You are having your last Jennifer cookie as
a breakfast dessert after the Sunday paper piqued with the joy of the Sunday
Comics first as they are always in color print.
I think the color print reminds me of
my early teen years of reading comic books. Archie Comics comes to mind first.
Riverdale, if it were not already taken that is the name I would have given 'The
Brothers' fictional fair city and my hometown of Westerville, Ohio. It is
rather a pleasure to remember the growing up in old Westerville and knowing
without much doubt where one's headstone will rest on Otterbein Cemetery
ground. Not a bad place for a smattering of one's ashes to be hammered into the
ground with an ink pen of Bic quality or if soft earth the depth of a number
two yellow pencil will do. Thank you very much. Oh, if you have a shovel dig
deep enough to throw in a keyboard to keep me company, make sure it's a Mac
wireless just in case I can do some serious key haunting. (0834)
The mention of color print brought all this
rustling of dried leaves on. - Amorella
Earlier I was thinking on my second
hypnosis session with Dr. Paul Payne at U.C. in Cincinnati where I was taken
back to three years old and I hadn't talked yet. He asked, "How old are
you?" and I raised three fingers on my right hand because that is what I
did when asked the question when I was three. Evidently, so the family folklore
goes, I had no need to talk so I didn't. That sounds about right. All I had to
do is point and people picked up on the message at hand's end, so to speak.
I
remember that when Dr. Payne asked the question and before I raised my hand to
respond I was thinking about how it was floating down the long hotel-like hall.
I had no body and my line of sight was about three feet high. The transparent
balloon my self-awareness hovered in was close to ten inches in diameter. I had
no arms, legs, trunk or chest or head either, just a 'contained self-awareness.
And, that is how I visualize Merlyn seeing himself as he moved arrow fast (in
those days) from Avalon to Elysium. What holds the self-awareness in a
balloon-like contained space I have no idea, though it is a natural
psychological containment that self-awareness gravitates to when a physical
body is not present. In the session, once I stopped at the brass knobbed thick
oak door on the left side of the hallway.
I
entered, with permission of the far off voice of Dr. Payne. I moved through the
unopened door as if it were a mist rather than a solid, air really, not even a
mist. Once inside and standing on the landing with the black telephone against
the north wall near the bottom of the stairs I realized I had a three-year old
body and I saw and heard from that perspective. The whole session I can easily
visualize as if it were happening again at this very moment. I could smell the
scent of Grandma's nearby pet dog as I watched Grandma moving off to the dining
room. I focused on her hips contained in a broad-woven wrap-around lavender
dress because the hips were at my height. Strange but although there was a
mirror above the fireplace on the east wall as she turned right to enter the
dining room I saw no reflection of her in the mirror. It must have been an
oversight on my part, because surely there would have been a reflection. Now
that I think about it, where was the dog, I didn't see the dog either though my
nose said she was present in the room (she was a black on white spaniel with
black floppy ears named Sophie). I felt my bodily form though I did not see
myself in the mirror either. I was as good as invisible and I remember how it
was as if it were real. I think this hypnotic experience makes it much easier
for me to 'pretend' being dead-like for the Merlyn books.
No doubt about it, boy. That's about as dead
as you would ever want to be if you were stopping by for a haunting or just a
look-see. - Amorella
My ears were good too. I could hear my
father and my Uncle Ernie talking at the dining room table. When I rounded into
the dining room myself I saw both in uniform, it must have been 1945 or early
1946 before August, before my fourth birthday. Aunt Patsy was there as was
Mother and my grandfather (Popo). Grandma had the Mogen David Concord grape wine
out open. It must have been a special occasion. I wonder what Dad would have
been thinking as he was just back from helping to liberate Dachau? (Now there
is a thought that never entered my head before.)
Mogen
David
A
toast to all the Dead. The best of all heartansoulanmind to one and all. - rho
Of this blessing you had little choice and
you took it anyway. Post, orndorff. Your friend, Amorella
1159 hours.
I better have the opening and conclusion of Dead 12.
***
The Dead 12 (draft 2 opening
& conclusion)
Only a
moment ago I began soaring eagle-like within a heaven of nebulae surroundings,
mountainous gas bubbles, places undeterminable in time and space.
Behind
me, Avalon is of large cumulus in
form. The pleasing reddish hues of such a cloud reminds me of the Malus domestica, the pleasant apple-like
pigment. As I distance further, Avalon appears a well-weathering giant
Cumulonimbus, ever so majestically shaped as a broad-winged bird in angular
flight.
