Friday, May 15, 2009

The Evolution of Homo Homo Sapiens Sapiens.

Flying through an infinity of cyberspace I concentrated on the exotic world of my desire and there it was before me, Paleolithic Earth made virtual. I flew into a hothouse planet, mist enshrouded, jungle covered. The epoch I’d entered was about twenty-one thousand years before what the Ancients termed the Common Era, where in prehistory a mysterious event occurred, humanity had made the leap from a kind of dull awareness of being in an overwhelming world to the sharp consciousness of being self-aware and able to influence that world, with language and the rudiments of culture. My implant had collated all the scientific theories and archeological proofs reconstructing the ‘grand event’ and pinpointed it to an equatorial region and I was intrigued to explore the era and find out for myself, especially to see if sex had anything to do with it.

I zeroed in on a huge river cutting through a sandstone escarpment, giant snow-covered peaks in the distance, with signs of human habitation in the jungle nearby. I created as my avatar a form not too different from my real appearance as I need to get accustomed to this cyber-virtuality of shape-shifting before I start experimenting with bodies. With my dark burnished skin and hair matted into dreadlocks I hoped I wouldn’t stand out too much as an alien by the tribe of primitives I allowed myself to be captured by, that they'd see me as an outcast from some distant clan. They were a ferocious looking Negroid race, naked except for bone and shell jewelry, and at first shook their spears at me to scare me off. When they saw me making hand-prints of red ochre on a cave wall, and stick figures chasing horned creatures in the hunt, they were fascinated, their primitive minds lit up, I was magical and worthy of respect.

The wonders of nature like lightning storms, starry nights and fiery sunsets had long had humanity dancing and singing in awe, they mimicked the sounds of nature, the animal and bird calls, and their proto language was able to build upon these zoomorphisms, supplementing it with hand gestures and powerful sounds like grunts, howls and hisses. But mostly they communicated in a sing-song voice like the birds, and they told each other about the shaping of their universe and how to ward off hostility if possible. I watched them intently for the first few weeks I was kept tethered in their grass-hut compound and quickly picked up the essence and flow of their language. I eventually convinced them I could be a boon to the tribe, especially as I applied some basic healing methods to their hurts and ills, like washing wounds in fresh water and exposing them to sunlight, applying Comfrey herbal poultices and encouraging potent wild-garlic drinks morning and night.

At night, around the campfire, they told stories in birdsong whistles and mime about the creation of the world and the birth of Humanity within the animal kingdom. They sang tales about surviving a demonic flood that had destroyed their original homeland, and of the endless wandering of their ancestors across plains, deserts and mountains. And they sang of some original Mother tribe that had found its way around the Red Sea, foraging for sea-food along the coasts of Arabia and into India, Cro-Magnon types evolving into Homo Sapiens, trekking over the horizon to see what lay there. While many tribes pressed on in different directions to eventually inhabit Turkmenistan, China and Australia, some Sapiens took up permanent residence in the subcontinent to hunt and fornicate in the lush jungle wilderness.

They were black skinned and they reified their dangerous world into an all-consuming Black Goddess, who dealt out life and death randomly, and they propitiated Her with sacrificial rituals, including song and dance as ever. At nights they sat around the communal fire, men on one side and women on the other, and they had competitions in storytelling, the men often disgruntled because the women always managed to one-up them with ingenious innovations and existential insights. Many of the wittiest of the raconteurs went on to mate with each other as they discovered their intellectual compatibility made their sexual communion more interesting.

I found myself falling into the psychic embrace of a tribe that clicked its name to sound like Alackananda and that’s what I called them, the Alackanandas, for they had developed a cohesive identity, a sense of being different from the other tribes marauding on the edges of their territory, and they had their own animal totem, the Wildcat, that they much honored. To guard against inbreeding the tribe was organized into sub-clans, the Bob cat, the Fishing cat, the Leopard, the Lion and certain cats could only mate with certain others. They had been waiting for their next shaman, whom they called the Alack, to appear amongst them, the old one had died a generation before. They hoped for a Clever Man who could soothe their fears, follow the Song Lines and interpret their destiny, and though I wasn’t born of their loins, as a weird-acting alien they saw me fitting that role, the sexually ambiguous Berdache, the Medicine Man and Vision Quester.

