep space consciousness. You could say it’s sort of a trance. I don’t know what it’s like for other people, though.

I pass the time by describing my experience verbally into my transcribing tablet. It’s a puzzler to put words to any of it. Putting words to it is like putting reality to it. I don’t know if the reality will stick. When I’m delivered from this passage-time will I be greeted as a discoverer or a sucker. It’s hard to trace the authenticity of wormholes. There are knock offs.

*

A glowing yellow cat has joined me this morning, on my walk continuing down the tunnel. Though I’m not sure if I’m walking down the tunnel or up it. There is no sense of direction here except forward. And it’s not as if you could go backwards unless you want to disappear. I reached into the space behind me once and my arm disappeared. I was able to pull it back out but really the only sense of direction I have is that forward seems good and backward seems bad. The cat seems to agree. This is the first time I’ve ever had any company since entering the wormhole. It’s quite possible that the cat is a product of my imagination.

*

That word, “product” brings back a memory from before, about why I’m here aside from a feeling of inevitability... something I’d forgotten. Or really the whole phrase, “product of my imagination” ... product, product product: Marigold powder, an illuminating newly discovered color. As soon as it was available for artists I bought a spice jar full of it - so expensive! I am a sucker for anything new. The yellow-orange marigold emblem on the lid of my jar of pigment is one of the last things I remember before leaving everyday life.

Like a break through dream reality stuck to my frontal lobe: I’m here to do a wormhole commission. This is a paid gig. I had almost forgotten. There’s zero gravity, there’s zero stimulation, and glowing yellow cats in my imagination. What am I going to do?!

I reach behind me into the dim negative space where I can’t see. I open my fist and close it around what I imagine to be something like colorful tissue papers and I keep grabbing fistfuls of them. I place an order for paper. The paper comes. Paper is a wonder. I’ve been tearing pebble shapes in every color of tissue paper and now I’m simply going to glue it like a child to make my discovery of beauty in deep space.