Teleportation Systems, Wanton Care, and the Return on Investment Paradox

Contamination Observation: Light Chasers, Postal Workers, Rabbits, Pasaquan, and Other Highly Efficient Delivery Mechanisms

Some mornings feel kind of suspicious. With a sort of expectation of the unforeseen popping your balloon at some point.

But, this morning began innocuously enough.

I sat shamatha. Took refuge. Pledged bodhicitta. Recited the precepts. Practiced Manjushri sadhana. Dedicated the merit. Made coffee. As I do.

Then I stepped outside and was immediately confronted by an uncomfortable truth.

It was so beautiful out that I felt almost embarrassed to exist within it.

Not guilty. Embarrassed. As if reality had overcommitted to quality control and I had somehow slipped through inspection. How is it that I could possibly be manifest in such a day?

Interesting start. Consensus reality would call this “just a nice day.” AcidCat shuffled through his notes. Drew a card. Laid it face down.

Yesterday I received a package. Or rather, it sort of looked like a package. An old beat Amazon box wrapped in what appeared to be 37.3 lbs of packing tape while somehow remaining barely closed. This feat should probably be studied by engineers. It looked less packed than contained by intention. Bailing wire or twine would have been a nice touch. Something was clearly trying to escape from within.

Inside the glorious chaos of reused cardboard, repurposed bubble wrap, crumpled craft paper, and what I can only describe as wanton care, I found a handwritten note trapped partially by the exterior tape.

It read:

Hey Nikki

Just a token of appreciation
for your service to the
couch and to all of humanity in general

Jack (LightChaser) Riley

PS: lemme know if it got broke

A transmission of intention and kindness

Perfection.

My friend Jack Riley — known online as LightChaser — is someone I have never physically met in consensus reality. Which is already somewhat absurd. LC exists in that increasingly common but still deeply strange category: real friend from the internet whom consensus reality struggles to recognize within larger conventional systems. Jack and I orbit Mixlr H2O and MDD. Couchies, Waterbugs, Mama’s Kids. Good peeps.

He is a gifted photographer, explorer of sound, patient wanderer of rabbit holes, and perhaps a fellow spectrum-adjacent nomad. He speaks sparingly but listens deeply — musically, visually, cosmologically. He likes the night sky. I suspect he likes anything vast enough to humble certainty. Same.

LC sent some very cool artifacts with a lot of intention and tape

Entombed at the very beating hart of the entropy bundle was a framed photograph. And not just any photograph. A breathtaking image of Derek Trucks during his legendary Pasaquan solo at Coastal Credit Union Music Park at Walnut Creek — the Walnut Creek TTB show. His strings were bent so far they appeared moments from mutiny, nearly leaving the neck of the guitar altogether. If you’ve seen Derek, you know this is not metaphor. He defies physics. He bends strings like structural integrity is optional. I believe he broke one during that solo. Naturally. He restrung the guitar himself. Naturally. The drummers took over. Then he carried on. Naturally. Onward.

Form fails. Signal continues. Important. Intent remains intact as improvisation fills in the blanks.

For the uninitiated: Pasaquan is not merely a “song”. It is a transmission. A signal. A beam of light penetrating the darkness.

Named for the visionary Georgia art environment created by Eddie Owens Martin — a self-made mythological world built from revelation, obsession, symbolism, geometry, color, ritual, and direct relationship with altered reality. Madness.

Sound familiar? Of course it does. Wanna hear a story? Of course you do. (says Dave Neiditz from within Nikki)

Pasaquan itself possesses enormous mythic utility. And I happened to be there. Not metaphorically. Actually there. I was physically present at Walnut Creek. People say “IWT!” which is often amusing but hey…. IWT!

Breaking the laws of physics in a very Derek reality

I was also on tour during the gradual revelation of I Am the Moon as Tedeschi Trucks Band slowly released and performed the cycle across the East Coast and Southeast during and post covid. The plague years. Hey, hotels were cheap.

I heard the very first live Pasaquan on stream.

I witnessed the second ever performed in person.

So either Jack somehow knew all this……or the universe continues to show alarming competence in logistics.

But here is the real contamination. The photograph moved me. The note moved me more. The packaging moved me most. That ridiculous box. That impossible tape. That barely contained chaos. That obvious human handling. That artist’s hand. The artifact was beautiful. The intention was transcendent.

Consensus reality shipping prefers optimization. Clean. Efficient. Standardized. Trackable. Predictable. Samey, same, sameness. LC sent something better. Evidence of touch. Wanton care. Improvisational containment. Signal surviving entropy.

