About six months ago, I received a package sent all the way from Estonia. The return address included John Doe as the sender's name, and on the front of the brown envelope was written simply "for Heiden" (that's my name) and "xxx" below it. It contained a handwritten instruction guide titled "Astral Worship of the Cosmic Lotus."
You can imagine my confusion and excitement at this bizarre, unexpected gift. I considered posting about it then, but some part of me thought that doing so would be in poor taste--disrespectful. Maybe it was the fact that someone had taken the time to carefully craft the entire document by hand, complete with illustrations. It was personalized, you know, for me--for my eyes only.
John Doe had included a postcard with the manuscript, bearing a photograph of the Tallinn Alexander Nevsky Cathedral, taken in the heart of a snowy winter. The message on the back read:
"This is where I was when I thought of you. A day will come when you'll find me."
It was signed, "Your secret admirer."
I was shocked at first, then flattered, and finally, impressed. It was February 14th. Somehow, this person timed the delivery with acute precision to reach me on Valentine's Day.
What sorcery was this?
I'm sitting with the postcard in front of me right now and can't help but smile at the irony, or inappropriateness, of the cathedral. Because it is a holy, godly place - and after what I experienced last week, I can declare that there is nothing godly about "astral-worshipping" the Cosmic Lotus...
Some of you might call me crazy for following the guide's instructions, but the unceasing toil of work-eat-sleep-repeat had worn me out, and I wanted more out of life. I don't think it was supposed to take this long to start working; maybe I was doing it wrong. In any case, I repeated the nightly ritual outlined in the manual a few nights ago and saw actual results for the first time.
At 3:15 am, I watched my ceiling fade to black as I drifted into sleep and opened them again to the starriest sky I had ever seen. If it hadn't been for the obstructing treetops, I would have been stunned to a state of paralysis. I gazed in awe at the glittering lights and wondered if the dazzling pink-purplish spray might have been the Milky Way.
The abrupt sound of sloshing startled me; it sounded like a fish splashing in and out of a pond some distance behind me. I dug my elbows into the soft grass and pressed myself up. A thin veil of mist reflected the brilliant sky above and appeared to emanate from a singular source. I knew I had to follow it and would end up crawling on all fours toward the thickening mist - to where the sloshing noise had also come from.
The warm mist wafted around me and obscured my view so much that I couldn't see my hands in front of me. It was a complete surprise when my hand came to rest on the raised edge of a pond. It wasn't mist after all - it was steam. As if by my will, the steam cleared out enough for me to see the last few ripples of the sloshing thing smoothing out, leaving a perfectly round, black mirror that held the stars captive, so clear was the reflection.
The raised edge of the pond was warm. I carefully dipped the tips of my fingers in the water and felt the comforting warmth of a hot bath. At that moment, I became aware that I was naked and felt the caress of moist soil and small rocks on my nipples as I bent over the crater. Though the sensation was arousing, fear of what lurked beneath the water's surface gripped me - and I had not realized that I was dreaming.
I leaned in for a closer look - I attribute this action to "dream state judgment"! And I was rewarded with absolute "dream state horror" as I found myself suddenly frozen, immobile, and transfixed by the appearance of a slimy, black root (or tendril, or something) that came slithering out of the water, up and over the edge, and started wrapping around my wrist.
Unable to move, I watched the thing crawl up towards my armpit while another one slithered out towards my other hand. My entire body was pulsing with a mix of fear and exhilaration. The hold of the tendrils was firm but gentle, even as they wrapped down and around my breasts, squeezing them lightly till they resembled lumps of dough to be pinched off.
The constriction, though light, was enough to drive the blood to my nipples so they would turn engorged and erect. The tips of the tendrils patted at them like the cold feelers of some strange insect. It sent a shiver down my spine that had me yearning for some attention from behind.
At this point, the tendrils had dragged my arms out from under me, and my bare ass was sticking up in the air like an open invitation. The thought made me glance around, but I could not turn my head or see through the hair that hung messily over my face. The anticipation for what could turn up from behind momentarily distracted me from what was in front; the water was now five inches away from my face.
My silhouette blocked the stars above and revealed how dark the water was. For a moment, I was lost in my reflection, trying to discern my eyes from the murky shape. Just then, something the color of pink flesh started rising to the surface, spreading out like a flat starfish or a carrion flower.