Up and settling into routine though more chores and errands to do today.
I was wrong about a dead person yesterday, each is worth an addition to the body count and burial expenses, etc. Once the dead individual’s debts are paid and sheorhe is buried or otherwise properly disposed of; then nothing official is left as far as I can see. You might as well have had “No Name” except for the history of your tax, social security, health, family, honors received, religious affiliation and military records. Wow. There is more history to a dead body than what I first supposed. I wonder what any of that is worth upon arriving to HeavenOrHellBothOrNeither?
As you are speaking only to the Merlyn series and the blog, not much. Birth, relationships and affiliations, and death pretty much says it all. – Amorella
From what you say, a person dead might just as well not continue, yet in the Merlyn series the Dead continue. Why is that?
Imagination and hope for the Living, boy. – Amorella
How utterly depressing.
It would be if it were not for the imagination and hope.
I think you’ve hit the most basic bottom of the human condition here, Amorella.
Bottom and the top, boy. Post. - Amorella
Carol just returned from a routine doctor’s visit. You ran a couple errands and stopped by to see Mary Ann about a haircut tomorrow morning. You decided to define imagination and hope via your Oxford-American Mac software and by Wikipedia. This is fine because you not have the wherewithal in your mind to accept words at their face value.
I accept words everyday without having to look them up, but I want to make sure we are speaking about imagination and hope in the same context.
You had lunch at Longhorn but Drew rather than Jennifer was your server. The food, however, was excellent to both your tastes. You have finished ‘editing’ the Wikipedia articles which can easily be checked out online. You are concerned about the combined length of your sourced material but I am not. If it were up to me I would post the three completed Merlyn novels online for free as you first suggested before originally sending them to a publisher for hire. Your argument: “this book, Braided Dreams, was given to me for free; it should be given to others who are interested for free also.” However; this is not the layout of your world, orndorff.
** ** **
imagination - noun
the faculty or action of forming new ideas, or images or concepts of external objects not present to the senses: she'd never been blessed with a vivid imagination.
• the ability of the mind to be creative or resourceful: technology gives workers the chance to use their imagination.
• the part of the mind that imagines things: a girl who existed only in my imagination.
From: the Oxford-American
** **
Imagination
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia [slightly edited and underlined]
Imagination, also called the faculty of imagining, is the ability of forming mental images, sensations and concepts, in a moment when they are not perceived through sight, hearing or other senses. Imagination helps provide meaning to experience and understanding to knowledge; it is a fundamental facility through which people make sense of the world, and it also plays a key role in the learning process. A basic training for imagination is listening to storytelling (narrative), in which the exactness of the chosen words is the fundamental factor to "evoke worlds."
It is accepted as the innate ability and process of inventing partial or complete personal realms within the mind from elements derived from sense perceptions of the shared world. The term is technically used in psychology for the process of reviving in the mind, percepts of objects formerly given in sense perception. Since this use of the term conflicts with that of ordinary language, some psychologists have preferred to describe this process as "imaging" or "imagery" or to speak of it as "reproductive" as opposed to "productive" or "constructive" imagination. Imagined images are seen with the "mind’s eye."
Imagination can also be expressed through stories such as fairy tales or fantasies. Most famous inventions or entertainment products were developed from the inspiration of someone's imagination.
Children often use narratives or pretend play in order to exercise their imagination. When children develop fantasy they play at two levels: first, they use role playing to act out what they have developed with their imagination, and at the second level they play again with their make-believe situation by acting as if what they have developed is an actual reality that already exists in narrative myth.
Description
"Imagination is an effort of the mind to develop a discourse that had previously been known, a development of a concept of what is already there by the help of our reason, to develop a results of new thinking." The common use of the term is for the process of forming new images in the mind that have not been previously experienced with the help of what has been seen, heard, or felt before, or at least only partially or in different combinations. Some typical examples follow: Fairy Tale and Fiction.
• A form of verisimilitude often invoked in fantasy and science fiction invites readers to pretend such stories are true by referring to objects of the mind such as fictional books or years that do not exist apart from an imaginary world.
•
Imagination in this sense, not being limited to the acquisition of exact knowledge by the requirements of practical necessity, is, up to a certain point, free from objective restraints. The ability to imagine one's self in another person's place is very important to social relations and understanding. Albert Einstein said, "Imagination ... is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world."
But in reality, without knowledge, imagination cannot be developed.