The tribe ranged over a wide expanse of jungle, with many numinous sites scattered throughout, like sacred trees, outlandish rocks and sweet-water springs to which they made obeisance, all the while singing/whistling various songs to map and know the landscape. Their favorite sites for camps were besides rivers, ponds and waterfalls. In winter they lived in caves, in the summer in thatched lean-tos, most of the year they wandered from campsite to campsite chasing game and the season’s fruits. Their vast territory over-ran the hunting grounds of two other human tribes plus a hungry Neanderthal community still clinging to the edges of existence downstream, and clashes over resources were inevitable. The jungle teemed with voracious wildlife that could carry a man to oblivion in seconds, where everyone had to be constantly on guard against attacks from giant cats, bears, boars, elephants and snakes. Life was tough and short for most. The men had to become warriors as well as hunters, and the boys were trained hard so that they grew up strong and able.

In the last few generations the Alackanandas had learned to capture the wild orynx, the horned-cow, and consume its milk. It took much learning to trap and tether the terrified, bucking beasts, squeezing as much milk into gourds as they could manage. While many tribals grew ill from the first experiments at consumption of cow’s milk, others managed to find nourishment in the miraculous white substance and over time the tribe thrived, those with the genetic mutation to digest the milk being a boon to the rest. The extra protein, vitamins, fat and calcium gave them the strength to defeat their enemies and range over bigger territories. They had more leisure to improve their tool and weapon making, their weaving, pottery and painting, and their communication skills. And if the jungle was bountiful more time could be devoted to ritual and story-telling, music and dance, games and sexual practices. When winter or droughts set in they had the fortitude to weather every setback.

In different seasons the men wandered far from their base camp, to follow the herds of horned game for meat and the milk of the cows, or to fight off any alien interlopers, or to attend to male initiation rites. There were times of the year when the women ordered the men out of the camp, demanding their own space for their special mysteries, refusing sex with the excuse that they weren’t in the mood. They disrupted domestic harmony until the men went off and, after the long break, returned with copious protein and spunk.

Imagine the barren cold of winter when game was scarce, the food stores had run low and tempers were frayed from the continual confinement in the caves. If the omens augured well, the women would set up a commotion and all the men would trudge off in different directions, except for the very young and the very old, who were banished to a distant camp. I chose a group of six mates, with me as the pathfinder, the optimal number of seven that allows cohesive action, and we set out in the chilly mists of dawn, in jubilation at the new moon slung like slim horns on the horizon’s brow. As the women ullullated a send-off chorus, their arms affectionately around each other, we men sang in strange bellows to attract us to the cattle, we were off to track down a cow herd and initiate an adolescent into manhood and Clever-man status, namely me. I was to achieve this eminent position by capturing a wild bull with its harem of cows that could then be pacified and submitted to milking.

The tribe had noticed the many scars across my body and thought I’d undergone the rites of puberty some years ago. Now what I needed was the rite of passage into true manhood, to be a leader and warrior, dare-devil and wise-seer. They’d seen the hair sprouting in bunches like a halo around my arse-hole and considered this the sign of warrior-maturity. I’d made it to twenty-one years old and ready to take on leadership responsibilities. As we strode through the jungle, hooting and whistling melodically to follow the path of destiny, I was made alert to all the variegated life-forms bursting around us and, my mind ticking over, I thrilled with anticipation for the adventure ahead. I had exercised for hundreds of hours, mimicking the prowess of the animal kingdom, swift and agile as the deer, poised and silent as the cobra, supple and lively as the river-trout.

They’d given me the personal name of Watcher as I was to be found most nights awake till dawn, peering from the hut or cave entrance, at the rustling jungle and the sparkling stars, alert to the dangers in the dark; they revered me for it, I could warn them against dangers like hungry big cats and crafty cannibal enemies. Watching and Seeing made up the seven talents a Shaman needed, along with Healing, Dancing, Singing, Knowing and Ecstasy.

I also revealed my cleverness with the plastic arts, clay and bone sculptures falling magically from my fingers, sketches of daily life on animal skins to hang on the walls and reflections of the tribal-soul projected upon the cave walls via stick-figure drawings that had even the tribal elders in awe of me. Thus I felt confident as I led my special comrades into the wilderness, seven of us, each with a particular talent that I esteemed. The horned moon grew to a half moon and then full as we trekked for many days, the wild cattle having being scared off to distant pastures.

Each night I had to endure hours of tortuous tattooing, singing visionary songs throughout, then dancing wildly, leaping over the fire, twisting sinuously about my fellow tribesmen, somersaulting over their heads, the inspired drumming and rattling driving me on, all enthralled by my athletic voluptuousness. I felt the maddened drums pounding in my heart. I lifted off, I could beat anything, I was afraid of nothing, except my destiny, for if I can’t ride the Bull and placate the great Horned One, I’m not fit to be the Alack, mediator with the Black Mother of Chaos, for all my special training. And I’ll be caste out into the dark.

