ON RYAN FENCHEL’S ODD BOUQUET

written by L

Those who talk do not know, those who know do not talk.

A gong sounded a frequency that we had never heard before, and vibrated throughout all the illusions of space and time. We saw a tributary trickling down a dark hillside—a flow of full electric spectrum. The source was unavailable to our mind’s eyes. The material was not liquid but was comprised of waves and photons, gathering charged silt from the primordial soup along its path. It meandered in and through an abundance of holographic foliage that was situated between the second and fifth dimensions. Dew dripped from the leaves and branches, compounding the energy of the mass. The flow emptied into a rectangular pool, the only straight edges in these realms. Beyond the edges of the perimeter lived darkness within darkness. Around the pool was a flat plane and on it stood lanky figures gazing into its transparent mirror. With cones atop their heads, they were witnessing their creation, a neural network, a universe of worlds without end. Their gaze was comprised of all states of the emotional spectrum. Yet their mother was still and glowed, emanating love and peace. Perhaps this was the source of the flow. It was splendorous and violent and sensual. It fucked itself, shat on itself, ate itself, and grew out of itself a million billion eyes and faces and arms and bodies, swaying in pain and ecstasy. Yet it was ruled by the one that gave it order. All things obeyed the one not out of fear but just because that is what they did, out of honor and cosmic love and the organization of named things.

The figures took their empty vessels and filled the space inside with the material from the pool. Out of each of these vessels sprouted a cornucopia of life and process. After harvesting the matter, the figures released the vessels into the void and their respective flow began to spill out into the ether, generating innumerable tributaries spreading out through eternity. At this exact moment their network spun up into an infinite tapestry with geometric forms and patterns. Beings rose up out of it and died back into it. There was mystery in the order of these events, but no secrets. The figures just had to look, and all was present and known to them.

These planes before you are portals into these dimensions, an apparition of this grand vision that we have collectively experienced. Our beloved alchemist has articulated what can be shown and felt in our world, with our eyes of this incarnation. He has channeled the spaces between these realms and has travelled throughout all of them, reminding you of knowledge and oneness that you have in the self behind yourself. We ask you to meditate with them and feel their messages with patience. Calm your minds. They will show you what you need to see, when you are ready.