Peter - Chapter Five

Peter - Chapter Five
The two old freinds set off. They both knew Skree had been up in the Shropshire area, checking out the styper stones, the hill forts of which there were hundreds in the area and other ancient sites. Peter felt, though he'd kept it from Lipton , that if they could find Skree, Lipton would lift his spirits in deference to the adventures they had shared. Both had been keen drug users of a broad pharmacopeia but as a man ages, the body can no longer hold out. The pattern had been throughout their lives, little to no damage from the psychedelics of their teens, amphetamines had seen a rise in violence with the parallel alcohol use and several amphetamine psychosis cases spend a month sectioned though these usually returned not permanently damaged. When heroin came in a nihilism spread and all three surviving brothers had a good dozen close freinds die from over dose. Motor cycle deaths were also common during the 16 to 26 year bracket, taking roughly half as many as heroin. None of them had used bikes much during this period of learning their boundaries nor heroin where so many overdoses occurred due to lack of know how. Motorbikes and heroin. For sure the heroin left dead loved ones but motorcycle deaths were equally selfish leaving other spin off deaths and terrible messes for the emergency services.
Once heroin boundaries were established, overdoses became rare and the educated addicts lived as long as any other from there background. A later wave developed from those who had been unclean with needle use as hepatitis c and liver damage, often from those who drank too. These people began to die in their fifties to mid sixties. Yet a good half survived pretty much unscathed through heroin use.
The playing with hard drugs is dangerous. Some get through, many don't. They provide sensation and sparkle up otherwise pointless lives. They stifle any creativity. Their advocates seldom use the sacramental psychedelics of the shamanic explorer. Still, it is up to each man and woman to choose their own path. Homosexuality is not only frowned on by religious people who are left behind current thinking with their superstitions. Quite why another has the right to dictate what one does to ones own body is becoming a hard argument to support. Assisted dieing garners 80% of public support yet parliament ran the bill and failed to match what the people want. This trend of politicians belief in knowing better than common man heald back gay sex laws. It now holds back drug legislation. Despite Portugal legalising all drugs and seeing the deaths halve and use drop dramatically.
They drove in convoy toward Shropshire. Peter led though kept a close eye on liptons van fearing he may steer away. He still hadn't explained his suicide attempt. For sure he'd given a cover story but peter recognised this for the lie it was.

The Shaman can develope skills beyond the reach of others. My journeys into other dimensions had culminated into submergence into the collective Earth consiousness. Whilst losing individuality my body remained stumbling through woodland whilst my mind became one with all immediate matter. First staring at the ground I found myself spreading amongst the soil, the broken down vegetation, amongst the beetles, worms, wood lice and countless smaller life forms. At will focus could be applied to individual particles of stone, individual cells of decaying twigs, ultimately down to molecular particles. Relax of focus and whatever I had dissolved into spread to join roots, branches, trees and the entire woodland. A small river took over my attention and I flowed and washed down over submerged rocks, my sense of touch could feel all the river felt. Not following h2o particles but writhing with the turbulence as I caressed stream bed rocks and fallen branches, spiralling in to eddies, cool and oxegenated my presence was in the wave forms and rivulets that tickled fish; the banks, my containment felt gentle as a bob sleigh run. Focusing above I joined sky to feel clouds tickling my sides as I looked down on the woods and no particular association to the body of Skree still walking, no closer to me then any tree, rock or puddle. I had no self. Just a shared participation in a greater Gaya consiousness. This transcendence left me the choice. To remain free and immaterial, able to be all from wind to stream to soil particle. And here I remained. I delivered what had been my body to Peter, some part of what had been myself. As a shaman I had been able to enter other dimensions, finally I had transcended the self, the physical, the individuation I was born with. This individuation I passed on to Peter, and wished him well. He knew nothing of my separation off. My disembodiment could travel as the wind. Time became no longer the yardstick of sequential cause and effect I had known prior to transcendence. Now all events were ever present, only my focus could bring a moment to the surface, just as a man felled a tree in Finland at the same moment a woman washed her clothes in The Gambia, so my birth, Peters birth, my death, peters death, all that came before and all that would follow his brief window of life, eternity was now a constant, my awareness free to journey.
Such change can not be accepted as the shackles of all prior understanding was built on pillars now gradually dissolving. The transition from individual to global consiousness, like a bottle of ink poured into the sea required experience. The giving up of ego, the loss of self, so crucial to human being, takes seasons to fully lose. This half state, of reflection to self would linger while I learned to not be I but to disperse into the all. Half consious of others, spirits, souls, on this same transition, some like myself, newly dislodged, others but shadows of self awareness, drifting into the all. The single consiousness. I will use my transition to watch Peter. Curiosity at where my other would go and a protective love, the guardian angel I could be. Jesses gift.
The Archangel flew over church stretton, the styler stones.

