I need Jesus!

 My mind is a very dark place. There is a plethora of demons in my head that keep me up at night; an overture to something even bigger that’s on the way.

 I’ve got addictions too. Addictions that should I decide to list down would be as long as your leg. Addictions that have me spellbound.

 My friend’s chiropractor highly recommended that I see an Indian hypnotherapist/spiritual healer/lecturer named DR. Sanjay Dash, to help me get over my strange addictions.

 Thus on a bright, sunny Saturday morning I made a long walk from my place to his – which was circa 5 kilometres away. My long treacherous walk led me to the 9^th Street of Seasons Estate in Kasarani, and a Bauhaus-style bungalow with blue roofing sitting majestically and architecturally-sound at the far end of the cul-de-sac.

 “BEWARE OF DOGS!” Read a signage on his black metallic gate.

 I distracted myself from the unnerving thoughts in my head by shifting my train of thought to August instead. I always think about August.

 I always think of her pretty symmetrical face that was sprinkled with freckles like stars spread out in the night sky. Her nice black locks of hair that she parted down the middle of her head and gracefully flew down her shoulders like a chocolate fountain. Her D-cup breasts and her nice palatable wazoo. I think about her all the time.

 I think I’m entranced by her ethereal beauty. I’ve composed many a poems and sonnets comparing her beauty to raindrops on a gossamer, the sapphire skies, the cherry blossoms blooming in spring, amongst other things.

 I’ve pictured her naked many times. MANY, MANY times. And as I stood outside the Gothic gate waiting to be let in, I could see my hands “cupping” her boobs as I gently nibbled on her neck leaving her in breathless ecstasy.

 My pulsating heart sent a rush of blood in my entire body and I could feel my penis grow a few inches long.

 “Syzygy!” Believe it or not – and yes, I know you’ll find it hard to wrap your head around it .That was the weird word I cried out when I heard the clanking of the rusty gate, and realized I was a stranger standing in front of a man’s house with a massive boner.

 At first I tried to conceal the erection by casually pocketing my hands, but eventually I’d have to say “hello” to the gallant man and it would be intrusive to do so with my hands buried deep in my pockets, thus I decided that “even the pope gets a hard-on too.”

 The gate opened wide and a slick Indian man wearing an earth tone cloak like he was an obsessive fan about to go and watch Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter at the movies, ushered me inside his compound.

 His compound was the most “metal” thing I had ever seen. C’est magnifique!

 It was spacious enough to boast of a Zen garden full of magnolias and bougainvillea. It had a small water fountain statue that was a replica of the man himself. It also had a small pond full o’ sardines, and immediately my mind thought of Kenyan matatus and how the conductors jam-pack us like sardines in a can.

 Speaking of vehicles and sardines aside… DR. Sanjay’s snow white Range Rover Sport (a 2007 model), was parked adjacent to the beguiling garden.

Frog eyes.

 “Namaste!” Said DR. Sanjay Dash.

 “Konnichiwa!” I answered back, because I didn’t know the reply.

 “What brings you here?” He sought to get an answer.

 “Natafuta Bwana Sanjay Dash. Are you him?” I asked.

“DR. Sanjay Dash to you mister. Do you seek help from the great beyond?” Questioned the hyphenate.

 And I only nodded half-heartedly to affirm because I didn’t know (at the time) what he meant by “the great beyond.”

 Meanwhile… my erection wouldn’t go away.

 You’d think I ate mukombero and groundnuts.

 I hated the tracksuit I was wearing because my “frog eyes” were “peeping”. And I could tell DR. Sanjay Dash made “eye contact” because he smiled at me after glancing at my tight pants.

 The maverick’s house…

 “Welcome to my sojourn. And PLEASE make yourself cosy.” Said the eccentric DR. Dash as he walked into another room.

 And as soon as I was seated on a butterfly sofa my eyes danced around the living room: From the walls that were pistachio-coloured, to the IKEA-esque furniture, to a book titled ‘The Denial of Death’ that was off-kilter on a shelf, to a nude painting of Jesus and his disciples that was mounted on the wall.

 And I thought to myself: “This is so gay. As gay as a bag of popcorn.” I’m not quite sure where I got that line from – maybe it was a quote by Gandhi or Mother Theresa – but nonetheless the words stuck in my brain like a mole that wouldn’t go away.

 And my erection still wouldn’t go away. My dick was rock-hard and full of constrictions of veins.

 In Swahili we say, “Dawa ya moto ni moto”, but having sexual fantasies in order to get rid of an erection is probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. That, and the one time I ate a live grasshopper to impress my Primary School crush – Joan. She was totally grossed out instead.

 In my mind I had August undressed from her skimpy outfits down to her panties, as I slowly traced my fingers down her abdomen to her hairy box, all the while leaving spit trails behind as I softly kissed her entire torso on my way to the pearly gates.

 She’d breathe heavily as I licked her pussy through her panties. I’d switch my warm, moist tongue from her panties to her thighs, and then lick her erect nipples before coming down on her again. With her permission and with her thighs opened wide, I slowly and seductively took off her panties revealing the hairy muff in all its glory – the Lord knows how much I love me some hairy muff.