In various spheres, however, even imagination is in practice limited: thus a person whose imaginations do violence to the elementary laws of thought, or to the necessary principles of practical possibility, or to the reasonable probabilities of a given case is regarded as insane.
The same limitations beset imagination in the field of scientific hypothesis. Progress in scientific research is due largely to provisional explanations which are developed by imagination, but such hypotheses must be framed in relation to previously ascertained facts and in accordance with the principles of the particular science.
Imagination is an experimental partition of the mind used to develop theories and ideas based on functions. Taking objects from real perceptions, the imagination uses complex IF-functions to develop new or revised ideas. This part of the mind is vital to developing better and easier ways to accomplish old and new tasks. These experimental ideas can be safely conducted inside a virtual world and then, if the idea is probable and the function is true, the idea can be actualized in reality. Imagination is the key to new development of the mind and can be shared with others, progressing collectively.
Regarding the volunteer effort, imagination can be classified as:
▪ voluntary (the dream from the sleep, the daydream)
▪ involuntary (the reproductive imagination, the creative imagination, the dream of perspective
▪
Psychology of imagination
Psychologists have studied imaginative thought, not only in its exotic form of creativiy and artistic expression but also in its mundane form of everyday imagination. Ruth M.J. Byrne has proposed that everyday imaginative thoughts about counterfactual alternatives to reality may be based on the same cognitive processes that rational thoughts are based on. Children can engage in the creation of imaginative alternatives to reality from their very early years.
Imagination and Memory
Memory and imagination have been shown to be affected by one another, found through research in Priscilla Long's piece My Brain On My Mind "Images made by functional magnetic resonance imaging technology show that remembering and imagining sends blood to identical parts of the brain." An optimal balance of intrinsic, extraneous, and germane form of information processing can heighten the chance of the brain to retain information as long-term memories, rather than short term, memories. This is significant because experiences stored as long term memories are easier to be recalled, as they are ingrained deeper in the mind. Each of these forms requires information to be taught in a specific manner so as to use various regions of the brain when being processed. This information can potentially help develop programs for young students to cultivate or further enhance their creative abilities from a young age. The Neocortex and Thalamus are responsible for controlling the brain's imagination, along with many of the brain's other functions such as consciousness and abstract thought. Since imagination involves many different brain functions, such as emotions, memory, thoughts etc., portions of the brain where multiple functions occur -- such as the Thalamus and Neocortex -- are the main regions where imaginative processing has been documented. The understanding of how memory and imagination are linked in the brain, paves the way to better understand one's ability to link significant past experiences with their imagination.
Imagination and perception
From the work of Piaget it is known that perceptions depend on the world view of a person. The world view is the result of arranging perceptions into existing imagery by imagination. Piaget cites the example of a child saying that the moon is following her when she walks around the village at night. Like this, perceptions are integrated into the world view to make sense. Imagination is needed to make sense of perceptions.
Imagination vs. belief
Imagination differs fundamentally from belief because the subject understands that what is personally invented by the mind does not necessarily impact the course of action taken in the apparently shared world, while beliefs are part of what one holds as truths about both the shared and personal worlds. The play of imagination, apart from the obvious limitations (e.g. of avoiding explicit self-contradiction), is conditioned only by the general trend of the mind at a given moment. Belief, on the other hand, is immediately related to practical activity: it is perfectly possible to imagine oneself a millionaire, but unless one believes it one does not, therefore, act as such. Belief endeavors to conform to the subject's experienced conditions or faith in the possibility of those conditions; whereas imagination as such is specifically free. The dividing line between imagination and belief varies widely in different stages of technological development. Thus in more extreme cases, someone from a primitive culture who ill frames an ideal reconstruction of the causes of his illness, and attributes it to the hostile magic of an enemy based on faith and tradition rather than science. In ignorance of the science of pathology the subject is satisfied with this explanation, and actually believes in it, sometimes to the point of death, due to what is known as the nocebo effect.
It follows that the learned distinction between imagination and belief depends in practice on religion, tradition, and culture.
