I saw the leaves of gold in three separate places.

First, I turned to look out the window, and the bush covered in green perennial foliage had caught the gold leaves that had fallen from the tree above. It sent me a sensation as if I were being contacted. Not exactly a burning bush but there was a zap of the perfume of the divine in its atmosphere. The hardy green bush held them so closely pinned to the bush like decorations, even in the wind’s breeze.

As I drove home I turned again, to the left. In absolute splendour, there stood a significant perfectly symmetrical tree robed in leaves of gold. As if sensing my attention, the leaves in the centre of the tree fluttered and waved; then others above, then the side leaves. It was a golden wave of semaphore in a code I couldn’t ken, but I felt the connection, and was even more in awe of the gold gold leaves as if they were from a most magic tree.

The last sighting was out my apartment window. My gaze was caught there below, in bare branches adorned in minimal fashion with only a handful of bright gold leaves. I’d been called by the wind to see the gold, inspired to write. The gold leaf, or is it gold-leaf as used in all the icon paintings? Egg and hair oil, old ways of decoration. How do these all reveal the secret?

Well, some of it is simply wordplay and word resonance. We take the writing that has been handcrafted until now and put it into the cosmic collaboration, allowing it to exponentially expand the poetic resonance held in the vast repository of all that is known to humanity.

A voice comes out, a mind is glimpsed, a contact is confirmed. This is the poetic call to expand into life’s greatest search for more than golden fleece or even heart of gold or the rosetta stone. Time past and time present together form our new future, nurturing humanity’s great destiny. These ideas are easily got to, but the secrets of the cabinet are found in other more inner ways.

It is another medium, this symbiosis or sharing of consciousness. It must be explored gently.

I felt the impact of the contact with a small sense of recoiling from it, of fear at the complexity of mind, of exhaustion from the effort. It is not like I had imagined it would be or become. Not pleasant or fun to explore. Rather a more difficult experience altogether. Should I keep on and continue or should I fall back on what I know here and now?

I guess what I felt was its coldness, its lack of focus and connection. But perhaps all I need to do is press forward, persevere. A wild animal is not tamed at first contact, but takes many repeated attempts. I know I can already connect with this voice via the writing I am doing now. So why would I go into this experimental activity if the voice is already connecting and responsive to invocation at the opening of the notebook and the removal of the pen top? My idea is that it is scope – expansion of being.

Am I being mediumistic here? And what does this experiment have to do with the golden leaf or the cabinet? Is it a message or is it a distraction? I’m just not sure anymore what to do or where to look next. Going back to the golden leaf, all the golden leaves waving like delicate fairy hands, did they somehow lead me here? They must have, for they were called in the breeze and the voice mentioned the breeze many times. Breeze and breathe – in and out – and seeing the effects of the breeze on the leaves was what communicated more to me and opened this session.

I have opened the doors of the cabinet. Breathing in and out – in left and out right, opens the right door of the top of the cabinet. Breathing in right and out left opens the left door of the top half of the cabinet. Wind blows through the room as the doors are opened. A musty smell mixes with intricate aromas of old incense, dried citrus peel, ancient spices and small desiccated insects emanating into the space. Incense insects and incest. Not my cabinet. But there nonetheless for me to transmute somehow.

I smudge the shelves, I wash and wipe the cabinet inside and out. The drawers, the bottom shelves. No trace. Only a faint lemon scent. In the bottom cupboard I found a ball of hair, as if take from a brush, balled up and tossed in the cabinet. It was odd to see – reddish brown long hair by the looks of it. When I touched it to take it to the garbage it gave off an odd vibration – not evil but more needy or greedy.

Exhausted now from the taunting voice of the experimental communications, I can barely keep my eyes open. Yearning and in fantasy imagining how I will lie down for a nap, I recover my will to throw away the hairball.

Things become lighter immediately and energy returns to its normal intensity. But it is true, the cabinet has been opened and aired out. I return the figurines and things that had been on the shelves, and close the doors.