Yet all my fellow travelers whistled in admiration when I danced, for I the Watcher, man from the future, am cut out to be the Alack, whether I have the physical prowess or not, because several times I’ve gone into an ecstatic trance and flown to the spirit world on a winged horse and there I met my animal helper, Bhageera the Panther, who clawed my leg and made me his own, and he’d tell me the type of demon that was plaguing the tribe and I’d exorcise it with song, myth and wisdom. I was able to return to consciousness and direct people to stop drinking from a certain pond or find the best herbs for a particular illness or discover the reason for someone’s disquiet, usually a mating-rivalry problem which I would mediate.

This moon I was ready for the final initiation into Shamanhood and attain independence in my travels and choices, especially those of a companion. With eagerness I followed the passage of mythological sites through the jungle, looking-out for fresh cow dung and trampled tracks. We foraged and hunted for small game and ate of the rare winter fruits along the way, and my excitement and dread grew for all that was left for me to complete was ride that terrible bull.

We walked till the moon grew nearly full looking for the signs of a herd’s passing that way, and on one occasion encountered our tribe’s despised enemy, the alien Monkey-men, drinking at a pool. My fellows drove the sub-humans away under a rain of missiles and grunted curses; the Neanderthal’s crude clubs were no match for the Homo Sapiens’ advanced weaponry of spears and crude bows and arrows. I held back pretending to be the detached mystic but really I felt some compassion for the Neanderthals’ emaciated desperation, also I had personal reasons for empathizing with them. Every night my six male companions camped out under the stars, lying snug around the fire, each resting his head on the buttocks of the one in front of him, leaving me the Watcher as night sentinel, with no one to comfort me.

On the night before the big final ritual, when all the men had finished grooming each other and had settled down to sleep, I sat gazing at the stars splashed across the heavens, ecstatic at the beauty and wonder of being alive. I glanced around at the men snuggling into each other, massaging, caressing, licking each other’s crotches, even in the midst of sleep they would nuzzle their noses in their fellow’s furry buttocks, muttering low moans of pleasure. I longed to join them and enjoy such privileges of adulthood, full body grooming by my mature clan-mates. I’d enjoyed the few times I was asked to give massages to the older warriors’ prostate-relaxed butt-holes, now my turn was coming, all I have to do is ride the Bull.

I couldn’t help drinking with my thirsty eyes the men’s bulbous buttocks, spread open as they lay in fetal position with their mate’s face cushioned lasciviously within; I was excited by all the gaping, wet hairy orifices and the heady, musky perfume the pile of bodies gave off, it screamed of horny delirium from my cellular structure upwards. The pink anuses glowing from their hairy crevices reminded me of the women’s vaginas on those celestial occasions when they flashed themselves red-hot to get some sexual attention from us men. From seven feet away the hairy boy-pussies shining like a Cyclop’s eye atop the silken-sheen of the legs looked like cunts, like Venus-flytraps. Indeed, the Alpha male warrior of our gang, Gronk, an incorrigible pussy-hound back in the village, was right now lapping up the hairy crack of his second-in-charge, for his favorite female had refused him access since birthing her last child.

My gaze was dragged inexorably to the other side of the fire where my new-found best mate, Hanu, slept alone, no one nuzzling into him though he’d reached adulthood last year. For he was different, half Neanderthal, jeered as a Troll by the tribe and nobody desired to groom his matted, louse-ridden body, except for me, I’ve secretly given him a good going over out in the deep jungle. I think Hanu is lusciously cute but the difference of his Neanderthal features has the others teasing and excluding him and it means I’ll have to give him lengthy psycho-grooming sessions if he is to be my friend to smooth over his atrophied emotions and let him know he is loved for his difference.

