Beat of the Bodhirukka

3 Mar

O may it be real.

Sweat is creeping down my flanks and between my buttocks as I shake just enough red powder into a spoon and then to the rising bubbles of the catalytic pot. I drop the lid and crimp the top of the foil package and slip it in a crack and slap at ants transporting particles of egg across the counter top toward their kingdom under the floor of the pod. Gnats whirl about my head as I grope among the dishes in the sink. Under the Flowmatic, I swirl out my vessel and place it beside the pot. The pod sways. Across the forest, a monkey hoots. A kulonbozik gigantus, or Rainbow-billed Toucan, whose wings extend ten feet, drops his head into the window space to rattle his bill.

I rummage among shells and rocks and limbs on my glossy-dark-wood-finish shelves and locate the Beat of the Bodhirukka. Rolling beneath my bunk in the high-backed, luxury-leather, executive office desk chair, I reach across the wood-and-metal, glossy-finish, gray-frame desk (and the dread Typomatic) to insert it in the twelvetrack. The Beat of the Bodhirukka blends with the catter of lorikeets, askaris, hornbills, trogons, and the pod fills with a scent of crushed cherry pits and aspirin.

I tip the pot, and a pink stream fills my vessel.

Saint John’s Selasian Blizzard. Favored of Berzandia’s entertainment crowd. Fuel for the youth dansolution. Familiarly known as bliz.

Be wary—imitations abound. I am told the active ingredient is rendered from the bark of the saffrol laurel tree. You can get it in tincture, gumdrops and blotters, in a tobacco mix, in crystals, powdered. The Berzandia crowd likes it as a rum liqueur. It does wonders for confidence, for focus. It is lovely with music. It improves scenery. It restores faith. It addresses man’s evolutionary problem. Of old, man is a loather of forests and darkness—paradoxically enough—since he issued thereof in evolutionary and metaphorical senses. Though you dwell in your tower of glass, you are still sharpening your spear, murmuring incantations against the forestdark beyond city lights. Saint John’s Silesian Blizzard. Purchase it from someone you trust. Take one fifteen minutes before settling down at the feet of your unfinished sculpture. Before taking your children to the park. Your wife to bed. A cautionary note. Eventually, you may need it for these functions. You will start to notice the malignancy of the mundane, the odiousness of your own ordinary state of mind. Carrion in a feedbag under your chin. Whatever position you occupy on the marketplace will become a form of torture.

And you will go back to bliz.

Through an assembly of bounding tree frogs, I bear the vessel to the rail of the deck. The shrill of birdsong—along with the babble of children and women scolding and frying breakfast and water churning in the ravine, rushing over the rapids—is unbroken. Boughs shuffle and uncover stilts, bridges between trees, ladders white in sunlight. The rope bridge curves to the vine-trailing central pod, where a girl bends over potted plants and a woman pulls a comb through silver hair. Like the spokes of a wheel, bridges web from the central pod to others among the trees.

The hot, hundred-proof bliz goes to work. Before my eyes, a veil attenuates and breaks apart and the tatters flutter away among butterflies. Fountains of steam reel from tumbling canopy, turning amber, then orange, then scarlet, and the ocean blazes, and the creatures of the forest burst into rapturous cacophony: holy, holy, holy. The sun, a shaman with the wing of a crow, fans dazzling sparks, and my lungs expand, and corpuscles multiply, and the bodibeat pounds, and in each single leaf, I know the fraternity of hearts human and bestial, the storehouses of gladness packed into every cell of creation, and I find my body following a sacred choreography, my feet shuffling, my hands like the branches of a willow raising to the sky and trailing.


One Response to “Beat of the Bodhirukka”

  1. quietwalkblog March 3, 2015 at 10:49 pm #

    Wow, that is some kind of drink there. i think I would be mighty cautious before ascending that slippery slope……

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