Driving across the Gloucestershire border, across to Herefordshire then belting up the A49 to Shropshire Peter kept a vigilant eye on his mirrors. Clearly Lipton was in a right state. He might pull off down some sneaky back road. Escape his freind to finish what he had begun. The two men hadn't discussed liptons suicide attempt any further. Suicide is madness. To ask a person why misses the point. For sure, there were always reasons but these invariably made little sense to an outsider. What got Peter was that in many ways he was the more emotional of the two. The artist to Liptons technician. Peter designed the missions, Lipton plotted the paths, fixed the engines, oiled the gears. Even at their lowest Peter had seldom had to buck up Liptons spirit. And as for bravery, Lipton was way ahead. On the night they'd tackled the under structure of Clifton Suspension Bridge Peter had nearly frozen as they shimmied out onto the support structure. It was only through Liptons fearlessness in disentangling Peters safety ropes that had tangled him up that they'd escaped unharmed. Peter had taken the lead but once halfway across the curved steel under frame main spar had somehow got his ropes knotted on some out jutting fixture unseen underneath. Fearful of heights Peter found himself unable to reposition himself to look at what snagged him. Looking down caused him a dizzying sickness. Lipton, like a fearless squirrel hung himself below the steel and worked dextrously to undo the tangle. Yet something had arisen to make him seek to take his own life. Peter was mildly offended his brother in so many schemes of death defying adventure had spun some bullshit about having his benefits cut off. Lipton had survived as a street beggar, a homeless hustler on the streets of several cities, from London to Aberdeen, from Worcester to Brighton. Lipton had gone feral in the wilds of Scotland with little more than a fishing line, a knife and a flint, living on rabbits, fish, squirrels and wild fruits and berries. He'd lived this way for months in Wales also. Indeed this was how he chose to rattle. An idea of such raw fearlessness it baffled Peter. But it was up to him to keep his reasons to himself. Peter would try his best to bring out the warrior in Lipton. Together there was little they feared. They'd climbed structures others would never consider. Tunnelled miles underground. Battled with gangs of street piss heads. And all these things had brought them close. So why wouldn't Lipton trust peter with his suicide solution? Since splitting from Skree, Peters life hadn't been so fucking good either yet he wasn't bailing out to leave Lipton alone to fight the grey. Had it meant nothing to Lipton? The search for Jesse? Meeting the archangel Gabriel? Meeting Jesse his mrs and boys? Murdering Abel? Had all that been for nought? To swing from a tree? As with most freinds and family of the suicider, Peter felt more angered than anything.

These thoughts spiralled around Peters mind as they pulled into craven Arms. This drab market town now had a visitor centre, a futile attempt to pull tourists from passing cars that took a swift trip from ludlows timber framed buildings and new gastronomic emergence, up to Shrewsbury, once the country's capital city and still dripping in history. Craven Arms, for the tourist is to be driven through. It's abattoir and farmers auction, it's functional hardware and farmers suppliers and basic supermarket offered little but confusion to the outsider. Insular and grey. Yet hidden behind the town is more secret history than most tourists can imagine. The trilogy of hill forts awaited the boys approach.
Parking up their vans, Peter and Lipton walked together towards the supermarket to buy food and booze. They'd be out in the sticks for three nights. One for each hill fort before their next chance to stock up at Clun. As the two left the supermarket a news stand caught Liptons eye. The local paper, the Shropshire Star. Headline, 'Youth Suicides link.' Slipping a copy under his jacket, they walked to the vans.
"See you at the foot of the first hill fort. You've got your bearings?"
"Aye, sorted," Lipton replied but the article heald his attention and before following Peters Mercedes he read the local news.

'The recent spate of teenager suicides that has brought misery to local towns appear to be connected. This epidemic has now taken the lives of fifteen young people with everything to live for. Police have found details in the diaries of the deceased that form a pattern but are unprepared at this stage to make any further statements. Detective inspector David Drummond said, " there appears to be a link between the young deaths as all were connected as freinds who attended the same parties and most went to two local schools. As yet we can not give further details though we can say that all the deceased left notes on what they were thinking. If anyone knows more about this dangerous subculture we would be grateful if they could please come forward. I promise all who do complete anonymity. No one is in trouble, we just need to get to the bottom of this to prevent any further tragedies." Reports of teenage parties held over the summer are believed to be connected though Drummond could not confirm this.'

Lipton put the Shropshire star on the passenger seat and stared out from his van cab, looking up to the hills where he and Peter were headed. 'Here too,' he quietly said to himself as he sparked up his engine and drove off following the back of Peters van as it turned off the main drag and off into a country lane.


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