Cat play, breakfast and the paper. In fifteen minutes a painter will be here to give an estimate and this afternoon another painter will give his estimate. Carol is watering the front lawn on this cool Tuesday morning.
You are sitting in the chair weeping because M— said D— cried when she read him the news about Bob. You are weeping because D— cried and this is something you have not experienced in such a long time.
The empathy with my cousin D— is such – but I have not felt this level of connection before. Shutting my eyes before wiping the unsought tears I saw a flash of D—, I felt his face in my face, that is the grimace in the face, though I have not seen D— cry for a very, very long time – in childhood. I do not understand how, at times, I have such an empathetic imagination, such a transference to allow myself to become him just long enough to register consciously. It is embarrassing to think I am such a sensitive bearing fellow. I do not see myself that way at all, in fact, the masculinity in me rejects such a notion whole-heartedly. Why is this so embedded in me not to show that I have emotion? . . . Now, a few moments later I read back over this paragraph and it seems silly and childish, like I am four or five years old and even at that age should know better.
I would call this phenomenon self-hypnotic automaticity. This is something I am not. It appears to be akin to empathetically relating to the characters in the stories, to feel their joy and pain. Whatever it is, it is useful to a writer. . . . You see, even now you were afraid I was going to use the word ‘artist’ rather than ‘writer’ (Dali and Hemingway popped on your mind before artist and writer). Do you see? Okay, old man, let’s get a smile out of you, a little added gallows humor if you will.
Imagine this is basic human behavior and a person who does not realize and accept this is meeting an angelic figure for the first time and the question pops up, “WHO ARE YOU?”
You see, in the stories it is quite realistic to have an immediately effected heartanmind become enclosed in the protective pod of the soul in completely unnecessary SELF-TERROR. Post as a friendly reminder by a friendly inner advisor. – Amorella.
It is rather comical when viewed by your conditions. Funny in a dark sort of Laurel and Hardy way.
Mid-afternoon. You just reread the above and realize that you did not post “as a friendly reminder” and wonder if you should change it. Pray tell; think of the implications should I tell you to change it?
That I do not have the free will to change it as you wished it to be? . . . Okay, so I’ll change it.]
Back to the question “Who Are You?” – note the present tense. It is not who were you five seconds ago, a year ago, even a lifetime ago, it is present tense as the Angel asks the question. The “Who Are You Now?” is immediate an understood as such. An addition sometimes reasoned as ‘I am not standing on solid ground; thus, you the Angel are solid ground.’ The Angel is not standing on solid ground because the reflection is that the Angel IS Solid Ground. You see, this thinking was already in your head when you wrote the Dedication. If you or anyone reads back through it with this concept in mind will see it is inferred in context with the addition here that the Place of the Dead IS an Angel. Upon seeing the Angel (if you will) the heartansoulanmind realizes that without the body/brain components Life is a metaphor takes on a more perceptive meaning (even though this too, the metaphor, may also be a ‘false’ perception).
I really don’t know how I/You do this. Yet, when I read the previous paragraph, it makes sense. It makes me wonder if “in the act of creating” it is possible for the heartansoulanmind, to pre-condition a future direction of the concept being created? An unconscious self-fulfilling prophecy of further creative effort along the same lines; the continued building of a roadway of thought out of scratch; a layer upon a layer of foundation on which to finally walk out an idea?
To add to your humor, have this thought road Angelic, have it built of Solid Ground. – Amorella.
Such humor. Platonic thinkers might like this. It brings a Mona Lisa-like smile on my face.
To you it is humor. See how far you have come, naughty boy, slowly setting your inner self apart from the cultural foundations you were born and raised into. – Amorella.
Being old, I don’t care as much where I stand, Amorella, but the more reasonable solid ground the better I like it.
I see you have a good ways to go, but this gives you pause for thinking which is fine for now. Post. – Amorella.
Late afternoon. You are sitting in the waiting room of the Mr. Clean Performance Car Wash on Mason-Montgomery Road for the green 2005 Honda to get a super clean and polish for the upcoming trip.
I am wondering about how it is with Bob. I linger, not as he does and not in a morbid way. I feel like an old dog sitting by his master – this is my condition.
You just thought about apologizing for such a thought as if this was an entertainment blog and you want to please your audience. Not the case. Such is the cultural conditioning in your mind and heart, but not in your soul, boy. I that is where I am addressing you from. People who read this for its entertainment value need to see where they are. Do you think your soul exists for your entertainment? Your soul, not Richard’s. This is a thinking blog. You see what Richard sees. He sees thoughts and considerations. He weighs and considers. That’s what this is about, orndorff. The honest thoughts go down to be shared, all but those I deem private. You always have the free will to erase. You have from time to time. These questions are for a species’ perspective because that is how you have to see the world in these books.
I don’t mind, Amorella. I understand this. I would rather be more ‘attached’ to the species anyway. I might learn to see a different perspective on the world. It doesn’t have to be better, just different enough for the thinking and considering.
Night has settled. You and Carol enjoyed two of your favorite Monday night shows tonight after the national news – ‘The Closer’ and ‘Rizzoli and Isles’. Now you are settling in on a comment you declared earlier today: “. . . the more reasonable solid ground the better I like it.”
I have a tendency to vacillate between Plato and Aristotle. If I feel I have gone too far in one direction I will move in the other for a more balanced approach. I really like the idea here of an Angel being a Platonic Form and the Land of the Dead hollowed out within.
“Hallowed out” would be more appropriate. – Amorella.
Like this blog and books ‘hollowed/hallowed’ out of an imagined personal experience?
I hit a nerve. – Amorella.
“WHO ARE YOU, ORNDORFF?”
Presently, I have no idea. I have a body and brain and I have what I call a heartansoulanmind, but other than it being the kernel of my human essence I have no idea. This doesn’t even sound Platonic or Aristotelian either. Hypothetically, I am inside out. I have no name as such. Essence of human sounds like a perfume or smell depending on one’s point of view. Hypothetically, who are you, Amorella?
. . . I am not afraid to ask questions of myself or anyone or anything else? My mind’s eye is open. My heart’s voice is clear. My soul stands as an open gate. That is how I see myself hypothetically, Amorella. Who am I? Like everyone else who is human, an individual, I am an independent entity of the human species. I do not own a name on this level, hypothetically. I don’t need one. This is all I need for a response, whether I am living or dead, either way, hypothetically, whether you are a real Angel or not, hypothetically.
That’s the spirit, boy. Now you know how you would respond, hypothetically. Post. – Amorella.
Self-testing me?
Real enough to be real. A sign of an imaginary writer. – Amorella.
But I am real, Amorella.
That’s my point, boy. Post. – Amorella.
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