lord of the insects
gaia speaks all languages, understands all cultures, listens to all conversations on earth. her/his mind is the super-context within which all her/his component minds make sense. according to animistic models, s/he is the combined mentality of myriad beings, visible and invisible – and not just human, but of all species and entities, exchanging vital information through networks within networks within complexes of networks which constitute the planetary awareness, which is then networked into the greater galactic awareness’s complex of contexts, which is networked into the greater cosmic contexts and so on outward and ever outward (and of course also inward and ever inward). despite apparent conflict and error and misunderstanding, all mentality is unified within these greater contexts.
within all this i, a gardener, push aside motherwort, looking for meadowsweet, and suddenly something makes me glance to one side and there among the lavender catnip still battling on amid the encroaching school-cap suddenly i see a being, ten inches high, shimmering in and out of vision; and i become aware that the shrill trilling bursts of whirring i’ve been not-quite-hearing until now, yet to which i am suddenly aware i have been responding for some time, are made by this being; as if between his tongue and his teeth he were whistling to me and begging me to see. but he has no teeth and tongue, only an insect’s head and mouthparts. half-man, half-insect, standing among the plant stems he is calling me.
what can i do but stare, frozen to stillness, knowing that my least reaction might break the spell and he’d be gone? and i notice that he looks like a shaman in one of those a big elaborate ceremonial mask made of wood, painted and stained and decorated with long, stiff tufts of dried grass, pipeclay and feathers and rendered bizarre and potent with magical tricks of colour and line such as might thrill sculptors and their critics.
at which point i find that i’ve been pulled into his trance, “entranced” so that the word “entranced” suddenly leaps to full vivacity for me, replete with its true meaning; and i find am staring at the painted frayed-bark beard of just such a mask of normal size, held in the being’s hand; and when i look up sharply into his face, for size relations have dissolved into something quite paradoxical between him and me, he is a normal-sized black man with very dark, deep-set laughing eyes, though barely smiling, he is richly enjoying the encounter.
and then, sharing his mental field in a vivid revelation i am made aware of this process within this unity of the planetary mind. i see rituals being performed amid leaping flames in jungle clearings and in deep, primaeval caves, games and dances in kindergarten playgroups by unknowing children and in classical dance by dedicated professional performers with focused yet subconscious intention, in the covert collective shamanisms of genre fantasy fiction and in the solitary play of small children, almost all entirely unaware of the contribution of the others, none knowing the whole of the work, nobody planning it, but all of us doing it, building it, according to a unifying will not our own, like ants building their underground cities, or bees making honey.
this is a deva fighting its way into manifestation in this form thus lovingly built over thousands of years by the will of the parent planet; to catch, as a dream-catcher might, who knows what cosmic soul, what “dreaming” from the infinitude of the dreaming that is all existence, that manifests here on earth as that whole order of mystical, magical beings called insects.
and then he is gone, and i am left alone, my hands still holding the motherwort stems, while i hear in my mind his name silently repeated: lord of the insects . . . lord of the insects . . . and i have the impression that he had been talking to me just beyond my range of hearing, in french.
vyvyan ogma wyverne