all things

On September 4th, 2017, I wrote:

"The moments following my dream were vibrant.  I felt a hollow channel, conducting words from there to here, really just allowing them passage and staying out of the way.  Today, all day, has been muted, as if to allow passage through time again, connecting that moment to this one.  Reminding me that purpose thrives outside of conscious, and I don't know why but those words are extremely important for me and for what is to happen next."

Tonight, the 17th day of May, 2018, I am awake, late, contemplating two articles I have just read.

1:  "Time as illusion" :  https://qz.com/1279371/this-physicists-ideas-of-time-will-blow-your-mind/

2:  "Self as illusion" : https://qz.com/1196408/scientists-studying-psilocybin-accidentally-proved-the-self-is-an-illusion/

Today was not a "golden" day like September 4th, which happens to be our wedding anniversary, while we're considering the marking of time's passage.  I did not feel the same "entanglement."  But I knew I would be up late.  I did not know why.

It's possible that rather than waiting for my entangled days to arrive as a result of chance, I should do everything to seek the process by which the entanglement can be, not induced, but recognized.

I also wrote:

"There is a hint of anxiety, of the unknown future moments where I'll be stepping out of this mechanism and stepping back into the regular time stream, where my family waits for me.  Will I remember?  Will there be another eight years before I can commune with Dream again?  Or can I bring the two time streams together, ushering in a new self to exist over top of the old as a mantle?"

The mechanism, Default Mode Network (DMN), is not the only consciousness the brain is capable of.  Stepping out of it must be a more regular activity, one not left to chance.

Time streams...possibilities...illusions!  The new self would begin to shred the construct altogether, thus taking whatever perceived, seemingly separate moments, and seeing them for what they are:  our simultaneous participation in and defiance of Entropy.

Shackles, be removed.  I need to take a look around this cave.  The shadows aren't nearly as interesting as they used to be.

delete this

hysteria

I am no longer in control

my life spins

my mistakes condemn

paralysis





node






{null}

There's a man who sits behind me, seemingly wherever I go.

His name is Mirkwood.

There is a deep, old darkness about him. 

And he's always there.

I made eye contact the very first time I noticed him.

And that let him in. 

He sits there, grubby, wanting.

Waiting for something

Or waiting for nothing at all, whichever is worse.

Take this time, for instance.

I went to the library

The bright Northeast wall

Where there are seats every twenty paces at the windows

And when you're sitting, you can't see the seat ahead or behind

Because each window-seat pair is recessed successively.

I walked to the back, hoping to find it vacant

But he was already there, waiting

I sat in the seat in front, out of his view

But not likely, because matter of this plane

Does not affect him the same

He sat and watched my soul and tried to twist it

He may have succeeded, because I could not stop thinking

Could not stop feeling the dark at my back,

Even though the light was everywhere else.

He uttered dark words, ones that could form

Dark devices, dark instruments

Whose deeds were better left unstated

Because most couldn't possibly imagine

What they were capable of.

Mirkwood.  I prepared to confront him with light

And save the world.  But I turned and he was gone.

I asked others around if they had seen the man.

None of them had.  None of them would.

I sit, with him behind me, everywhere I go.

And I am to blame, again, for so much darkness.