Strange Rumblings in Mentawai 4

The jungle cacophony goes quiet. A dark green wall suddenly rears from the depths. Folding over itself, rushing full clip down the stone slab. Growing and gurgling. Reeling forward always. More. More. More. Eating the world ahead of it. Destroying itself in an unflinching display of power and vitality. Leaving only mist and fizz behind. Sinking back into the dark green void. Yet the energy remains. Fluxing out in every direction. Zapping me like a lightning rod.

“Woooie. Yowza. Gotta go-go-go. Gotta go now.” I ramble, scrambling to the edge of the boat. Hurling myself overboard into the deep green bay. Drawn to the strange rumblings. Like a little guppy wriggling for phosphorescent splendor. Only difference being, I am well aware of the anglerfish laying wait down in the depths. Ignoring its looming mass. I wriggle in for a closer look.

“Sit deep and go like hell. She’s a beast.” Captain Dickinson bellows contently. I nod with crazed intent, eyes locked on Green Bush.

Dickinson quietly slips back up to the cockpit, resting for perhaps the first time. Successfully guiding us to the other side. To the source of the rumblings, a relentless roar for the restless soul. Cutting through the clamor of viral loads and authoritarian regimes. Drawing us feverously round the world to this very spot. Summoning Green Bush in all her mystical glory.

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Uncle Bryce is halfway across the primordial bay. Green Bush rears again in beautiful slavernous ferocity. I let out of fearful shriek and a squirt. Sitting helplessly in the slab’s looming shadow. Watching it grow, thicker and nastier by the second. Double my height at least.

“Fuck yeah go Ri go!” Uncle Bryce cackles, stroking across the bay.

I turn without thinking. Paddling deeper on the slab. Then point for the jungled shore. Squaring off on the wall, feeling the beast grab hold of the stone ocean floor. Drawing tons of water off the slab. The wall rises further, reaching for zenith. While I sink below sea level, scratching and flapping at the bottom of the trough.

Green Bush then decides to suck me up her massive flank. Where I hang for a wonderful moment. Before falling off the ghoulish ledge. Taking flight. Headfirst, down into the green abyss, somehow landing without a splat. Like a cockeyed bat with one trick left in the bag. Swooping through a bottom turn. Fast and heavy. Squeaking under the lip just before the booming crack of impact. Grabbing onto my boards rail and yanking on the damn thing. Squeezing every drop of grip and drive I can get. Watching the opening at the end of the tube run away. Echoes of mortar fire bounce around the interior. “PaBoom. PaBooom”. My consciousness snaps to black. The instinct lizard takes over.

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Larry the instinct Lizard usually lazily naps at the base of my skull. Lizard Larry, whom I have a very close relationship with, focuses on the primal aspects of brain activity. Most of the time he chills out. Chiming in suggestions a few times a day. Advising me to smack scalding hot coffee from Grannies hands. Trip toddlers. Splatter the neighbor’s house with tomato shrapnel. You know, mischief and pranks mostly. But every once in a while, when shit gets crazy, Larry scrambles up to the front of my brain and takes the wheel. Pressing on the gas and pulling back my eyelids. Getting us out of trouble. I blow it all the time, humming and hahhing over the silliest details. But Larry always nails it. He's been practicing for a million years after all.

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I pop back from the ether. Outside on the open face halfway across the slab. Impending danger lessens for a moment, and Lizard Larry lets me peak through at the rumblings.

I burn some speed. Sliding out front of the Green Bush beast. Fading the end bowl. Thinking about my next move.

“Kick out?” That’s the smart move. “End bowl slab fest?” That’s the dumb move.

I choose the dumb move.

Larry shrieks, “What the fuck was that?” Mashing panic buttons as every warning light flashes red in my brain.

“God dammit! Here we go again.” Larry grumbles, as Green Bush closes her jaws. A showstopper section. Berserking down the slab. Knocking my board out, sending me cartwheeling through the tube. In a last-ditch attempt at preservation, Larry sticks my head through the beast’s haunch. Trying to escape the massive booming barrel. Feeling tremendous whiplash as my body swings through the tube. Cranking my fragile little goose neck. Finally feeling my body slam into the water’s safety. Reuniting with my skull.

Larry falls off his cranial mount. Sweaty and wheezing. Curling up in an exhausted heap. Against all odds, escaping the beastly end bowl. Skidding through the crux. Last second. Engines ablaze.

The Green Bush beast passes by, and I begin wriggling up through the fizz. Feeling the hot zap of dopamine; that electric sense of now which I crave so dearly. A kaleidoscope of gold and silver, green and white swirls above. Stoned slab ocean floor crackles below. I ascend between the two. Drinking in the beautiful otherworldly mix of it all.