Imagination as a reality
The world as experienced is an interpretation of data arriving from the senses; as such, it is perceived as real by contrast to most thoughts and imaginings. Users of hallucinogenic drugs are said to have a heightened imagination. This difference is only one of degree and can be altered by several historic causes, namely changes to brain chemistry, hypnosis or other altered states of consciousness, meditation, many hallucinogenic drugs, and electricity applied directly to specific parts of the brain. The difference between imagined and perceived reality can be proven by psychosis. Many mental illnesses can be attributed to this inability to distinguish between the sensed and the internally created worlds. Some cultures and traditions even view the apparently shared world as an illusion of the mind as with the Buddhist [& Hinduism] maya [“the power by which the universe becomes manifest; the illusion or appearance of the phenomenal world” – Oxford-American], or go to the opposite extreme and accept the imagined and dreamed realms as of equal validity to the apparently shared world as the Australian Aborigines do with their concept of dreamtime.
Imagination, because of having freedom from external limitations, can often become a source of real pleasure and unnecessary suffering. Consistent with this idea, imagining pleasurable and fearful events is found to engage emotional circuits involved in emotional perception and experience. A person of vivid imagination often suffers acutely from the imagined perils besetting friends, relatives, or even strangers such as celebrities. Also crippling fear can result from taking an imagined painful future too seriously.
Imagination can also produce some symptoms of real illnesses. In some cases, they can seem so "real" that specific physical manifestations occur such as rashes and bruises appearing on the skin, as though imagination had passed into belief or the events imagined were actually in progress. See, for example, psychosomatic illness and folie a deux [“delusion or mental illness shared by two people in close association” – Oxford-American].
It has also been proposed that the whole of human cognition is based upon imagination. That is, nothing that is perceived is purely observation but all is a morph between sense and imagination.
From Wikipedia
** **
** **
hope - noun
1 a feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen: he looked through her belongings in the hope of coming across some information | I had high hopes of making the Olympic team.
• a person or thing that may help or save someone: their only hope is surgery.
• grounds for believing that something good may happen: he does see some hope for the future.
2 archaic a feeling of trust.
From: the Oxford-American
**
NOTE: This article's tone or style may not reflect the formal tone used on Wikipedia
Hope [slightly edited]
Hope is the emotional state, the opposite of which is despair, which promotes the belief in a positive outcome related to events and circumstances in one's life. It is the "feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best" or the act of "looking forward to with desire and reasonable confidence" or "feeling that something desired may happen". Other definitions are "to cherish a desire with anticipation"; "to desire with expectation of obtainment"; or "to expect with confidence". In the English language the word can be used as either a noun or a verb, although hope as a concept has a similar meaning in either use.
In psychology
One psychologist argues that hope "...comes into play when our circumstances are dire", when "things are not going well or at least there’s considerable uncertainty about how things will turn out". She states that "hope literally opens us up...[and] removes the blinders of fear and despair and allows us to see the big picture, thus allowing us to] become creative" and have "belief in a better future".
"Psychologist, C.R. Snyder and his colleagues say that hope is cultivated when we have a goal in mind, determination that a goal can be reached, and a plan on how to reach those goals". Hopeful people are "like the little engine that could, [because] they keep telling themselves "I think I can, I think I can".
Hope is distinct from positive thinking, which refers to a therapeutic or systematic process used in psychology for reversing pessimism. The term "false hope" refers to a hope based entirely around a fantasy or an extremely unlikely outcome.
As a literary concept
Hope is a common theme in cultural works across the world, and has a strong place in both classical and contemporary western literature as well as in works of world literature.
A classic reference which has generally entered modern parlance is the concept that "Hope springs eternal" taken from Alexander Pope's Essay on Man, the phrase reading "Hope springs eternal in the human breast, Man never is, but always to be blest:"
Hope is key concept in many classic and contemporary fictional works. It can be used as a plot device and is often a motivating force for change in dynamic characters. A commonly understood reference from western popular culture is to the subtitle "A New Hope" from the original first installment (now considered Episode IV) in the Star Wars science fiction epic space opera. The subtitle refers to one of the lead characters, Luke Skywalker, who is expected in the future to allow good to triumph over evil within the plot of the films.
In religion
Hope is a key concept in most major world religions, often signifying the "hope" that an individual or a collective group will reach a concept of heaven. . . .
