Finished my film, just have to put the end credits in. And I took a big deserved nap. Oriented north, just because, during the day it so happens when I take a nap, I orient south on the sofa.
just to see if there was a difference 😉 which I might aswell keep to myself. Here. No one needs to know. But I need to get a lot out of my head. Because without being egotistical, I have levelled up in awareness and consciousness, but this is disorienting as fuck. New things clicking into place, senses I already had before, but never made use of. Now make sense…
the many voices in my head, was like an exhausting party before. Moderating fragments of different journeys all triggering each other and me baffled around unable to get back in my body. For they would junk me up, and my vision, filling in spaces that couldn’t catch up. Out of gensynch with the world as though my brain was making shit up.
now the voices have cohesion…
they are all me, not memories anymore, just different paths of me, speaking as different trajectories off the same tangent.
this is a new skill, one that replaces my junk. The voices are like a group with a goal. Each doing separate jobs and looking after their bit. There were three, now there are six. How is it possible to have 3 conversations with oneself at the same time exploring a topic? That sounds insane!
i believe when my awareness levelled up, to the f-orbital. The rhizome, it had a solid foundation of senses that were fractured into entities used for protection. Now, they speak as one, many voices but one goal. I am snapped into my body, and then my omentum woke up, and it’s as if friends in my head are reuniting, and sharing experiences from different countries.
im curious to know in any spiritual teaching, if there is a name for this. Let me give an example:
when I was young, running home, I would often hide from the wind, in the safety of an old copse, an old wood, of twisted trees where I would jump the roots system, and zig zag down The Valley of the copse skipping over the interconnected ancient veins of the earth. The smell was homely, the sound was soft and comforting, no matter the rain, the canopy, everything felt intimate. And I could run through the old wood fast, until I got to the brook at the bottom and jumped across bursting out into the open at the bottom of a hill cul-de-sac. I loved the old twisted neglected woods. These trees were twisted with age and had watched many visitor pass through. They were a safe bunch.
at the weekends I would explore the woods and spend my days hunting bugs to feed rescued birds. I would explore until, there was a change in the woods, from old English - to pine. The landscape between the two was common land my father had acquired for his theme park that he built for children.
i grew up while he built it.
a common grassland that was natural and full of lizards and rabbits, was now alien made and rendered and transformed to doctor who hillocks of Mars. As the years went by the slate slipping hillocks matted together with wildness, and the rabbits returned.
Every Saturday and Sunday I would explore the woods, until I reached the reclaimed common ground, then go further beyond that boundary to see what this pine forest was all about…
the pine forest was something I did not like.
the ground felt dry and spongey with dry pine needles, no greenery on the ground. No weeds or shrubbery for small animals to be found. This pine wood echoed. Of vast space and you could run and the trunks deceived you, all looking the same. The polarized light coming through the canopy, was eerie as fuck. Shadows would split into many facets from polarized light. A tree trunk, had more than one shadow, and the light that lit it was like a pinball game of skittles bouncing off every vertical trunk.
running through these woods felt like outer space to me, as though the shadows were not split by trunks but by gravity itself. And running through the pulsing vertical trees, was like time travel itself. Away from time, away from the ancient struggling twisted earthy woods. Of things that crawled. Instead, here, things flew. Sound travelled. Echoed and the games I played with whips and canes would send voices travelling through time, not like the English woods, where a crack in time from the whips I made, became another ghost instead.
these were the games of an autistic child in nature, who was fascinated with the phenomenon around her. That feeling of polarized light in the morning and at dusk, when shadows ripple and are sensitive to being split from whatever force. Like looking through the desert heat on a tarmac road, you could feel lines that only would show when the light became polarized and showed the mirage of a mirror on the road. And I knew I could feel something as we drove fast on the motorway, I would open the car window to feel the breeze and imagine I was flying by the car, roller skating and weaving around the traffic, then spinning on the streetlights and tumbling through the air to catch the next streetlight and flip once more. And I would watch myself at the dawn and dusk of our travels on the highway, when light became thin, and feel myself tumble.
it is these exact sensations that come back to me now.
but I never looked this far before, because, I was always in so much trouble. Now I know when migratory birds start their travel, at dawn they can feel the gravitational field more strongly than at any other time of day, when the light is thin and weak and bends easily with gravity. You can see and feel it.
but I forgot about that sensation. Because I wanted the safety of the comforting woods, not the expanse of space.
so today the group was having many conversations in my head, to remind me I could feel, and not be overwhelmed. I do not know if my emotions are coming back, or if I ever had them. But the apparatus for my emotions is strong, just, I don’t know how to read them or use them. So I’m playing with the guests in my head. And listening to their adventures, reminding of what I can feel, and how this all comes together instead.