  My mouth begun to water. I took a moment to adore her pussy, my fingers feeling her bush, and like a mad man possessed and obsessed, I descended on the puffy vagina with bravura, greedily chowing and slurping on it.

 I’d switch things up again by licking her armpits, then her bum hole – just to make her want it more – before finding my way back to her wet snatch.

 She’d writhe in bed, well, not in pain but in orgasmic bliss, while holding on to the quilts and moaning like her soul had been set on fire. A harmless kind of fire. A fire that burns without actually burning you. A silent fire.

 I sniffed her vagina just to know what’s the scent of heaven like; and as I was about to inhale the smell of her poop-hole and know how God (who is a girl) smells like, DR. Dash walked into the room carrying a porcelain cup and a coaster, and immediately my fantasy came to an abrupt end.

 “Aargh!” I silently squealed.

 DR. Dash placed the cup containing “tea” and coaster on a glass coffee table before proceeding to open the living room window. In came a gentle breeze wafting the resinous smell of some two trees outside, plus the lovely scent of the magnolias and bougainvillea.

 Says DR. Dash: “What can I do you for?”

 My response: “I need to stop thinking about her – August. It’s a weird addiction that I have. A hex.”

 “How weird?” Asked the Doctor as he slouched in his seat.

 “I need to let her soul be at peace. I can’t keep on tethering her to this world.”

 “So she’s dead? Like dead dead?” The Doctor’s iterative question encapsulating his disbelief.

 “Y… ye… yes!” I quavered. My face engulfed in shame.

 “Wow. Just wow!” Said the nefelibata.

Release the kraken!

 Didn’t Perseus slay the Gorgon Medusa? Didn’t Icarus fly with wings made out of feathers and wax? Didn’t Heracles conquer a nine-headed water hydra?

 My question is: What do all these stories have in common?

 The answer: I don’t know what in tarnation’s name was in the tea.

 All I know is I had a few sips of the “hypnosis tea” as called by the unorthodox DR. Dash, and suddenly I was in a subconscious state plummeting in a bottomless elevator shaft, wondering “why the (expletive) did I let myself get hypnotised?”

 My answer when asked of my willingness to get hypnotised: “Yes. Yes! Release the kraken!”

 God knows what was in the tea. LSD maybe? Only He and the hypnotherapist know.

 My visions/ hallucinations/ trance memories were so out of this world. Somehow I was able to go back in time – as I fell in the abysmal dark shaft – to a place way before the Eocene epoch. A place older than time itself. A place that exists in the past, present, and future simultaneously (a time warp), and there I found a humongous tree guarded by two cherubs with flaming swords.

 Weirdly enough the tree had a name, and a face, and a mouth, and it introduced itself as Gnosis. It’s Greek for ‘knowledge’.

  “Welcome to the land of the souls. I am Gnosis.” Roared the talking tree. “What do you seek?”

 Firstly, I had like a thousand questions ready to shoot at it; secondly, how was this tree even talking?

 In the Utopia I was in, the giant-sized tree was deep-rooted (literally) in a beautiful unearthly wonderland that had nothing but flowers, magenta butterflies, a small lake, and the tree itself in it. Some “land of the souls” that was!

 “I need to stop thinking sexually about August. She’s lying in a grave.” I finally replied to the tree. “I also need to find peace. To find myself. To find heaven.”

Poison’s Gone.

 The last of my memories – the lake of reflections. A spitting image of myself reflects on the venetus waters. The guide (Gnosis) asks what I see in the blue marmoris waters and of course I tell him what you already know. He tells me there are two ways to find myself: I could either choose to love myself, or I could choose to kill myself.

  I wondered if the tree meant that literally or figuratively. What was the whole point of telling me to look at my reflection if it was only going to tell me those few words anyway? They were crappy words I had heard numerous times before. So there I stood in front of the lake thinking: “Huh! This is déjà poo again.”

 An eagle, actually it was an eagle-like creature, a Griffin, picked me up as Gnosis warbled some incoherent words on how to find heaven and whatnot.  The Griffin carried a huge golden clock attached to a chain around its neck, and up and away I was whisked and brought back to the present.

 I regained “consciousness” to find myself staring at the parody Last Supper tableau. And as I looked at the intricate details and the colourful palette used, I finally remembered where I heard the gay line from; it was from an episode of the satirical Family Guy. (I’m not homophobic for the record).

Heaven isn’t as beautiful as you think!

 “How long was I out?” I inquired.

 “10 hours… Maybe.” The hypnotherapist jokingly replied.

 “Where the hell was I? That trip felt like an OBE.” I shrieked.

 DR. Dash burst into laughter before delving into theories and hypothesis of this and that, and him being the bridge between humans and the guide, blah blah blah… and to be honest I wasn’t paying him much attention the whole time because my mind was thinking about two things:

1. I suddenly realized that I had left my kitchen sink faucet running.
2. I had a “rememory” of the guide’s last words to me while being flown away.

 “If you want to find heaven, all you have to do is… LET ME IN!” Said the tree as the smile on its’ face turned to a smirk, and it slowly shape-shifted into a three-horned, red-coloured figure that closely resembled or actually was… THE DEVIL HIMSELF.

THE END.