Let's Enter The MASMA DREAM WORLD...

 

I've always been fascinated by the concept of the anchorite, the deeply religious individuals who essentially remove themselves from the outside world in order to focus on a closer relationship to their chosen god. In many historical cases, anchorites were literally sealed into their chambers so that they could live lives of quiet contemplation and reverence. Small gaps in the wall would serve as a portal for food and water to pass through, but the anchorite would never directly interact with another living being for years, and often never again. Priests may deliver last rites to the anchorite as they are sealed within their rooms, symbolizing their disconnect from the land of the living. 

What is the life of an anchorite? Removed from an explicitly religious realm, is there room in this world for a modern anchorite? I found out in the year 2020 that, in fact, one can become a modern anchorite, even against one's will. 

Where did so many of us find ourselves during those uncertain early months of the pandemic, isolating ourselves from the world in fear of a deadly virus that spread unchecked beyond the safety of our familiar walls? My job allowed me to work remotely, and I took full advantage of that offer and never left the confines of my own small home for nearly six months. I saw this situation as the perfect opportunity to become a modern anchorite, to realize something I'd always fantasized about, and so that's exactly what I did. Groceries and takeout deliveries left on my doorstep provided me all the food I needed. I was never particularly close to my neighbors before the plague arrived, so that wasn't an issue. And I was already estranged from my own family, so no worry of interruption there. 

And so, in April of 2020, I became a modern anchorite. I don't worship any particular god, so this wasn't about studying my Bible and singing hymns to greet the morning. I didn't spend hours on my knees in silent prayer. But I did disconnect myself from the world outside. I canceled my cable television service (never wanted it back, either) and removed all social media apps from my smartphone. I only spent hours in front of my computer for work, and in my copious downtime I listened to music and watched movies and meditated and ate and slept. I never touched a razor or pair of clippers during this time, and six months later I didn't recognize my own reflection in the bathroom mirror, which I had chosen to cover with a cloth when I began my inward journey. I told my friends before I began not to contact me unless it was an emergency until I was ready to re-emerge from my own hermitage. They thought I was being weird, but they knew I was a bizarre sort of person beforehand, so they seemed to take it in stride. Nobody decided I was being a dick and chose never to talk to me again, which was a massive relief. I guess I do have some great friends, and one additional benefit to this experience was realizing that fact, and I've made sure to tell them how much they matter to me many times since. If anything, this whole "modern anchorite" thing actually made my bonds to the people that truly care about me much stronger. Funny, that. 

I didn't leave the house to directly interact with another human being until the second week of October, and when I finally did see other people (all wearing masks and keeping their distance), I nearly retreated into a state of primal panic. Everything felt dangerous and wrong, like I had emerged into a terrible new world that recognized I had no place within it, and I desperately wanted to go back home and barricade myself inside for the rest of my life, to permanently remove myself from everything outside my four safe walls. I didn't, of course. I stayed out, more or less, and readjusted to this new world. But my time as an anchorite, communing with a larger and more magical world that exists all around us, just beyond our perception, was genuinely life-changing. A recent, similar yet more intense experience in the desert over the summer had perhaps a more visceral impact upon my super-consciousness, but that particular door was already opened by my time spent as a modern anchorite. I truly was a different person when I left the house on that chilly October morning, and so much of the modern world had ceased to make any sense to me. Some of it still doesn't.

I am eternally grateful for this experience, which left me humbled and renewed, and one of the musical keys that unlocked the secret doors to this hidden world was Play At Night by Devi Mambouka, a.k.a. Masma Dream World. Released in September 2020, Play At Night was a bit of a late entry for my seclusion, but ultimately a most welcome one. The music here is alive and writhing like an impossible animal, stretching its infinite limbs across time and space and the realms above and beneath what we can perceive with our eyes and ears. You can hear the seductive movement of Devi Mambouka's voice as she invokes hypnotic rhythms, a potent sense of eroticism flowing like wine in a perfumed darkness. Field recordings merge with spiritual chanting and improvised percussion, creating a ripe environment for self-discovery. Mambouka is a firm believer of sound therapy, and that is largely what encompasses Play At Night. The usage of theta waves interwoven in the beats can help create a meditative state in the individual if they allow themselves to enter the correct state of mind, and I found myself drifting away during repeated sessions with Play At Night, slipping into a state of being that I can only liken to an out-of-body experience. 

I honestly believe I may have glimpsed facets of beings that exist beyond what we could possibly comprehend on one such occasion, but I don't know how to accurately describe the experience. It might have been like falling into a shattered mirror suspended in the center of a burning star, surrounded by endless reflections that blazed by like points of flickering light, and within each reflection I could glimpse an impression of something that was certainly aware of my presence, but took no heed, like I was so insignificant as to be beneath their full attention. I was a gnat flitting through a conglomeration of impossibly large giants, so massive in scale that I could only perceive the slightest hints of shape or form. I could not possibly hope to understand the whole when I couldn't even make sense of the smallest aspect of these beings. There was no fear, only an all-consuming sense of awe, as I briefly passed through this unknowable realm. 

When I found myself once again firmly trapped within my mortal body, the track Becoming The Magician was burning through my ears, and I began to weep. Something truly profound had just occurred, and I knew I would never be the same. I'm not saying that the veil of perception will be torn asunder, revealing new realms of glory and understanding if you listen to Play At Night, but I'm also not saying that won't happen. You may listen to this music for two minutes then shut it off because it just isn't for you, and that's fine. I'm not here to force you to like the things I like, although this would all be much simpler if you did. I just want to expose you, my fellow travellers in this realm, to some music that might open your third eye, if only just a little. 

Don't you want profundity in your life? Don't you want to be open to the possibility of cosmic wonder? Don't you want to get high and hallucinate some weird shit while listening to cool fucking music? Play At Night has got you covered, friends. For the music, at least. You'll have to provide your own drugs. But for me, music can be as powerful as a drug. No bullshit. I can put myself in a meditative state and allow music to serve as my guide through places beyond my imagination. LSD doesn't hurt sometimes, but I've found it's not always strictly necessary. I want you to listen to Play At Night. I want you to let the music permeate your deepest, innermost self, and allow it to take you to some place new and beautiful. And if you do, tell me all about it below. I'd love to hear your experiences with this transcendent music.

Keep it weird! Max Power