As he slept Hanu wrinkled his endearing brow-ridge in the loneliness of his dreams and shivers ran along his extremely broad, muscular back. His buttocks and legs were covered in a pelt of glistening black hair, with masses of curls sprayed around his exposed anus, and I longed to run my fingers through that soft luxuriance. Hanu’s Sapient mother had been captured and raped by the Monkey-men, and when rescued had brought back with her this half-caste boy. He had been the butt of everyone’s ire since, except of late for me, who knows his keen naturalist’s talents, his dreamy meditations, his soft heart, and I have learned to love him. The day will come when the Tribe will have to accept with resignation and respect the choice of Hanu as my partner and assistant in healing vision quests. Brutes like the warrior Gronk ask what use is he to the tribe, no woman would mate with him, he won't be able to procreate and carry on the tribal traditions. But as my partner he will be honored, his mother will receive gifts and extra sustenance and her other children will also thrive, grow fierce and maybe bear stronger children even than Gronk.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught the reflected glint of green cat-eyes from the undergrowth and froze, hand tightening on my spear, muscles poised to throw. With calmed breath and emptied mind I zeroed in on the big cat, to catch its attention, to feel its intentions, to warn it off, this was family sleeping around me, not prey. From out of the lush vegetation emerged a large Black Panther, green eyes flashing, and it surreptitiously approached me in long stealthy strides.

Confident that I could call my fellows to my rescue in seconds, I voided my breath and fear and melded with the universe, still and calm as a rock, and waited, curious as to cat-nature. The Panther slunk right up to me, put its muzzle in my face and sniffed me all over, particularly the claw marks on my right leg, then stared into my eyes for a few infinite moments, purring.

Suddenly the beast slavered out a huge pink tongue and gave me a wet lick across my smiling face. I slowly reached out and ran my hand soothingly along the sleek, black back of the Panther, all the way to its long tail. The big cat then turned on its heels and bounded off into the jungle, as I gulped in breath and flung my arms at the sky in jubilation. Yes! The real thing had come to me, validating the Black Panther as my personal totem. I glanced over at Hanu who I found staring at me, fascination shining from his black eyes. I winked and put my finger to my lips, there was no need to disturb anyone, it was all part of the course. I am the Punk Poofy Cat.

As the full moon loomed overhead I found fresh cow dung and located a small herd of the large humped bison we favored above all horned creatures. We marked out the bull and I figured my coming strategies. Nobody informed me how I was to do the great deed, dance upon an angry bull’s back, I had only learned of past initiation feats from folkloric pantomimes around the campfire and I had to sift their humorous antics for clues. The night set in and my crew set up a wailing and howling brouhaha, drumming up hysteria while I painted my body in psychedelic patterns, with a peacock-feather headdress, and mixed up a potion of Soma, oil of cannabis with opium poppies, ephedrine plant and Goldtop mushrooms.

I drank it and so did a couple of my best mates, including Hanu, to support me on my trip. I danced about the fire in wild animal abandon and lifted off in my mind’s eye, we seemed to be in a canoe paddling together furiously into the celestial realms. Nebulae gave birth to stars, galaxies crashed together, I chased the star formation of Taurus and lassoed it with a thought beam and rode it on a crashing wave of singularity particles.

I came back to consciousness and earth at dawn, clear-headed and light-footed. We prepared our tools and weapons, camouflaged our bodies with jungle stripes and crept up on the grazing herd. Hanu and I separated the big bull from its cows by firing small arrows into its rump and chasing it towards a sacred Peepul Tree growing not far off. My comrades had already prepared a long hemp rope and had it waiting, ready to tie it firmly to the tree, a noose fashioned at its free end. With much energy we chased the beast about, firing arrows into it, directing the rampaging creature close to the Peepul Tree by dancing in its face, and ducking from its charges, getting braver and braver, my brains and daring outmaneuvering its bellowed head-tossing and attempted goring, though terrified of it we got it closer to the tree.

I danced swiftly around the bull’s heaving flanks and lassoed it around the neck as I somersaulted over its humped back, throwing the rope to Hanu who with the others lashed it firmly to the tree. As Hanu threw more ropes around it to further restrain its heaving fury, I climbed into the tree and leaped upon the creatures back only to be instantly bucked off. I knew how to tumble and so was able to clamber back up and repeatedly kept jumping, sometimes riding it for minutes, doing handstands, even a bucked up somersault before I was thrown by a side kick. But up I would jump and have another go at clasping the horns and swinging myself through them, the drug had made me indefatigable and devil-may-care.

 The other five tribesmen assisted Hanu and threw more ropes over the furious beast, attempting to hold it down. Gradually the monstrous bovine tired and slowed its threshing about, allowing me to leap from side to side and straddle it for many minutes, clasping its flanks firmly with my legs and hanging onto the hump. I did many somersaults between the bewildered horns to prove my established prowess and my fellows whistled in encouragement. With the ropes ever tightening, the Bull knew the futility of its rage and cowed by the hours of athletic maneuvering of myself and friends, eventually it slowed and stood shivering in resentful resignation, bucking and heaving only occasionaly, pinioned by the ropes.

