BREAKFAST IN SHANGHAI

They came from far and wide. Some flew. Others came on foot. Others yet came by boat. Train. Some were there in spirit. No effort to make the journey in physical form. They attended; and again they were not there.

Breakfast in Shanghai. The dream of many. The reality of few. The table was massive; made of pure oak; carved in the wood of the Gods. The clouds were big and white and billowed like gigantic sails over the proceedings.

They were Chinese men as one would expect but they by far were the minority. Africans were there too. White men. Arabs. Turks. Iranians.

Breakfast then. At dawn. Some had been up a long time. In the dark, squid-like ink of velvet, silver moon smiling over them. They'd put out all that would be needed. First they had rubbed the veined wood with oils. Scented. Amazingly fragrant. Sandalwood. Rose. Myrrh.

Others too, although it was hard to tell. So many. Then they had covered it all with muslin cloth. Embroidered and clean. The moon had disappeared around that time; replaced by the first rays of the sun. Servants in purple livery had placed silver vessels all over the table. The table was so large it was difficult to see the end of it if sitting on one side. It had to accommodate all the guests and indeed they were to be many. The clouds moved majestically over the whole scene. Like fans at a court of Kings.

The air was fresh and plenty, like a wine of joy, and slightly intoxicated the guests before the libations had even started.

When all were gathered the Master of Ceremony said a few words about why all were there; the reason; the occasion. Then he started to point at the various vessels containing the foods. He pointed at each one and named them. This took an hour or more; there were so many. Drugs, drinks, foodstuffs, he named them all. This was to be the kind of feast people would remember; even people who had not been there.

The kind of event that made a mark in the common psyche, its ramifications far and wide.

Then he struck a little gong, made of gold, and they all started. No one rushed as they knew it would all carry on for quite a few days, and that there was no way any of the food would run out. The liveried servants would see to it.

Hallucinogens were ingested. Herbs; mushrooms. Then wine. Drugs, drafts of dream, new concoctions made by the Masters. Only then did the food arrive. Conversations flourished, then dropped, like tides on far distant seas, coconut palms brushing the air as guests revelled. Some engaged in sexual acts. Others danced; leapt around as if possessed by Spirit. As the M.C. had explained they were no rules. Just total libations and freedom of movement. If one wanted to abstain from all that was on offer they could. If not the array of choices was such as to make Persian courts seem miserly. Every substance that had ever entered the human body was on offer. New ones too.

The clouds looked on, at first in total disbelief, then they too got into the spirit of the feast and lingered longer, as if they too wanted to take part.

One question that remains is to explain why all these people were there. What were they trying to show ? Demonstrate. Prove to each other? Themselves. Maybe nothing. But you know it would be lying to say that. People do not travel thousands of miles for no reason. They were there for a purpose. So what was it. What was the purpose ? Some of the attending had spent years in caves. Others had been walled up in distant lands such as Italy or Spain. So why the journey. The incredible effort. In an age when this sort of distance was epic. Because they had to. To clean up a previous misunderstanding. As if there had been abuse; and now was a chance to level up the books.

As if in the mists of times those sorts of happenings had been the rule, and the daily motion, and now was a chance to be offered the same, but to react slightly differently.

The same temptations, and the same fun, but this time the emphasis could be somewhere else. Not in the flesh and the joy of body. But in the transcendence; the elevation of the coarse into the higher.

Simple you will say.

Just don't touch anything. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Not about abstaining so much as about the way one went to all these things. The drugs. Food. Easy flesh encounters.

To be with it all and again not. But without staying away. Why all those walled-up holies and other proponents of the sybarytic life found themselves there on that day. To change gear. Lives had been spent in total debauchery; then others in caves, monasteries, military experiences; to atone, so they thought. But it atoned nothing. Just pushed one extreme into another. From too much of this to none at all. So this time; and tempted from afar into this fair of pleasures; some guided by oracle; others by themselves; it was time to square up the equation. Balance the books.

Be there and understand. What it all meant.

So people who'd had the purest of existences found themselves inebriated, gorged on foods fit for kings, high on toxic brews and the best drugs of the East, and looking for dragon love with strangers they had never before...

But of course none remembered the past.

All thought their life of purity was being tested.

That never before.

As indeed the human mind.

Claims no recollection.

But.

And we shall see.

There was reluctance had first. From some quarters. Surely this was a joke. Holy men and quasi-saints. In such a manner. But then, and the atmosphere itself was intoxicating, all took part. Drunk. Drugged. Debauched. D.D.D.

And by Jove enjoyed it. But the Gods were looking on. At the playing little children. And they smirked. All those so called holies. Sybarytes. Anchorites. Advocates of purity in so many religions cults, on different continents.

Paragons of retention.

All was going by the board. Years and decades of abstinence. Abandoned in a day.

And the Gods flicked a switch.

In all those minds.

Purpose there to enlighten.

Show them what had been.

And they saw.

Some could not believe what they saw.

But they saw.

But could not deny.

And did it change their behaviour.

No.

But changed the focus.

Some understood why they had made the journey.

And learnt the lesson.

Others did not.

Rebecame hogs of sin.

Others didn't. Saw the lesson. A one-off. A recollection to clear the decks. Some came away transformed. Back to the caves with a vengeance. But this was not where it was at. Others became enslaved to the drugs. Sex. And never even returned. Stayed in China until the rot rotted them. Few learnt the lesson the Gods had intended.

That the caves were not the solutions. Or the debauchery. That being human contained the cave and the drink in apportioned measures. That the yin and the yang. After all this was China. Some returned to whence they had come. Got married. Had children. Became citizens of the human race. The way it had been intended. With some of that and plenty of the other. To make a difference. And be aware.

That the activity was not sinful. Only human. But the consciousness was gained by some. And to this day they make a difference. Pure and tainted in equal amounts. Because it does not matter. And again does. Like winged dragons paddling in mid-stream. Because mid-stream belongs to the Gods. Like the night to lovers. China-blessed. In Shanghai. Breakfast time. Pure. And tainted.