From Wikipedia
** ** **
Post, this mid-afternoon. - Amorella
Moving on towards suppertime. I did my weights plus ten minutes on the treadmill at two miles per hour to accustom myself to the walking. I stopped the walking every five minutes then sat for a time until the pain subsided mostly in my hip and knee joints. The weights are really dumbbells – only eight pounds each, but they help my shoulders and arm muscles as far as tone goes. I also use the two eight pounders together on arm muscle exercises. One would not think this would help me feel better but it does – 30 to 45 minutes a day when home. Sometimes it is every other day. I do have some stretch bands that I can take with me to Cleveland; Paul has his own fifteen-pounder dumbbells I can and do use. I just checked the dictionary – I did not know dumbbells were first used to help ring church bells two centuries ago. Now, with no bell attached they are dumbbells (without sound), akin to deaf and dumb no doubt but deaf people can sign and today many learn to speak, even if haltingly. Interesting tidbit. I love the dictionary and encyclopedias – there always seem something worth looking up. Left over Papa John pizza for supper. It really tasted good last night (as usual); it has been some time, more than a month since we had our local Papa John’s – we love their large, half veggie, half works, two pieces per meal. I feel like a know some of the work crew and the manager as I have been going to this Papa John’s when it used to be seven or so miles south, on Rt. 42 in Pisgah (West Chester Township), now it is just off Rt. 42 in Mason. Glad they moved our way. Last night, one of the new fellows introduced himself by asking if I was the Mr. Orndorff who once taught at Mason High and I was delighted to say yes because I had his mother and father in class together some years ago. I wished him and the family well. I remember when he was about four and we were first introduced on Trick or Treat night when his parents brought him around the neighborhood because several of their high school teachers live in our neck of the woods, partly behind Rose Hill Cemetery and across from the present high school. Funny, we can see the cemetery at the other end of the street. I always like cemeteries as they can be quite beautiful and sublime at the same time. I still have the gravedigger in me I suppose.
Not like the one in your short story though. – Amorella
No. I don’t know where that story is. He was a bit mad, hacking away at roots if I remember right. Didn’t know when to stop and I think the ax got the better of him. I thought it was dark-humored enough but it never sold. Uh, don’t ask, Amorella. I don’t think it relates to these modern Merlyn and blog days.
I think it ought to be ‘hanging out’ here – it is graveyard humor if nothing else. – Amorella
I would have to dig for it in the basement files. (I can’t help it, your humor is catching.)
Good. Later, post old man. Show your small reading audience where your mind comes from – imagination-wise, in any case. – Amorella
"The Gravedigger" (unpublished) was written in the 1980's (I think). I'll see if I can locate it after the national news. I really am not sure where it is -- one of the basement boxes. Who knows. All it shows is that I have an overactive imagination, at least I hope that is all it shows. - rho
Moving on towards suppertime. I did my weights plus ten minutes on the treadmill at two miles per hour to accustom myself to the walking. I stopped the walking every five minutes then sat for a time until the pain subsided mostly in my hip and knee joints. The weights are really dumbbells – only eight pounds each, but they help my shoulders and arm muscles as far as tone goes. I also use the two eight pounders together on arm muscle exercises. One would not think this would help me feel better but it does – 30 to 45 minutes a day when home. Sometimes it is every other day. I do have some stretch bands that I can take with me to Cleveland; Paul has his own fifteen-pounder dumbbells I can and do use. I just checked the dictionary – I did not know dumbbells were first used to help ring church bells two centuries ago. Now, with no bell attached they are dumbbells (without sound), akin to deaf and dumb no doubt but deaf people can sign and today many learn to speak, even if haltingly. Interesting tidbit. I love the dictionary and encyclopedias – there always seem something worth looking up. Left over Papa John pizza for supper. It really tasted good last night (as usual); it has been some time, more than a month since we had our local Papa John’s – we love their large, half veggie, half works, two pieces per meal. I feel like a know some of the work crew and the manager as I have been going to this Papa John’s when it used to be seven or so miles south, on Rt. 42 in Pisgah (West Chester Township), now it is just off Rt. 42 in Mason. Glad they moved our way. Last night, one of the new fellows introduced himself by asking if I was the Mr. Orndorff who once taught at Mason High and I was delighted to say yes because I had his mother and father in class together some years ago. I wished him and the family well. I remember when he was about four and we were first introduced on Trick or Treat night when his parents brought him around the neighborhood because several of their high school teachers live in our neck of the woods, partly behind Rose Hill Cemetery and across from the present high school. Funny, we can see the cemetery at the other end of the street. I always like cemeteries as they can be quite beautiful and sublime at the same time. I still have the gravedigger in me I suppose.
