There was a door inside my head.
I've gone on trips inside my own mind on many occasions. Some are more successful than others. Sometimes it feels like a simple exercise in imagination, but other times I can put myself into a state I cant only describe as a waking dream. I see people I don't recognize, places I've never seen, sometimes even creatures that are beyond even what I would believe I could imagine. I consider it a trip to my subconscious, a way for me to explore my dreams from the outside in a way. I don't have control; these aren't the "lucid dreams," I've had before. These are more of a viewing, a playback of something. At least, that's how it feels.
This was unlike either of those.
My eyes were closed, but I was still awake. I was in a meditative state of sorts, a technique for concentration that I've gotten better at assuming over the last few years. I'll be honest: I first learned it merely as a means to help me get rid of hiccups. Now it's useful in all sorts of situations, from work to normally uncontrollable anxieties. It also helps me get into a mindset that I can normally go on these little trips.
I blacked my mind. It's one of three ways I normally do this: blacking it out, filling it with light, or (if I've got a bit more time) picturing my thoughts being thrown into a fire. For stronger meditative states, the ones that tend to affect my physical body as well as my head, I use numbers and imagine them being created in fire and steel. This particular time, as I only thought to do so quickly, was a blacking.
When I first saw the door in my head, I was very confused. Blacking doesn't normally leave anything, especially not something quite as specific as this. Sometimes there are distractions and sounds that get through, but a large, wooden, double-door and frame, floating in the darkness? This was strange.
I pictured myself walking to the door. I'm still not sure how this worked, to be honest. I was aware in my mind that I was still standing at the door, but somehow I imagined what would happen should I choose to open it. This second me, the fiction inside of fiction, came to the and cracked it. All this me could see on the other side an orange dancing light like a fire, and eyes that stared back at me, through me. I gasped within my head, and the image was lost. I found myself once again outside the door.
I was unsure what to do. The door hid something. It felt like a necessity; I felt that behind that door, there was something important, a part of me that I didn't understand or accept or something. I went through my head, recognizing some of the strange and dangerous thoughts I've had in the past, but I did not move from in front of the door. Did I construct it? Did my subconscious construct it for me? I've done and planned terrible things in my past. What is behind that door that frightens me so?
Emotion started to make my concentration waver. I knew I didn't have much time, and it felt dangerous to throw open the doors when I could not spend the time to deal with what I might discovered. I turned, or, perhaps, it moved to the side. I cannot say for certain. All I know is I made movement to distance myself from it for now.
I opened my eyes. A face appeared surrounding my vision, as suddenly as the door appeared behind my eyelids. It was white and hollow, almost more of a skull than a face but it stretched and moved like skin. It wailed, silently, before fading into my peripheral vision. I closed my eyes, and I could see it again. I shuddered, wondering if this is a sign of a good decision, or a bad one.
I don't suppose I will know, until the time I open the door, and see which truth lies behind.
Projects in the Works
So, just as an FYI: Yes, I am working on things. Big things. Things made of awesome and win. I think they are, anyway. I'm not dead, I'm not not-writing, etc., etc. I'm currently working on a long-ass post about a sort of origin-story on the Precipitous Bar and the Edge. Two different stories, one of which I've already started before. Not sure how I feel on it, though; I may hold off on that until I'm more comfortable on where it's going.
I'm also starting a new novel project among many other shorter ones. It's a bit out-of-the-ordinary for me, in that it requires some research on my part thanks to the fact that it mostly takes place in the here-and-now and deals with historical fiction. As I'm not a huge history buff, nor really that up on geography/current events as I should be, this can take some work. I'm looking forward to some of it, but more than anything I'm hoping I don't get burned out. Still, as long as I can get some framework down, I think this would be a good project to come back to periodically even if I lose steam part way through.
So fear not, all 2-3 readers of mine! I'm still here, and I hope I will have more coming in the near future. And yes, I'm pretty sure all of the stories to come will be supernatural in some shape or form; despite trying new genres, I don't think I can ever really get the supernatural completely out of my head insofar as the stories I like to tell.
