Very few people will read this, but...


After my six-hour long near-death experience (in which I entered a state of indescribable communion with the Great God Pan in his highest cosmic form, looking as if he was made of all of the stars and galaxies in the Universe), my mother told me that the first time she came to visit me at the hospital, right after surgery when I was practically comatose, she clearly heard her sister's voice in the room with us. My aunt was telling her "I'm so sorry, I was so selfish, I'm so sorry..." over and over again. That freaked my mother the f**k out, so much so that she was still very deeply disturbed even a year afterwards. I naturally DIDN'T tell her about my whole experience on the other side, the part where Pan looked at me from the corner of his eye and smiled upon me knowingly, and I then fell into his endlessly spiralling ram's horns, literally made of the fabric of the cosmos, and ended up walking down a spiral staircase made of black stone. Not a proper staircase really, simply steps made of probably onyx, floating above oblivion. After quite some time walking down the onyx steps, I found my aunt completely listless on the stairs (she had violently put an end to her life five years earlier), and she said "I'm more lost than ever, this is the Abyss, I'm more lost than ever". Without thinking, I took her hand and replied "You're not lost anymore, I've found you." She looked up, her eyes full of life again, and that was it, next thing I remember was waking up at the hospital days later. About a month later, I was at the public library, when I noticed a tall, young, beautiful woman looking at me, smiling. She looked familiar, but I couldn't remember who she was. It suddenly hit me that she obviously was my aunt, looking as she did in my childhood, when she was in her twenties. When I turned around, she literally disappeared. I rationalized it as an unintentional "Orpheus travelling to the Underworld to rescue the soul of a loved one" sort of journey. In this day and age, for f**k's sake. I haven't seen her since. And my life now, from waking to sleep, is devoted to the mysteries of Pan.

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  1. "Who is Bou Jeloud? Who is he? My uncles killed two goats, saying: "Bismillah," as they drew a knife over their throats and flayed them in a cave where they stripped me naked to sew me up in the reeking, hot skins. When they blackened my face, darkness swirled down like the beating of drums. As they put the flails in my hands and began to play our music, I fell to the ground. When Hamid fell, Bou Jeloud jumped into him. Even now, I'm afraid. Bou Jeloud is the Father of Fear: he is, also, the Father of Flocks. The Good Shepherd works for him. When the goats, gently grazing, brusquely frisk and skitter away, he is counting his herd. When you shiver like someone just walked on your grave, that's him! That's *Pan*, the Father of Skins. Did you almost jump out of your skin, just then, Hassan Merikani? I've still got you under my skin."

    "Bou Jeloud is Fear and F**king; running wild, chasing, beating, catching, biting, tearing and f**king; again and again and again. Bou Jeloud leaps high in the air with the music to fall out of the sky on top of the women, beating them with switches so they can go on having the kids. The women all scatter, like marabout birds in a pasture, to light in a huddle on top of a hillock in one quivering lump. Then, they throw back their pretty heads to the moon and let out a long lulliloo! They flutter their gullets, lolling their tongues around in their empty heads like the clapper rolls around in a bell. Hot, narrow black eyes brim over their veils, sparkling with dangerous lust. Every mouth is round-open, so, yodeling: O!"

    -Brion Gysin, The Process

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