All this? For me?

As I was arranging LC’s photo, business card, note, cardboard, and prodigious packaging remains on my old front porch for photography, another transmission event occurred.

Enter Tracy. My mail carrier. Tracy deserves her own Contamination Observation eventually. She is one of those people consensus reality struggles to explain because she behaves like a human inside a machine. Important distinction. She had no mail for me. None. And yet she stopped. Why? Because she wanted to say hello to Evangeline and Amaya. She handed both dachshunds treats. They allowed it.

Then she said:

“Oh! Nothing for you darlin, but I had to stop by and see my buddies!”

We laughed. She smiled. I smiled. The dogs accepted tribute. Everyone won. USPS protocol almost certainly does not include mandatory dachshund visitation. And yet here we are. Bureaucracy contaminated by affection. Machine interrupted by kindness.

Excellent.

As Tracy pulled away, a rabbit ran down the sidewalk across the street. Not symbolic. Just… noted. I think.

At the exact same moment, only six things at any one time, I was preparing another artifact for teleportation. This one for John Pulakines. JP. JRAD OG lifer. Sage. Nomad. Owl-eyed witness to what must now be hundreds of Joe Russo's Almost Dead shows. Back in Manteo, John complimented my hat, The Traveler. I joked: “This one is mine.” He replied: “I mostly only wear Temple University hats anyway.”

Now, most humans hear a sentence like that and just continue doing their breathing. Unfortunately, that is not how contamination works. I heard: artifact request detected. I can do that. I felt compelled.

So after returning to civilization from JRAD contamination, I designed a JRAD logo in the style of the Temple Owls T. Temple cherry red. Temple energy. Temple geometry.

An artifact for JP, OG JRAD nomad

Then at Melody Tent JRAD, while wearing The Beam, I told JP an artifact might be headed his way. He seemed pleased. Good. Today that artifact was being birthed while Tracy made her rounds. A gray six-panel flat-brim snapback with cherry red stitching and brim. Did I mention I have a thing for hats? The DTF transfer was being heat-adhered at the exact moment Tracy arrived, the dogs received offerings, Jack’s Pasaquan photograph sat awaiting documentation, and rabbits began streaking through consensus reality like punctuation marks again. One across the street, another in the front yard. The dogs stayed.

Another rabbit ran past. Again. Noted.

This is where consensus reality begins struggling. Because it wants categories. Patterns. Something to hold on to and that creates predictability in an uncertain reality. Humans do this. So…

Mail carrier.
Customer.
Online friend.
Photographer.
Rabbit.
Hat.
Concert photo.
Shipping box.

Separate?

Contained?

Understandable?

But reality appears less interested in separation than we are. Everything was transmission. Transmission aided by teleportation. LC transmitted appreciation through cardboard and tape. Tracy transmitted kindness through treats. JP transmitted signal through casual conversation. I transmitted intention through artifact creation which honestly can’t be helped, it’s a thing. Reality just happens. USPS teleported matter through space. Music teleported memory through time. Derek teleported Pasaquan. Rabbits transmitted punctuation. Dogs transmitted diplomacy. Coffee transmitted civilization. Coffee…. mmmmm

Teleportation systems everywhere.

We call them shipping networks. Postal routes. Livestreams. Supply chains. Roads. Platforms. Normal words for very strange voodoo. How did I get here?

A photographer I’ve never physically met mailed me a framed image of a musical moment I personally witnessed years ago.

A postal worker stopped with no mail simply to visit two tiny dogs.

A hat created through one contamination event prepared for departure toward another wandering nomad.

No orders arrived today. Lol. Consensus commerce might call that a slow day. Incorrect. Return on investment today has been extraordinary. Extraordinary. Outside that which is ordinary. No revenue. Massive yield.

Signal.
Connection.
Memory.
Transmission.
Kindness.

Reality does not always reward us in the currencies ego prefers.

Good.

That would be far too easy.

Sometimes the best ROI arrives through systems that cannot be monetized.

Friendship.

Intention.

Wanton care.

Kindness.

Presence.

Participation.

Today reminded me of something important.

Not all artifacts are sold. Some are gifted. Some are received. Some are simply witnessed passing through.

Participate in whatever happens next. Do it.

The signal continues.

It always does.

— NikkiArcane

Artifact No. NA-CO-TELEPORT-001-26
Wandering Identifier: WANTON CARE / TELEPORTATION SYSTEMS