I have, however, decided to stretch my writing muscles a little bit more. I've been doing a few game reviews and other random, often far-too-long posts on G+ recently, mostly involving dreams or funny anecdotes from life (you can see that here if you're so interested, just ask me to add you to my Video Games and/or Dreams circles). I'm hoping to get a few more of these kind of things going as well. I have a couple of options, I hope, to see what I can pull off, but we shall see. Hopefully, there will be more to come should that happen.
So yeah! Hopefully, within the next couple of days, I'll have the opening for the Foxfire Protocols (the novel project) up here to pique interest and get some feedback on the idea. I will probably post the first few chapters, although I may not submit the whole story to the blog. We shall see. Anyway, thanks for reading! The encouragement has been wonderful.
I'm also starting a new novel project among many other shorter ones. It's a bit out-of-the-ordinary for me, in that it requires some research on my part thanks to the fact that it mostly takes place in the here-and-now and deals with historical fiction. As I'm not a huge history buff, nor really that up on geography/current events as I should be, this can take some work. I'm looking forward to some of it, but more than anything I'm hoping I don't get burned out. Still, as long as I can get some framework down, I think this would be a good project to come back to periodically even if I lose steam part way through.
So fear not, all 2-3 readers of mine! I'm still here, and I hope I will have more coming in the near future. And yes, I'm pretty sure all of the stories to come will be supernatural in some shape or form; despite trying new genres, I don't think I can ever really get the supernatural completely out of my head insofar as the stories I like to tell.
I have, however, decided to stretch my writing muscles a little bit more. I've been doing a few game reviews and other random, often far-too-long posts on G+ recently, mostly involving dreams or funny anecdotes from life (you can see that here if you're so interested, just ask me to add you to my Video Games and/or Dreams circles). I'm hoping to get a few more of these kind of things going as well. I have a couple of options, I hope, to see what I can pull off, but we shall see. Hopefully, there will be more to come should that happen.
So yeah! Hopefully, within the next couple of days, I'll have the opening for the Foxfire Protocols (the novel project) up here to pique interest and get some feedback on the idea. I will probably post the first few chapters, although I may not submit the whole story to the blog. We shall see. Anyway, thanks for reading! The encouragement has been wonderful.
The Truth Behind the Whiskers
(Edit: This somehow got put in Draft instead of Posting. Date should be 8/16/2011. Going to post now, as it's interesting to read at this point as I read back).
It's a personal revelation post! Feel free to ignore if you don't like reading introspective bull shit.
For those of you that don't know (which is probably not many people), I decided to remove the entirety of my facial hair this weekend. To some, I'm sure this is not a big thing, but considering it's been around a decade or so since I've completely removed the chin-fuzz, it was a big deal to most. Heck, it was a big deal to me, but I've had a hard time trying to figure out why.
So I take a look in the mirror a bit ago. This, in itself, is a bit strange: normally, when in front of a mirror, I'm either (a) blind, as I don't have glasses on, (b) washing my hands so I don't pay attention, or (c) shaving/trimming hair, so I'm only paying attention to details. Me standing in front of a mirror simply to look at myself is different. My reaction seems even more strange, though, as I realize that, for a moment, I actually recognize myself, a feeling I haven't had in a while.
For a moment, I'm terribly confused. I've had my face one way for years now, THAT should be the face I recognize. Why do I feel like this is face that I own, not the one I've worn for longer than I really remember (the years have kinda blurred, don't judge me)? I've really never felt like I was staring at a stranger int he mirror before, but there is definitely a sense of "self" I feel now. Before, I was staring a picture, a rendering, but now... Now that's me looking back at me.
It's a personal revelation post! Feel free to ignore if you don't like reading introspective bull shit.
For those of you that don't know (which is probably not many people), I decided to remove the entirety of my facial hair this weekend. To some, I'm sure this is not a big thing, but considering it's been around a decade or so since I've completely removed the chin-fuzz, it was a big deal to most. Heck, it was a big deal to me, but I've had a hard time trying to figure out why.