Not like the one in your short story though. – Amorella
No. I don’t know where that story is. He was a bit mad, hacking away at roots if I remember right. Didn’t know when to stop and I think the ax got the better of him. I thought it was dark-humored enough but it never sold. Uh, don’t ask, Amorella. I don’t think it relates to these modern Merlyn and blog days.
I think it ought to be ‘hanging out’ here – it is graveyard humor if nothing else. – Amorella
I would have to dig for it in the basement files. (I can’t help it, your humor is catching.)
Good. Later, post old man. Show your small reading audience where your mind comes from – imagination-wise, in any case. – Amorella
I cannot believe how easy it was to find. First four files I looked at and it was the last, only six inches in on the box at least two and a half feet long.
You and Carol watched three TV shows from three weeks ago as you begin catching up on your many shared favorite entertainment. You would rather retype than scan and fix.
©1987 First Serial Rights
Richard H. Orndorff 1150 words
THE GRAVE DIGGER [Unpublished]
By R. C. McKims [pseudonym]
Squirrelly McMann tugged at the large, lower root protruding the earthen wall deep in the corner of the gravesite. Damnable tree, he thought, here it is my last day as caretaker, and I have to dig the bloody barrow out with an axe. As Squirrelly accidently touched the blade, McMann sensed a tingling through his right shoulder blade. He gave the spot a good scrabbing. “Bugs under my clothes,” muttered Squirrelly to himself. His gry, squinting eyes quickly inspected the emptiness. He blinked into a sad face and reflected on how the bugs got outside. McMann sensed his brain shutting down in a kind of hum. Squirrelly said, “I wonder what?” while McMann scratched his right ear and focused on chopping the roots out. Squirrelly’s arm hacked away at the roots until the plot’s south corner stood clean. He picked up the root endings and threw them topside. He then stood quiet – his old eyes wanted to stare at the dirt clogging his fingernails, but McMann clawed at his forearm. Damnable itch, thought Squirrelly, I’ve become what I dig. McMann cleaned his nails while Squirrelly brooded about how he read too much.
‘For what?’ whispered an intimate voice, ‘a book a week for forty years – caretakers don’t need books – books is for them that don’t understand their natures. You know the truth, Squirrelly, you is as good as dead, just like the rest of us.’
McMann rented his chin. Damnable bugs, I fancy – they crawl in my bones. He took the shovel and eye-leveled the grave’s bottom. Got to keep the beds level, got to keep the dead resting in peace. It’s an art, thought Squirrelly, and I am soon out of it. McMann returned to his axe and smoothed the long east side of the hole. He wiped his brow as his mind spun into a cold sweat. Squirrelly wondered, how can the world be in two places at once? He hesitated, words are a lot like this digging business. McMann focused on the narrower north wall, nipping at small sucker roots. He speculated on how the suckers were like worms reaching for food.
‘Whack ‘em off, McMann!’ shouted a voice in his right arm. ‘Hey, let the damn tree bleed. I hate them suckers!’
McMann sliced the be-jesus out of the roots, then stopped just as suddenly. Squirrelly re-wiped his brow and pushed his gold wire-framed glasses back up onto his nose. He rubbed the left side of his face to relieve the itching. Damnable bugs. His eyes drifted to the large oak branches looming above. He thought, limbs soar from my head in many directions. Spent leaves must fall.
Squirrelly smiled like a twist in the breeze. This is the fairy time, I’ve read all about the fairy world. He deliberated momentarily, I know the dead. His face appeared timeless and queer, tomorrow is Halloween, he thought, and come Monday, I’ll be in retirement. Squirrelly grimaced, no more cold and wintry graves, no more snowy silence to suck my soul. I do my job well. He shook his head, nobody cares for the dead anymore.
Squirrelly though about his ancient books. It’s Samhain time, sacred eve of fairies and the dead. McMann suddenly felt the need to urinate. Squirrelly quickly shut the plumbing down. His mind thickened to a verse:
‘Stones in a circle, fairies in a ring;
I sit in my heart so my head can sing.’
That’s pretty good, smiled McMann broadly as he blinked the dust from his face. He felt his hand dig its nails down into his grayish hair. Damnable itching, grumbled a darkness within.
Squirrelly heard his mind deflate. The caretaker felt a strange power surge through his old dilapidated frame. He sensed Dancer on his stair steps. ‘You climb quickly’ said a voice. Dancer answers with her dark eyes; she tells the mind’s voice, ‘I knew you once, in a time before time.’
