The year was 2058 and the world was ruled, in the powerful junctions and intersections, by intuition. Rajesh was one of the survivors, which mistakenly makes it sound like a catastrophe had happened. Yet transformation hadn’t been a catastrophe at all – sometimes land needs to be burnt away by bushfires to create new growth – but as the end of Western civilisation fell, away from it’s mere masking effect over the long-winded semitic struggle over erectile dysfunction, the force of the clitoris had risen to the pillars of power, less by force and more by sheer, screaming, heart-wrenching demand from the homo-sapien masses. Ah well, it had to happen
somehow, didn’t it? The penile world had driven us to consume-and-conquer heaven and back, but way back, beyond hell even, back at the end of the line of humanity, into the trenches where we all had to learn about what really makes the world go round.
‘Om tara, tu tara, turey svaha’ whispered Rajesh, stepping onto the 214 shuttle, holding his travel coupon out to the straight-backed bus-driver. His daily mantra to Tara, mother of liberation, was one of the things that his father had left with him, something he always held onto. Rajesh was in bloom, blossoming with the virility of a 30-year-old man, longing within to be united with his queen, now that he had risen through life, no longer an orphan, now an initiated man. Ever since he had been living in the Solar commune, he had been designated each month with the princely task of collecting the moon calendars and their moon-cycle data submitted by the Timekeepers, the documentarians who had to keep track of all the menstrual and therefore productivity cycles in London. It was probably one of the most enjoyable duties in the city, at least Raj fancied it was, dropping in regularly to talk about the natural cycles at play in each group and then drawing their observations together, along with astrological data, to ensure harmony was at work in the communes. After all, how many other intelligent men were confined to their small communities forever, interacting only with those who lived close by, all working on their various duties together, but oblivious to the multitudes of magical women who were opening their doors with wide hopeful eyes under the weight of the London winter sky?
Mind you, the job did have its downfalls. For starters, Raj’s monthly transport coupons were handed out strictly in keeping with the route he needed to take, a system akin to that of showing a man a sumptuous roast meal but then giving him pickles for dinner. There were girls out there that he couldn’t catch, and somehow it seemed to him that it couldn’t be mere coincidence that the prettiest girls belonged outside of his regular circuit. It was the nature of the communes, that if you belonged to one you would have little real contact with anyone from another one, and besides, the boroughs themselves each housed interesting worlds inside each of them, specialist collectives built on specific dharmas which channelled the people and energy within them dutifully towards their given purpose on the planet. It was only due to Capitalism that this sort of society – Planetisation it was called, - had ever become possible but now individual motive had shifted to become a planet-wide one and the world was a better place. Even the dodo thought so, at least, that’s what Raj’s records had shown. In any case though, diverting from his tasked routes, even a mere ‘restructuring’ of his schedule one day, would
not just be a waste of time, it would be a red mark on his path of nobility. But he saw those pretty girls, oh yes he certainly did. This was his own little struggle, trying to maintain to his code, of eradicating desire and all it’s
ills from the world, while peering dreamily, day-upon-day into the inner lives and menstrual charts of some of the most light-filled women on earth. He knew everything about these women, when they were working, when they were bleeding, when the communes were in enlightened states, when things needed to be left alone, to fight out their shadows. Raj had insider knowledge. With it, came responsibility.
The other thing which wasn’t so great about his role was that it showed him just how mysteriously powerful these little clitorised creatures had come to be. Sometimes it scared him. They occupied London’ most lavish buildings; the Square Mile, which had once housed glittering jewels in the international financial system, were now residential palaces, gems in the sustainable architecture revolution, abodes for some of the most influential feline communes of the world. Their empire was not just London, Britain or Europe. In 2058, women ran the world. They were connected to an entire world organised by Dharma communes, everywhere. There were no more political borders. There were only Dharma lines, systems which ensured that each person followed their purpose, surrounded by others on the same path. Distractions removed, the world had been able to unite under a much healthier notion of humanity, and it didn’t involve visas, taxes, deficits and surpluses; it involved humans, evolved and evolving ones.
It was the wars that had really finished the patriarchal chapter of the world off for good. Too much violence and not enough nourishment, all topped off with the Global Inflection that overtook world economies; that was how The End came. Besides, how realistic was the Capitalist dream anyway, on one hand desiring for a prolific skilled society, on the other hand, destroying the fertile ground called Creativity with its consumeristic pulse and its aggressive fist? The moment had come for the Trinity of Women – the Maiden, the Mother, the Crone -
to take up the helm, and it hadn’t been a fight which brought about this change, it was the natural way.
As the bus approached the Digital Database commune, Raj mounted the horse of anticipation which was galloping inside him, rising to the tide of nerves which knew already that Ramona would be awaiting him. Her eyes! They looked at him as though they were looking at him from within himself. How she melted his might, only to make it mightier! He had felt this from the first moment he had laid eyes upon her, her sheer magnetism made him rise to the challenge of life. But he knew nothing else about her, so secretive she was. She hid her Self far, far away, but maybe today, he would get into her cave.
‘Raj, a pleasure to see you. Please come on in,’
The antechamber was a garden of textiles, all reds and purples. For a flashing moment, Raj had the sensation that he was deep inside Ramona’s womb, but he quickly had to stop that thought as the erection it gave
him would have been a confronting but honest way of introducing himself to her again.
‘Sometimes it’s good not to be too honest,’ he advised himself.
In these last few years, Raj had learnt, he had learnt from the women and men he had seen. Love has a whole different flavour when you take it with dharma. It’s not about the wedding celebration, the token gestures
towards law with a contract or towards heaven with a white dress; it was about whether, by being united with another person, a melody was created which opened up higher pathways and brought light surging forth, surging forth in a way that doesn’t stop, ever. And all around him the world was lit up with this light. It
was what built the dharma communes, what brought about real meaning to the hard-working days, the quiet dark nights, the cycles in the Moon Calendars, the unrelenting joy that hung now in people’s eyes.
The question was though; was Ramona his doorway to these higher worlds? Was she? For Raj, it seemed that she almost definitely was. Whenever he saw her he felt like he had reached the other side of the world,
and that together they would suddenly be invited into another one. But what about those other girls, what about all of those lovely lips and hips out there? Was he really ready for this? For something of such a magnitude? In his heart of hearts, he searched for an answer to that question. He asked Tara to come, to tell him the way but all he heard was her singing in her own world. He asked the secrets of the Moon Calendars, the data which knew the underbelly ways of the world, if she was really The One, the only One for him; only silence was there, nothing but the never-ending journey of silence.
Ramona had her clitoris, an oracle, like a SatNav; a place to tell her the directions for the way ahead. But there stood Raj, left in a world without numbers, wondering, how does his heart count its heights and its truths now?