So I take a look in the mirror a bit ago. This, in itself, is a bit strange: normally, when in front of a mirror, I'm either (a) blind, as I don't have glasses on, (b) washing my hands so I don't pay attention, or (c) shaving/trimming hair, so I'm only paying attention to details. Me standing in front of a mirror simply to look at myself is different. My reaction seems even more strange, though, as I realize that, for a moment, I actually recognize myself, a feeling I haven't had in a while.
For a moment, I'm terribly confused. I've had my face one way for years now, THAT should be the face I recognize. Why do I feel like this is face that I own, not the one I've worn for longer than I really remember (the years have kinda blurred, don't judge me)? I've really never felt like I was staring at a stranger int he mirror before, but there is definitely a sense of "self" I feel now. Before, I was staring a picture, a rendering, but now... Now that's me looking back at me.
Am I the Moon?
She is the wolf, baying at the moon. She cannot reach it, but it comes to her every day. Her want to be with it grows and grows, until she convinces herself that it's not her that wishes for the moon, but the moon that needs her. She runs and runs, howling all the time, but gets no closer.
What is the moon? Well, that is no simple question. The moon is many things; a father or mother, child or sibling; it could be a foreign land, or a hard-sought career; it could even be an unrequited love or personal riches. The point is not what the moon is now, but what it cannot be. It is what is unobtainable, whether that be now or forever, and the wolf finds themselves consumed by the singular desire to have it, despite knowing it can never be.
I am but the rain. I grant the reprieve, however short, masking the moon for a moment, just the time to wonder about everything else. The shadows become aware of each other, the wolf wonders if the moon that hides itself is worth its laments. I fall upon the mountains, and become the river. To those that come to see me, I grant a truth: I bring a reflection, the way to see oneself that, perhaps, they have not seen before.
The wolf came to the waters to find her reflection, and the sustenance of the river. I am but a flow; I follow the path where it may lead. I do not know where I might go, but I know the end, when I must join the others once again and become indiscernible, until the day I reach the sky once more and begin again.
The wolf runs with me. I do not know if its for what I showed her, or what I can provide her, or if she simply loves what I am. She has not forgotten the moon, but she does not let it consume her; when she has the river, she does not feel alone, does not feel the need of the moon, but instead tries to find herself along the banks. I can only hope the path will wind, so that we may have more time together, so that I can watch her run even though I do not know why she does.
Too soon, I see the shore, the beaches that tell me my journey will be ending. The wolf still runs even as I join the ocean, runs into the waters in hopes of trying not to lose that which had become so dear. I lose sight quickly, as I am dragged into the everything. I wait to begin again, and I wonder: what will the wolf think of me? Will she believe I left her? Will she stay by the ocean, wondering what she could have done? Will she wait for the rain once again?
Or will she return to where she once was, howling at the moon? There was once a reflection, and now there is only the wolf. So what have I become?
What is the moon? Well, that is no simple question. The moon is many things; a father or mother, child or sibling; it could be a foreign land, or a hard-sought career; it could even be an unrequited love or personal riches. The point is not what the moon is now, but what it cannot be. It is what is unobtainable, whether that be now or forever, and the wolf finds themselves consumed by the singular desire to have it, despite knowing it can never be.
I am but the rain. I grant the reprieve, however short, masking the moon for a moment, just the time to wonder about everything else. The shadows become aware of each other, the wolf wonders if the moon that hides itself is worth its laments. I fall upon the mountains, and become the river. To those that come to see me, I grant a truth: I bring a reflection, the way to see oneself that, perhaps, they have not seen before.
The wolf came to the waters to find her reflection, and the sustenance of the river. I am but a flow; I follow the path where it may lead. I do not know where I might go, but I know the end, when I must join the others once again and become indiscernible, until the day I reach the sky once more and begin again.