McMann felt his fists clinch hard, his mind flew back years. Ice floated hard and titanic-like. Yesterday was not so long ago. He closed his eyes and shifted thoughts.
Squirrelly mused, you are my Dancer, my Terpsichore, my brown-eyed and ever-loving beauty. You come and nibble me from the inside out. You have blue magic.
‘Liar!’ Squirrelly rubbed his forehead and stared down at the axe. More roots, he thought, always roots. ‘You are a liar, Squirrelly McMann, and you know it. I hate her!’ The feminine voice softened, ‘Remember when we wrote “Samhain’s Eve”? McMann thought he did it. We wrote that poem, Squirrelly, just you and me.’
“Not true,” replied Squirrelly vociferously, “Dancer helped on that. She always helps. She is always here.”
‘You are a fool, old man,’ snapped the voice, ‘she didn’t do anything.’ The voice paused, ‘Why is she still in here anyway? I don’t like her. She doesn’t belong.’
“I knew her from another time!” shouted Squirrelly. “I knew her from another life.” The outside earth stood alone. McMann rubbed at his scalp. The tree watched him as he frowned in an odd way. Something is not right here, he thought. Something is not right.
McMann found himself watching his hands scraping the wall of the grave. Damnable, he thought. An inner voice thundered, ‘People are mirrors who breathe and do not feel.’ McMann spit. “I spit on your cowardly living graves. You are half people, dirt not yet re-shoveled into dirt!” McMann picked up the axe, fell to his knees, and he hacked at the earth floor in a strange and desperate silence.
Squirrelly suddenly found the axe in his left hand and felt a little sick to his stomach. Gloom swirled in, and the tree above hovered menacingly. McMann sat and stared up at the branches like they were naked and hated individual living things.
In the quiet a secret voice from the darkness kissed up to Squirrelly’s inner ear and hissed. McMann set the axe down. In the twitch of an eyelid McMann found himself sharpening the axe with his pocket stone. There is this hum, he thought, and it makes my head a nest of mad hornets. No, he said to himself, there is no more room in the inn. He stood confused in the silence.
‘But Sweetie,’ knocked a rosy voice, ‘You promised me a walk on the outside. There is still room in here. I want to ride up high so I can look out and see all the new things in the world.’
McMann sensed a crackling static inside and bent his head grave-ward as if to listen more closely. How can this be? I distinctly hard someone just say, “Who gave you the right to come in here?” He looked up at the tree trunk and ruminated, I thought I had an open mind. I thought my mind had no doors. Why is it I suddenly hear doors slamming? There are no doors. What is this damnable humming?
Squirrelly McMann stared at the axe, wondering how it got there. He lifted it with his right hand. “How can this be?” he asked pointedly. “Is it true?” Am I in parts like these branches above?” He glanced toward his beat-up shoes. “Here I stand,” my limbs are like worms, twisting and crawling into the earth. Worms, thought the caretaker, I am in many parts. Silence stood defining McMann’s inner branches like space in its falling out, defines the branches hovering above him.
Squirrelly believed he saw the axe move, but somewhere deep in his head, he just didn’t think it was real. Somehow, McMann stood mighty tree top high as he was reeling up to chop deep, thick roots, thought Squirrelly. “Roots!” shouted Squirrelly aloud as the great axe fell.
The End
That’s the way you wrote "The Grave Digger" in 1987. What do you think of it today? – Amorella
I remember it better as I re-typed it. That was twenty-four years ago when I last wrote and typed it. It is not so good as a story I can see that now. Then, I was hoping to have it publish, probably by some magazine like Playboy. I see things in it today. Things I still write about – very odd actually – that I would remember how much is in my head. Where does all this stuff come from? And, why? What happened? Something terrible must have happened, or I imagined something terrible. It must have been you, Amorella. I must have thought you were an Angel at the time, but I didn’t know if you were a good Angel or an evil Angel. That’s what I come up with at the moment.
Since that time though, I have experienced an inner freedom of mind that would not come from evil, because you need no power, make no demands and have no wants of me. My mind has doors still but they are all open a crack. The windows too, open a crack. Equal pressure in and out – creating a kind of centered harmony in a full library of silence in my mind. Lots of words still inside ready to hang out to dry as electronic ink. That’s what I think.
Post. – Amorella (See, you learned something about yourself. All for tonight, boy.)
