the western civilisation 

superseded by the eastern illumination.

living on the fringes, eating radioactive cheese and dandelion soup, we were casting the i ching down in the crystal caves. i was listening to some 'jack frost' on my headphones, it was the third album, 'lost frost' a collection of found songs unearthed by the remaining member steve kilbey, it was the only music we could play due to a large magnetic storm that wiped out all digital information in 2019, somehow i had one album left on my device that would play without any interference, it was a miracle. the rest of my music had been reduced to short bursts of distorted song parts but mostly static, hiss and crackles, unlistenable. 

i was in my own world enjoying this soft escape but around me shaman and wizards were concentrating upon the castings and filling the cave with blue smoke that formed strange patterns in the air.

the old wizard with his long beard consulted an old book and passed me his burning spliff, 'hexagram one, the creative' he muttered. the shaman and his assistant seemed to confer but everyone knew it would end in a kiss, those crazy lovebirds couldn't help it, they were madly in love and were not ashamed off it. it was cool, we loved them for it.

'creative,' the old man whispered, he passed me the book.

i scanned the writing, and found the words, 'the movement of heaven is full of power. thus the superior man makes himself strong and vital.'

the cave fell silent, someone asked me what it means.

i considered the best way to answer, i cleared my mind, and let the words come.

'it means, success will come from the primal chaos of the universe and that everything depends upon us seeking 

happiness by perseverance in what is right, but we must maintain our 

spirit, keep it vital and healthy, free from contamination, 

we must be free from our mental conditioning, physically strong.'

i stood up and did a little jig, that baseline always makes me want to dance around. i walked out to the edge of our camp and looked out at the valley. dense jungle stretched down along the ravine and on the other side the wreckage of a city. mostly derelict and abandoned by bipedal life, it was said great slugs now inhabited the relics, slugs, worms and centipedes. we had seen many centipedes, bright coloured massive strange things, some covered in spikes and some furred, others were shiny and reflected light in a dull sheen of black. our hunters had brought back a very large carcass of one they had killed. the people that ate from it's flesh died awful deaths, long and endured suffering and vivid hallucinations tore the mind apart before the body. that was almost forty years ago, no one had ever returned to the city after that, and the wise ones said it was an evil place.

we cultivated fruit and vegetables, we ate no animal flesh except the occasional fish the watermen caught. 

i had eaten fish once, when i was a child, my uncle fed me a strip of smoked fish. it was salty and slightly strange, not something i would repeat but the lure of seeing the ocean was very strong, all those years i felt it, a gravitational force pulling me t the perimeter. the shaman said i could not leave the safety of the community until i had passed the elemental ritual. 

i had been given hexagram one, the creative. it was time to face the elemental. i inhaled the spliff and let the plant spirit guide me.

that night the community watched as i was prepared. bathed by the women, dressed by the girls, painted by them in black and purple, i walked out to the tribal elders, the chanting and drumming echoing out down into the valley below. stars held in place by the thick textures of night. it was perfect. i had no fear within me, only the need to complete my ordeals and take my place and title. 

the elemental rituals decipher ones place within the tribe and i had set my heart upon being a waterman which would mean i could explore the oceans, rivers and waterways. i knew i would not fish but i would discover new things, new possibilities for us. perhaps a new land. rumour had it there were floating land masses out there, places undiscovered. i would seek them and claim them for our community. 

the drums stopped and then the chant. i stood in silence and the shaman approached me with his crystals and smudge sticks. then he gave me the medicines, and i fell to my knees. 

first the wind came, it blew through my skin and lifted me up above the ground. i hovered there and when it stopped i fell upon my back.

then the earth covered me, ate me whole and although i struggled i knew resistance was futile as it filled my mouth and worms ate my flesh down to the bone. 

then came the fire and i was ash. it consumed everything i was, leaving dust.

and finally the water.

but it was not over. there was another ordeal, another element they called ether. we had very little knowledge of it, the wise people said it never manifests in ritual, it is elusive and reluctant, it is mysterious and unknowable. the last tribesman who had served the ether was lost in mythology and song, we sung his song sometimes but it was in an unknown language and no one really knew what it meant.

my flesh started to spilt apart, i could feel my atomic structures dissipate and the random natures of chaos tore my soul apart. i was everywhere, and nowhere, i was all and nothing. lightning bore down upon us, the heavens fell upon us, we were rendered in fear at the unknowable. even the shaman looked wide eyed and shocked. when i reassembled i was no longer myself. 

everything was silent, they walked around me as i caught my breath, they looked at my eyes, my teeth, my skin, my face, my feet and hands. i was panting, but my breathing was regular and became strong. i could feel my lungs engulf the air with a new vigour, my body pulsed with strength and power. the shaman approached and i asked him, 'am i a waterman now?'

'no. you are something else. a spirit of chaos.'

'chaos,' i said the word back, what is my role in this tribe shaman?'

'to destroy it.' he looked upon me as though seeing something for the first time, his face looked certain as though faced with an ultimatum from which there was only certainty.