Another weekend, another study of the quantum plane. The world as I knew it just two weeks ago is a distant memory, kind of like a Trump news cycle: new stuff happening all the time that make recent events seem like distant memories of an innocent and bygone era. Fourteen days ago, I believed that the smallest particles were particles and that there was no such thing as right and wrong, good and evil, that they were simply constructs for organizing civilizations, not immutable truths set in stone.
I live in a brave, new world now, more like the Wild West and less like civilization. It used to be that physics ruled the physical realm but now I know that is not true, now Consciousness is Everything and Meaning is Reality, for real. Mind blown, shoes and socks blown off and gone with the wind. To tell you the truth, I don't really understand anything anymore, be it quantum mechanics or national elections. God is coming back into my worldview because its the only thing that helps make sense of it all.
The tangueras, women who dance tango, are warming up to me the more I frequent their dances. There are a lot of dancers here, which I’d guess to be over two hundred. I am finding good partners who make it easy for me to slip into the quantum plane and it gets easier the more I do it. Connection is key. I’ve sensed the purse snatcher a couple of times but have not caught her in the act. She comes in and out of focus like a lightbulb in a loose socket, flickering. It’s hard for me to nail down where she is and keep her in my sights.
Suddenly, there is a new actor on the stage. It is a woman and she radiates strength. Her energy is strong and clear. There is no doubt that she is here. She seems young in my mind— early twenties at most — but there’s something ageless in her thoughts, like time doesn’t stick to her.
She exudes a larger presence than mine, it’s like I’m a circle and she’s a much bigger circle. Her aura is faint and iridescent, like a ghost, but I definitely feel her in the room. At times, the image of a young lady with thick black, curly hair, flashes in my mind like a street crossing sign. She is telling me it is safe to cross. I am confused.
Her eyes are unsettling, their color shifting in hue and in depth. Sometimes they’re slate gray, sometimes frost-blue, sometimes reflective like polished chrome. When she focuses on me, it feels like she’s calculating probabilities in real time. Her locks are extremely thick, falling on her neck and shoulders like waves in an ocean of swirls or an obsidian Cowardly Lion. Her tresses jiggle and bounce as if it has a life of its own.
When I think of the Cowardly Lion, I feel her laugh and an image of a male lion with its mane shaved off completely appears in my mind.
It gets colder as I draw near to her. Not cold enough to notice consciously. Just enough.
When she turns her attention to the dance floor, the lights flicker violet for half a second but no one notices except her. The room is cloaked in darkness as she suspends time, enjoying the flicker a little longer before letting the moment go like it was nothing.
I say to myself, “that was cool.”
In my mind, the presence says, “I’m refrigerated,” chuckles softly and moves away from me swiftly.
Across the room her aura reappears just as a slender hand emerges from out of nowhere to snatch a purse but not before it is caught by the presence. The purse snatcher is revealed for a moment, a small sphere of aura attached by a tangent to a larger sphere, then both are gone.
I become aware of another aura nearby, it is nearly the same size as mine. Her signal is strong and she feels close.
“You should ask me to dance,” she says. “I’m the one in the t-shirt.”
I look across the room and see her. She is also young but not as young as the presence. I guess her age to be in her mid-thirties, far too young for me. She has short, honey-blond hair, adorable doe-y blue eyes and a nose that is large and lovely, a proboscis that could easily make me write bad checks, dressed in a white t-shirt torn at the left shoulder, barely concealing her bouncing bosoms.
I shoot her a cabeceo and she accepts with a nod and a big smile.
I snapped out of the quantum state like someone had flipped a breaker. She was too young for me—objectively, undeniably—but that smile made objectivity irrelevant. In an instant I’d gone from observer to participant. The experiment was no longer under my control; I was inside it, subject to its variables, and I had no idea what the outcome would be. One part of me was wildly optimistic, charging ahead with predictable enthusiasm. The rest of me—the portion still pretending to be rational, still clinging to what I thought was reality—felt a tremor of trepidation.
She was the kind of woman a man adds to a private list of impossible wishes, but experience has taught me that “impossible” often comes bundled with complication. The unknowns have a way of introducing themselves at the worst possible moment, and usually with teeth. Tango women, in particular, are not for the faint of heart. I’ve reached for that flame before. I know exactly how hot the stove can get, and how deep the burn can go.
Walking over to her, I tried to muster a smile and failed as I struggled to appear calm, cool and collected, like dancing with gorgeous, young women was something I did all the time. She saw through me and exuded amusement. It’s a good thing I don’t let my insecurities get in the way of dancing some good tango. We joined and wrapped around each other in a warm, sensuous embrace. I led with a long, slow side-step as our bodies took time to sync with the other’s hips, backbone and heart. Our posture transformed into a singularity as we moved to my left in a super-slow-motion.
I led a change of weight and she let loose a sigh, expelling the air from her lungs to shrink her frame and wriggle ever more closely onto my torso. To my surprise, I was keeping it together well enough, receiving her body with confidence and an appropriate amount of delight. I took her to the cross, led some ochos into a swinging and dynamic full stop.
We held each other passionately as she moved her head near to my right ear and whispered, “The large presence is Ma’at. She is the goddess of justice and she is here to apprehend a woman who has been stealing purses and jewelry from milongas in several dimensions.” She paused for a second, then began again, saying, “By the way, you got good coms. Your lead is fire, boomer, no joke.”
