Tales from the Compost Heap: Welcome to my Multiverse

I’ve heard the term Multiverse for a number of years, while wandering unaccompanied through inter-web borderlands and fringe bookstores.

I had a resistance to the term, associating it with high-tech billionaires and  microchipping humans or something equally unsettling. Mostly it sounded like a word reserved for tyrants planning to take over the world  or radically changing the one I currently reside in. Which I already love. I just didn’t previously find the word interesting enough to follow home.

Weirdly, it may have tracked me out here to the woods. Today. It just popped into my head this morning, while I was waking up, as a handful of dog-sized ravens announced its arrival from the pine canopy above me.  It was almost as if some crazy tech giant lifted off beside the bus while I was deep sleeping, and the term fell off the back of his rocket ship.

Interestingly,  without the rocket ship, the billionaire or the technology inferences, it feels more like a crop circle. Something natural. I feel inclined now to poke it gently with a stick.   

 I’m also really struck by the world verse. Which I associate with story. Multi. Verses. Many Stories.

Because right now, I truly am aware of how multi this experience is. That I can’t quite name, but am certainly inside of. 

 I am, at once, sitting in Bea’s garden under a hedgerow of  towering pot plants, in dappled sunlight, on what had  previously been a completely normal day, about to take my first sip of sparkling Portuguese wine from a stone goblet. There is a joint being ceremoniously rolled by the adept Bea, who  meticulously removed all the required supplies from an ornate box as if we were about to enjoy a tea ceremony.  I’m  18. And my mother has just risen from the dead in Bea’s kitchen.

I am also on the Tour Bus. Right now. In the flesh. Writing this. In Provincial Park, Nova Scotia. With um, The Swamp Goblin Ramblers. This is not metaphor, although some will bicker with me. I’m coming to you live, from the forest.

We set off from the Mull River Farm three actual days ago, and are physically far from the banks of the Mull River and the wetlands that make up so much of the farm’s acreage.

We are miles  from The Hillsborough-Glendyer Hall, The Historic Pioneer Church, the pastoral hills of Skye Glen,  Skye Glen Dairy, The Glendyer Inn, Brook Village Grocery and  Six Little Farmers. Leagues away from the winding Mabou River, with its resident eagles nesting at The Landing just a short walk from  the mailboxes. Far from neighbours and friends, some I have not yet met, but know I will.

Do you see what just happened?  I am also there. In that place my heart now calls home. While I’m sipping cheap vino in the garden with Bea, and simultaneously  enjoying  overnight oats this morning in a hammock strung between two pine trees beside The Bus.

With me is Lady Pippa (Manager) and Cornelius (Lyrian High Council/ Earth Assigned)  Although it’s clear Pippa is in charge of logistics, Cornelius’ role is less known to me. He’s clearly in charge of something.  Not a clue yet what my role is. I’m hesitant to ask. I’m just following my feet, and accepting suggestions from my handlers 😉

This experience, I am starting to suspect,  may be the emergence of my very own Multiverse. Take that, billionaires.

I don’t need your virtual reality or whatever  it is you are peddling. My multiverse is free. There are no monthly subscriptions, no in-app advertising, no hidden costs. I come and go as I please. 

I’m starting to wonder just how many other verses there are in here. In me, I mean.

Clearly this story is going to be more braid than pony tail.