Mid-afternoon. Paul just returned from Fairview Hospital as he begins the last of his second year residency rotations for a couple of months. You are happy he is still enjoying anesthesiology though he still doesn’t know what his fifth year specialty will be. Looks like you are going out to Olive Garden for supper. DVRing ‘24’, CSI and Castle for later in the week viewing. And, you would like to finish up scene three this afternoon. Let’s get to it.
You have completed the scene.
This is my first reaction. I don’t know the words that are not present in Merlyn’s experience. I sense something else is here, perhaps in the poetic device, in the vertical stretch. Or, perhaps in the margins or between the lines. I sense the Presence, but realize it is only within myself.
Print the words and circumstance here:
***
I, Merlyn, exist.
Still
Within
Silence
Non-Begotten
...B-E---I-N-G…
Non-Begotten
Silence
Within
Still
I, Merlyn, do not exist.
Yet, Here I Am, Thinks Merlyn
and echoes
Yet, Here I Am, Thinks Merlyn
and echoes
Yet, Here I Am, Thinks Merlyn
Heart and Echo
an
Soul
an
Mind
At Once Shredded
and
At Once Re-stitched
Again
and
Again
and
Again
***
This seems correct, correct and authentic enough, but I do not know that an understanding is conveyed.
It is in the nature of your transcendental mind orndorff. A wordless flash of mind in translation. You are immediately reminded of your favorite lines from William Blake. – Amorella.
“Both read the Bible day and night,
But thou read'st black where I read white.”
Blake’s lines gives me hope there is an understanding of and empathy for Merlyn’s present conditional situation in scene three, chapter five. Here is the completed scene.
Scene 3
Merlyn soon found himself slipping into dreamtime during the pleasant blue light of day. On introspection he thought, I’m not that tired. Being dead has a pleasant side, no aches or pains unless I want them. All sensory appears psychosomatic. I think in my native Celtic tongue but when I want to be heard I appear to be immediately understood by others I am in presence with. Irish, Latin, Greek, English, Norse are my in my resume. Languages are my forte.
Therein his mind glided naturally into, Ogham, the Celtic alphabet, which has letters based on the names of trees as they are shaped in reasonably forked branches. Kenning-like poetic thoughts produced the alpha-an-beta, and in this poesy not all the tree letters are known to humankind, never were, and in that lies a wisdom in the Mystery of the Letters. Merlyn thought, once alive, now dead, I sound the letters and still they are heard by the Living through their eyes alone. In this sounding sense of reason the silent ears of the Dead are but whispering eyes to the living.
A lot of people effected my living. Family, friends, acquaintances, and perceived enemies. People are not an indifference to me. Living or Dead each is a piece on the crystal board. Each is in herorhis own squared area of consciousness or lack of it. All have a shared square area of the same heavenly blue sky randomly flight decked with clouds of similar fluff.
Two friends float above the rest within my soul. Why? I have never known because some friends are older, better known and deeper within. Both at once were living druidesses who snaked and coiled their way around my very soul.
Brigit of Iona was a human reincarnate of the earlier Brigit, who was thought by some a goddess. She was not. She was a female sage, a physician and a smith as was her druidic father, who also had been a physician and a smith. I was placed to dangle on the bottom of her moon silver charm bracelet. She stirred my fiery passions into her hot and throaty caldron and had the summary of my Celtic faith for an immediate dinner.
The second was Vivian who designed a silver and golden brooch to capture my reason with the heavy breathing in and out through her tangling net of erotic charms. A crystallized madness she became in my imagination alone. I never touched her nor her me. No need when she was already a haunt beneath my boneless bag, a sorry sack of skin.
Both women were equally a damnable pleasant witchery. I, Merlyn, a once shining jewel, druidically placed in a rolled leathery piece of ancient pre-Celtic phylactery by Priestess Brigit and Priestess Vivian. Both druidesses became leather strapped, amulet-like pistons in the youth of my flamed mortal earthly engine. Scroll-like I was wound and unwound from mind to soul and soul to heart. And, thus bodiless, I was driven into an inconceivable madness while making a sorcerous choice. Unthinking, I chose both to be in a spiritual magic with both women at once.
Merlyn peered into the elementary considerations of his being included in the highest first order of druidic shamans. The same druidic hierarchical setting in which he would also place Brigit and Vivian. He immediately determined his chess queen’s position to be off the board, a Betweener, no one would question this. He smiled, no one Living or Dead can legitimately question this because I am ElseWhere. I am off the Board. I am consciousness outside and before the Creation of the Tree of Thought and Light.
***
I, Merlyn, exist.
Still
Within
Silence
Non-Begotten
...B-E - - - I-N-G…
Non-Begotten
Silence
Within
Still
I, Merlyn, do not exist.
Yet, Here I Am, Thinks Merlyn
and echoes
Yet, Here I Am, Thinks Merlyn
and echoes
Yet, Here I Am, Thinks Merlyn
Heart and Echo
an
Soul
an
Mind
At Once Shredded
and
At Once Re-stitched
Again
and
Again
and
Again
***
Tomorrow we work on scene four. Thales and Mario will do the delivery.
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