The cows had loyally followed in the wake of the bull and their herd-agitation settled down somewhat along with their stud. The Alackananda tribesmen fell upon each cow and tethered her down, though at first she struggled hard to escape, bucking and kicking; they quickly, deftly milked each cow into the bunch of gourds they’d carried with them, drinking great gulps of the delicious white fluid as they went.

They selected three calves for slaughter and made sacrifice to the Great Black Mother, then settled in for the night, to feast and celebrate my ingenious accomplishment in riding the Bull. They were now reassured of a new, strong Alack to lead them in the Underworld, and that I was an Illuminated Dancer augered well for the Tribe’s health. The bull snorted and struggled against its restraints in the background while I jumped up and performed a victory dance around the fire, the cows’ bellowing becoming part of the music. We ate plenty and prepared cheese and curds from the milk and wrapped it in banana leaves to eat as we trekked, then as deep night descended we curled upon the ground to sleep.

Each tribesman presented himself to me, the shining Clever Man, as I lay butt-up on a bed of leaves, and they performed a token grooming and prostate massage upon my fresh-washed boy-pussy, and as much as each caress was welcome and thrilled me to swooning, I waited for the last of them, Hanu, my best mate, to lay his head upon my muscular buttocks and nuzzle into my groin. And taking him by the hand, to the surprise of the others, I led Hanu to the other side of the fire where we curled up together, faces in each other’s crotch, and gave each other an orgasmic prostate massage. This is what manhood meant, the mutual giving, taking and protecting of an adoring companion, and for this Watcher the ecstasy was worth the wait.

In the morning we milked the cows some more then released them, the Bull last of all. It gave one almighty, insulted snort and stampeded with its cows off into the wilderness much to the glee of the tribesmen. I had mastered the Horned One and now was a fit devotee to attend to its consort, The Great Black Mother, whose milk gave life and death. We strung the veal carcasses on poles, slung the gourds from our necks and waists, and took a more direct route back to winter’s camp, singing valorous songs as we went. The men had a spring in their step for the protein they brought back should get them ingress to the woman’s sexual welcome and abandonment and, with a warm tingle in his arse, each man felt ready for a marathon session with the woman of his choice.

I the Watcher was the only one who didn’t think of women on the return journey, still wet between the legs, I walked directly behind Hanu and my eyes perused those flexed, hairy buttocks with great affection. I could still smell our rutting session of the deep night and I felt like I was walking on air, confident and fulfilled.

At last the Tribe had a new and exceptional Alack, I had gained manhood and possessed an intelligent soul that could lead where few men dared go. Already I was dreaming on the possibility of corralling the wild bulls for longer periods so the cows could be milked more frequently and not chased about the country with such enormous expenditure of energy. I knew they were wild and vicious beasts and it would take many thousand more years to domesticate them but at least I could plant the seed idea.

As a Warrior/Shaman I could henceforward procreate with whom I pleased, or not procreate at all if my skills lead me elsewhere. I had consolidated a life-long partnership with the friend of my desires, he would help me through good times and hard, and the Tribe would have to accept my quirky lifestyle of having a husband instead of a wife as my honored shamanic prerogative. I sighed with pleasure and relief as I gazed upon Hanu, my chosen one, the friend who would keep me company on those long, dark night vigils that stretched to eternity ahead of me. And if I should disappear back into the quantum flux I have trained him well to take my place, the Alackananda tribe will still have their shaman and he will at last have the respect he deserves, sweet soul that he is.

The night before we reached the home caves, as the others slept, I stared into the luminous heavens and matched the star-shapes up with those of the animals we depended on for our survival, their position above the horizon perhaps indicating the time when the bulls, deer etc would be plentiful or not. I thought of the vastness of the universe, the infinite potential, the other worlds where my kind might exist and what a bright, glorious future they might have, living, loving and knowing in an awesome Nature-wonderland that would continuously evolve into stunning variegated shapes. And hopefully the ongoing evolution of consciousness would include me. In some distant night, when I felt it was time to do so, in my Mind’s eye I will fly to those new worlds and live other, marvelous lives.

If you enjoyed this story please go to the WEB address above and consider buying my book of tales about growing up anarcho-queer, rock and roll punter and mystic adventurer in Australia and India of the 1950s, ‘60s and ‘70s.