The wolf runs with me. I do not know if its for what I showed her, or what I can provide her, or if she simply loves what I am. She has not forgotten the moon, but she does not let it consume her; when she has the river, she does not feel alone, does not feel the need of the moon, but instead tries to find herself along the banks. I can only hope the path will wind, so that we may have more time together, so that I can watch her run even though I do not know why she does.
Too soon, I see the shore, the beaches that tell me my journey will be ending. The wolf still runs even as I join the ocean, runs into the waters in hopes of trying not to lose that which had become so dear. I lose sight quickly, as I am dragged into the everything. I wait to begin again, and I wonder: what will the wolf think of me? Will she believe I left her? Will she stay by the ocean, wondering what she could have done? Will she wait for the rain once again?
Or will she return to where she once was, howling at the moon? There was once a reflection, and now there is only the wolf. So what have I become?
Music in my Life
In a conversation with a new friend today, I came across one of those strange moments of personal insight. It's always nice having moments like that, but today it was a little awkward. This is mostly due to the fact that it happened at work. The insight itself wasn't awkward, of course; it was the strong desire to turn temporarily introspective that made the rest of the day difficult. Still, each of these moments are like a large blast of positive energy in my psyche, so I decided I shouldn't waste the moment and try to turn introspective now, while I have a chance.
I should move on to the revelation. Don't expect anything profound here; move on if you want something huge. I spurt those out in person; these rants are mostly for things I don't expect people to be interested in (well, except you, obviously). Anyway, the discussion was about strange tastes in music. Mine is quite odd. Many of the people I know have very eclectic tastes. It's been curious to me; seriously, even my own taste in music confounds me. I like rap music. Shocking, I know. Sure, I don't like all of it, but then again I really don't like any certain genre, just a few performers within it.
So, today I had my moment where it all started to make sense. I realized that a lot of why I like so many different kinds of music is because of the impact someone (or, in some cases, something) who introduced some aspect of the music to me. I never realized it before because, most of the time, I only really noticed the emotional impact the music would have on me. Today, I managed to trace it back a little more, and found the destination interesting.
It was an interesting revelation; music has become a little more that it was even with the emotional attachment. Now, it appeals to every sense. It's strange now, as listening to music, which was previously just something I did when I was doing something else, has kind of evolved into its own activity. Thankfully, it hasn't restricted my ability to enjoy music as I previously did: many other personal revelations unfortunately came with a downside, such as my general dislike of the ocean (no, I'm not sharing that story right now, so don't ask). But now I have options: I can still simply turn on the music and work on something else, or I can actually just listen to the music and cruise the memories and emotions.
New positive insight. I can't help but enjoy it while it lasts. Of course, I suppose I could just go listen to some MP3s...
I should move on to the revelation. Don't expect anything profound here; move on if you want something huge. I spurt those out in person; these rants are mostly for things I don't expect people to be interested in (well, except you, obviously). Anyway, the discussion was about strange tastes in music. Mine is quite odd. Many of the people I know have very eclectic tastes. It's been curious to me; seriously, even my own taste in music confounds me. I like rap music. Shocking, I know. Sure, I don't like all of it, but then again I really don't like any certain genre, just a few performers within it.
So, today I had my moment where it all started to make sense. I realized that a lot of why I like so many different kinds of music is because of the impact someone (or, in some cases, something) who introduced some aspect of the music to me. I never realized it before because, most of the time, I only really noticed the emotional impact the music would have on me. Today, I managed to trace it back a little more, and found the destination interesting.
It was an interesting revelation; music has become a little more that it was even with the emotional attachment. Now, it appeals to every sense. It's strange now, as listening to music, which was previously just something I did when I was doing something else, has kind of evolved into its own activity. Thankfully, it hasn't restricted my ability to enjoy music as I previously did: many other personal revelations unfortunately came with a downside, such as my general dislike of the ocean (no, I'm not sharing that story right now, so don't ask). But now I have options: I can still simply turn on the music and work on something else, or I can actually just listen to the music and cruise the memories and emotions.
New positive insight. I can't help but enjoy it while it lasts. Of course, I suppose I could just go listen to some MP3s...
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