Her incongruent statements fogged my brain for a bit before I could recover my bearings. I told myself that I could handle the situation if I could just keep each thought in its own box. The presence’s name is Ma’at and it’s a goddess. That’s not something you come across everyday but I’ve learned to expect the unexpected at a milonga. Ma’at is a goddess: okay. Good coms? I’m not sure what that means exactly but I like the way she said it and, if it makes me feel good, then it is good.
We danced a couple of tandas. She made me feel good when she stood in front of me after the last song of the tanda ended, not indicating the slightest bit of discomfort with the age gap between us, or the fact that she was fit and I was lumpy. We were two people who could transcend our physical forms and join in a fashion that could compete with a sexual coupling. [Tango and sex are similar but not the same animals.] We talked while we danced, sometimes with words and sometimes in our minds, drifting back and forth between the quantum state and the present, seemlessly. I felt honored to be allowed into her mind and tried to hide my primal side as best I could. She did a good job of ignoring the wolf in my id without giving a hint as to how she really felt about it. That was encouraging. Maybe not being automatically discounted as a love interest was a sign of respect. No matter. She made me feel good.
She could tell I was confused about the quantum state and tried her best to explain some of it while confessing to being a newbie herself. She was a professor of physics at a well-known leading university and she was from Spain, though I detected no hint of an accent. She called the quantum state ‘the other side’ and said it was a place where time didn’t exist; that communication happened telepathically, sometimes all at once, without words, just images and feelings instantly filling a mind with what it wished/needed to know.
She said her name was Anya, that she was twenty-nine and had discovered the quantum state a year ago in Berlin. She admitted, with a little frustration, that she entered the unknown dimension often, but alone. When she did encounter another, they were always too faint to hear. That’s why she said I had good coms. That meant I was easy to read/see/feel. I was clear.
There was some structure to the other side, she said as we moved around the room to tango music, not bothering to disengage when the music ended, waiting within my embrace for the next song to begin and the crowd to start moving around the room in a counter-clockwise direction.
I told her what the presence, Ma’at, said to me, that she was refrigerated.
Anya laughed and said, “Ma’at’s cool! She’s got a sense of humor and she’s fire, slaps hard and clean, dawg.”
Oftentimes, I had to wait until we slipped into the quantum realm together to get the jist of what Anya was saying, her words saturated with the slang of the younger generation.
I asked her if it was safe on the other side. She looked at me with those beautiful doe eyes and tilted her head like I’d just asked whether the ocean was “wet.”
“It’s okay,” she said, “but like… here’s the thing. When you’re jumping dimensions, you kinda have to figure out the weird little quirks of each ‘shell’ or however the other side refers to the operating instructions of these other realities. I’m getting cosmic software update vibes. Low-key, it helps if you know a bit about Egyptian mythology and actually have a solid moral compass, or some religion, maybe, yeah bruh, because there are consequences here. And when the Reaper shows up with that punishment energy? Yo! Dodging her is not exactly an option. Also, time gets super glitchy in this particular place. You’re either in the present or soft-launching into the future—never the past. The past is basically off-limits.”
“There was a purse snatcher but she was meh.” she said, continuing, “Fairly local crime, I’m sure. Petty. Amateur hour. She tried to slide but Ma'at slapped her down like a dawg, boomer. Crossing dimensional boundaries. That upgrades the charge. Balance must be restored. That is The Way.”
I replied, “That is The Way.”
She smiled and said again, “Good coms, dawg, good coms.”
At the end of our third tanda together, I was absolutely infatuated with my young partner. How could I help myself? She was smart, young and pretty and I didn’t care to feel ashamed of my passion on display. This was tango and I’d been here before. You can’t lie to tango and still dance it like it’s supposed to be danced. Intense emotions are the norm in good tango encounters. I was nearly off the rails in my attraction to her but I kept the train on the tracks. I could sense that she appreciated my feelings, it’s hard to hide them in the quantum realm, irresistible allure and the fight for control. She knew instinctively that I was at my breaking point and she liked it. That’s tango. She didn’t know that I was about to say something uncool, like “you’re so pretty,” but I managed to put a finger in the hole in the dike before it was too late.
When the last song of the last tanda ended, she withdrew from my embrace, which I could not have done on my own, gave me a strong, platonic(maybe?) hug and said, “Cool people make slang, we don’t just sling slang, it’s all about the coms, always good or mid, never bad. Stay frosty, my friend.”
Turning away from me, she walked off with my heart in tow. It took me a while to shake that feeling but it felt so nice and warm……and wonderful and so much more. I finally regained my sea legs on the Sea of Love and confronted the cold hard facts: I was old and poor, nothing was going to happen yet everything did happen. Two weeks ago, everything would have meant something totally different. Now that I had been to another dimension, watched the arrest of an interdimensional criminal and spent time on the other side with an attractive tanguera, everything had a new meaning. Yes, everything had a new meaning but I had no idea what the new definition was. My knowledge had increased incrementally while my ignorance expanded exponentially.
That’s all for today, until next time,
Peace, Love and Tango,
The Kayak Hombre
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