June 29th, Year of Silence

My dear friend Jackie suggested I try something she called the “answer box meditation,” in which I am to picture a cathedral to be entered, where I will find a box that contains answers. Without knowing if I am capable of such an imaginative visualization, and with not one question formed, I gave it a try. The following is what I experienced:

After a few deep breaths, I found myself making my way up a series of steps. Feeling unsteady, I held on to railings warmed by the sun. I ran toward a set of doors, greyed by my own inability to focus. When I reached to push them open, I found that they, or someone behind them, was pushing back. But in the next imaginative beat, I found myself inside, surrounded by the sweet smell of votive candles and incense.
If I listened closely, I could hear every cry of lamentation ever released inside those walls.

Immediately, I noticed that I was not alone. The pews were filled with people and demons, partially hidden by darkness. In the far off, the largest demon waited patiently for my attention. He, I knew, had the answers I wanted.
As he glided toward me, my intuition revealed him to be my shadow aspect.

“First, you must address your demons,” he said.

At this, I looked at two figures that stood next to us. With no visible wounds, they bled profusely and shook in agony. And without knowing if these were the demons my shadow aspect spoke of, or if every thing and person in the building with me were demons, I still attempted to defeat these two with my wrath. Every word driven by hatred, every action violent.

Soon, my shadow aspect stopped me to say, “Nothing can be achieved by violence, with the exception of death, and they are already dead.”

I looked to the demons again, and found that they had become transparent.

“Your demons are mere projections. They are your inventions. It is a sad never-reality you keep placing yourself in.”

As the truth of the words spoken became accepted, they vanished.

And while I wished it had ended there, next I saw Robert and me, locked in an amorous embrace. My past self was missing eyes, because she had no need for them. All that mattered to her, was worshiping her king.
Pleading with her to leave his side had no affect. So, I let him have her, this ghost, this nothing.
That woman is not me. She was tailor-made to suit Robert’s needs. She was my creation. And if I am careful, I would never need her again.

In the next row over, sat my mother. She cried in desperate, long moans. And I hated this familiar sight, as I hated her.

“That is not your mother,” the shadow aspect said. “It is who you think is your mother. Know the difference. Your thoughts are only a blurred reflection of reality. You magnify this, you stretch this out, and there you will have the most accurate representation of what you have just experienced. But even then, it is just a fragment of what truly happened. You must stop punishing people for what you think you know, when you know nothing at all.”

Just ahead, there was father. I slowly made my way towards him, afraid of what I would see.
I stood in front of him, but all I could see of his face was a series of shapes. “You cannot hurt me anymore,” I whispered into his ear.
He seemed not to listen. Instead, he fondled a child version of me. And I wanted out. And I was tired of seeing myself in that cathedral. But I knew that I could not leave until my work was done. So, I took that child and placed her inside of me.
Father did not attempt to stop me, though he began to wither without her next to him. Soon, all that was left of him was dust.

Behind me, there was a woman releasing feral screams. She opened her legs, exposing her cunt as an invitation to anyone that would care to accept it. Red hair wildly moving on its own, like hungry snakes. She was the whore inside me, with parted lips and bored eyes. Her chest was ripped open, revealing an empty cavity.

“The infection will soon spread and kill me,” she smiled.

I knew she was telling not just any truth, but my very own. And by sheer will alone, I created a heart that I shoved into her. Though that was enough to make her disappear, I realized that the struggle to allow myself to feel emotion, would be one that would not end soon.

Finally, I had earned the answers from my shadow aspect. Given a stern warning that a demon could reappear in careless moments, I was handed a piece of paper, folded in half. I waited for him to disappear before I opened it. The words written were few, and I felt that somehow I had been cheated. It said only, “Above all, learn to trust.”

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June 29th, Year of Silence

June 27th, Year of Silence

Seven days ago, I decided  that I would start a routine designed to break my mind, in order to build new limits, far exceeding any I have ever known. I study and I exercise. That is all. When my body finds it has nothing more to give, and every thought is self-defeating, I push it further still.

I say I know all of the possible dangers, but I do not.

It is in utter exhaustion that I write these words. Thoughts come at me in rapid-fire succession. Each demanding to be addressed immediately, yet quickly floating off into the nothing. At times, I am near hallucination.
Despite the fatigue, I sleep very little. Dreams are only experienced while half-awake. It is in this state that true awareness is possible. I am too weak to challenge the truths I am used to hiding from.

A man stands next to me. There’s nothing about him many would call handsome. He is not taller than I am, but perhaps, just as thin. His hair is blonde, long, and limp. I think it is better to not meet his gaze, yet my eyes still lock into his. He is missing an arm, and I wonder how he would hold me. I want him, yet know I will walk away from this, as is my habit.

June 27th, Year of Silence

June 22nd, Year of Silence

The citizenry moves through the drudgery with admirable devotion, while I foolishly seek a wisdom that perished with the Druids in Gaul. I carry my bundle of memories from hill to hill, pushing it into the soil, so that I may grow a wall of trees to hang forever on. Then, I walk down the by-path and through the burrow, guided by the voice of intuition. This internal chatter, a cacophony of metallic sounds, has taken me to nothing, yet I am still loyal to it.

 
I think, in my lucid moments, that it is nothing short of Fear’s cabaret. All of this movement has been a distraction from true chaos.  But, still I listen prudently. I drive down the road that calls to me. I pick up the book that seems to have a light shinning down upon it. I talk to those that have something to say, one of them being Robert.

Robert has felt it necessary to waste my time by writing to tell me that he hates me. That he couldn’t imagine anyone on Earth not hating me. That he wishes for my death.

I reminded him that while I don’t think him to be much of an artist, he does, and it would do him well to think of more creative insults.
Together, we are nothing more than battling children.

June 22nd, Year of Silence

June 20th, Year of Silence

My dreams have become vivid and profound, confusing and disturbing. At their most terrifying, they are still much preferred than those that bored me into an early stirring. The dead visit me, and while they reveal nothing, their company is soothing. My aunt Arminda and her warm smile. Virginia without her addictions. Daniel at ease with life.

Summer is soon to arrive, and with it, a heat that melts defenses. Even a steel fortress can collapse. But all of that speaks of love, or the capacity to love. It speaks of an intensity, not a profundity. And didn’t the high king on his golden throne lock my ability to do anything admirable long ago? Didn’t that father of mine put me in the towers, long ago? There are no magpies weathering storms for me. Only rusted nails, ready for a crucifixion I refuse. Only a few choice words that fall flat and dense, on the cracking floor.

I close my eyes for longer than a blink, and call it a good night’s rest.

June 20th, Year of Silence

June 18th, Year of Silence

The sun will soon rise. I sing to the moon, but it refuses to stay. There are rules that cannot be broken. Firmer still, laws that must not be defied.
I open my door and the wind pushes me, not in, but away.

I know the significance of my body’s defeat. The tension headaches, the fibromyalgia, the abdominal pain. It is my history, the trauma, words unsaid.

There is an owl that follows me. If it is a hallucination, I have embraced it. No matter where I go, I hear its language. It is as attentive to me, as I am to it. Almost, just almost, I can hear it whisper. Then I remember that I have always been the type to turn the mundane into a spiritual experience. Overcooked carrots knew about the Nag Hammadi texts before they were discovered. The clouds are billowy directions to various entry points into alternate dimensions. Thunder is the obnoxious song from that one Native American boy who never turned into a wolf.

If every day holds a promise, then every night must hold answers.

June 18th, Year of Silence