The Televisionary Oracle by Rob Brezsny Read Free Book Online

looked back. It was still there, shimmering like all the others, but more solid.
    Mary Magdalen. The wife of his brother Jesus. A face—unlike the others that were coruscating through his wife-goddess’ eyes—that he felt himself retreat from. Not from lack of love, but from absence of gnosis—as if he weren’t old enough, or smart enough. He wanted to love her, but didn’t know how. As James, he had always felt shy and strongly drawn to her. Taboo.
    He felt an infinitesimal gush in his lingam: a small, partial ejaculation—a safety-valve release which he, as a conscientious tantric lover, had trained himself to have so as to avoid a shoot-the-whole-wad explosion.
    Feeling the need to anchor himself, to come down a little, he lifted his hands from where they’d been resting on Magda’s hips and brought them to her face.
    “Magda,” he croaked, his voice rusty.
    “Magdalen,” she replied.
    “Magdalen?” he whispered.
    “Jesus has changed his mind,” she spoke softly but firmly. It wasn’t exactly Magda’s voice. Huskier even than her usual sex voice.
    “Jesus wants me to tell you. That what he said before. No longer applies.”
    “No longer applies,” Jerome repeated. He knew what she was talking about but wasn’t sure he was ready to know.
    “Jesus says that he wants you to have a child—a real, physical child.”
    “But I haven’t become my own child yet. I haven’t reproduced myself.”
    “There’s not enough time for that luxury any more. Jesus needs you—and I need you—to help us.”
    “I want to help you,” Jerome said bravely. Magda’s yoni muscles had begun a series of rippling squeezes, and though the temptation to ejaculate had been partially relieved by his mini-orgasm, he could feel his pleasurably diffused sexual charge starting to contract again towards his lingam. He resisted, concentrating on spiraling the energy back outto the top of his head and the ends of his fingers and toes. He exerted his will, trying to draw his attention away from the tingling confusion he’d felt since Mary Magdalen had begun to speak through Magda.
    “I want to be alive in your time,” she said. “I NEED to be alive in your time.”
    Suddenly he felt a burst of sweetness, the promise of an exotic species of orgasm he’d never negotiated before, at the center of his brain.
    “I want you to reincarnate me as your child.”
    A loop of honeyed lightning swooped from that whirlagig spot in his brain, traveling down his spine to his lingam and back. Maybe ten times the loop circulated, building a charge as it sluiced. It was like the feeling of soaring higher and higher on a swing, and he couldn’t see who was pushing him higher and higher but he liked it but he was dangerously high and couldn’t control himself and then he was flying off the swing and swirling down the longest slickest slide on the biggest playground he’d ever seen. Magda was clutching webs of skin on either side of his abdomen and she was somehow with him slithering down this long silver slick tunnel. Firecrackers were singing inside violet waterfalls. Strawberry cream was splashing down his throat forever but thank you he wasn’t drowning, only breathing a pink river. He could see his grandfathers and his great-grandfathers barreling towards him with arms outstretched as if to welcome him or grab him, but then they were shooting by him, shouting some joyful greeting he couldn’t understand. As Jerome and Magda fell—now, somehow, they were falling up—Jerome could feel himself soften at the edges, unravel, dismantle. It was a sweet sensation, like falling asleep as a child. The night peeled away, exposing a strange sky teeming with winking, teasing stars. There was almost no space between the stars. They were nestling up against each other as far as he could see, like the jam-packed nest of throbbing frog eggs he’d once seen at the edge of the creek. He imagined that each of these billions of pulsing lights was an