I pay attention and remember. Then I slide my fingertips over the edges of my memories and impressions and try to find the edges that fit together. Its entirely subjective. I don't believe things flow out of my mind randomly. There's a traceable stimulus being directed at me from another. Or there's a force within my unconscious at work. So, today, while I was busy thinking and testing the edges of my senses, I recalled words I'd written and the words of others that could be keys to my words. Following is a scenario I created in the Sword Swamp forum. I was telling myself something. Somebody was telling me something:
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*lifting her chin as high as possible, she craned her neck from side to side, wondering when the marks of poor impulse control would fade. A dream of rare intensity had been the gift of her lack of control. Apparently the zap of the collar, or the bang of the floor hitting her head, (or was it her head hitting the floor), had cracked a sealed door and let the colors slide in. ...she was a young girl, dressed all in red. A forest so lush with life that it was almost as dark as death must be surrounded her. She was so thirsty. She used her sense of hearing to listen for the sound of water. She used her sense of sight to see an opening in the wood where water might flow. She tried to taste the air for the hint of algae and water washed sand. She breathed deeply to smell a telltale hint of wet. Nothing. Finally she fell to the ground and reached a hand out and there was the stream she sought. Rushing over her fingertips, up her arm, she gasped and rose to her knees. She'd been under the water, she didn't know how long. She was in the stream, immersed in its tingling coolness. Cupping her hands she drank deeply, stumbled out and up to the bank. Eyes glowed at her from the shadows...*******************************
"Eyes glowed at her from the shadows..."
What’s the point of the glowing eyes? Should I jump to the conclusion that they're a danger to me? I don't think they are. I think they're a fearsome energy. Possibly threatening, at least to stagnation. It does hurt to blossom. After being folded so tightly closed the petal slowly, slowly opens to the sun. Or the moon. William Blake wrote with perfect imagery about those glowing eyes.
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William Blake. 1757–1827
The Tiger
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder and what art Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil?
What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
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"...she was a young girl, dressed all in red. A forest so lush with life that it was almost as dark as death must be surrounded her."
A Company of Wolves is one of the movies that I have carried with me ever since I saw it. I did some investigation and found the words of others explaining how it wound up in my "dream" scenario:The movie: "The Company of Wolves" (1984) takes you into the disturbing world of a young girl's "imagination" where wolves run wild and witches cast spells. The ethereal setting develops into a Freudian nightmare, explaining adolescence through a twisted reenactment of "Little Red Riding Hood." Rosaleen is the girl in red. Evil in women comes from corruption by the devil. Thus, according to grandmother, evil is not innately in Rosaleen.
In contrast, the evil in men comes from the nature of man - it's natural. The devil does not have to take the trouble to involve himself. The hunter tells grandma with an innocent look, "I don't come from Hell, I came from the forest."
I am both Rosaleen and the Hunter. Anima and Animus. Female and Male. Conscious and Unconscious. Duality.
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"...Finally she fell to the ground and reached a hand out and there was the stream she sought. Rushing over her fingertips, up her arm, she gasped and rose to her knees. She'd been under the water, she didn't know how long."
Water is life. Life is full of pleasure and pain. The words written by another came to me in the form of a glorious trance inducing song, in part it says:
Drowning,
I'm thinking,
Falling further,
Down in this water
I'm sinking,
Can't save myself now,
now...
now...
I dream of emerging
from this water which holds me in,
Comforts me,
and tells me everything's
gonna be okay...
So, there it is - the final conflict, confusion - in my dream I'm so thirsty, but I can't quench my thirst until I come to the understanding that I was surrounded by the very thing I crave. Only when I recognize its nature can I work within it to fulfill myself and quench my thirst. While my own eyes glow.