Merlyn
loosed his heartanmind eye forward to more closely observe the prodigious
distance between him and the small reddish cloud. A small faraway cloud hanging
like a prolonged thin fissure, a horizontal vapor of sanguine mist married to a
speck of gold center. This small pictured center setting above the large moonlike
light at the far end of this dark cavern of the Dead. This object, this tiny
gold center surrounded by sanguine mist, is the edge of Elysium, thinks Merlyn.
I am reminded of the tales of Hercules, and like Hercules on his travel to the
Garden of Hesperides, I fly to pick the Classical Greek approach to immortality
as I slowly close on golden speck of distant apple in my own eye.
* conclusion:
Merlyn's
nearly volatilized spirit condensed into the spiritual Shroud of Elysium, until
his droplet of heartansoulanmind re-energized by flowering into the
full-stemmed spirit and personality of Merlyn the Bard of Scotland.
Consciousness had re-fixed its position head high. Merlyn found himself staring
at the worn stone, two-cart wide roadway. Unknown to him at the time the uneven
stone surface on which his ghostly spirit stands leads to Mother's House.
Merlyn thought, I know this place from my heart's memory of Classical Greek and
Latin. I am fully self-aware and residing in Elysium, Shroud of this collective
cultural consciousness of the Classical Era.
Unknown
to Merlyn alone and beginning his walk, Mother is awaiting his arrival as all
mothers since knowingly understand, and wait for their own children, every last one with
whom to be reunited.
331 words
***
These words above are on more solid ground,
boy. Now we press for the middle. Post. - Amorella
At 1258 hours I have added the middle.
***
The Dead 12 ©2013, rho,
Only a
moment ago I began soaring eagle-like within a heaven of nebulae surroundings,
mountainous gas bubbles, places undeterminable in time and space.
Behind
me, Avalon is of large cumulus in
form. The pleasing reddish hues of such a cloud reminds me of the Malus domestica, the pleasant apple-like
pigment. As I distance further, Avalon appears a well-weathering giant
Cumulonimbus, ever so majestically shaped as a broad-winged bird in angular
flight.
Merlyn
loosed his heartanmind eye forward to more closely observe the prodigious
distance between him and the small reddish cloud. A small faraway cloud hanging
like a prolonged thin fissure, a horizontal vapor of sanguine mist married to a
speck of gold center. This small pictured center setting above the large
moonlike light at the far end of this dark cavern of the Dead. This object,
this tiny gold center surrounded by sanguine mist, is the edge of Elysium,
thinks Merlyn. I am reminded of the tales of Hercules, and like Hercules on his
travel to the Garden of Hesperides, I fly to pick the Classical Greek approach
to immortality as I slowly close on golden speck of distant apple in my own
eye.
On
his way and in further thought, Merlyn wandered into a cloud of his own making.
Within the Eleventh Labor of Hercules the Hero had to bear the weight of the
world on his shoulders and but for only a trick in foresight Hercules would
still be there in Atlas' place. What does it mean to hold the weight of the
world on one's shoulders? Dead, I weigh nothing. This vast Place of the Dead
weighs nothing. This Place and I are but bubbles in Nothing. What then is the
weight of the Earth and Sun and innumerable other Stars and their worldly plane(t)s?
From Here to There is but a thought without grammar, without verb or noun. Yet
time it takes or so takes time in this human reasoning, in this appearance of
flight.
The
weight is in the world and Earth, not here. What good will Our Mother's
Blessing be to this newfound enterprise of we the present and past Dead? I feel
no burden, even elected to tell the tale. Living or Dead, the ears have to
hear; the eyes have to read; the brain has to reason. That is not my part as
teller of how it is to be human, dead physically, but ultimately self-aware and
alive in the whole of one's heartansoulanmind. Holding one's heartansoulanmind
with bone and muscle is one thing, without such weight and physics it is quite
another. One is free to remember and to regret. I hold on, flying, as I will,
with no regrets to whatever I must encounter.
What
is it to be Dead and free in heartansoulanmind when such spiritual elements are
by nature drawn together as one, for how can one know and understand freedom
without the bond that provides self-awareness in one's seed and heranhis
attached string in the full humanity of Our Mother and Beyond? The Birth of
Self-Consciousness begins where? Where does it end? This flight shows me there
is no end in sight no matter where I stand or fly. Timeless and with fewer
self-regrets the freer one is to stand on the height of what humanity is not
its lower depth which is hardly more than animal instinct. To flower and to be
free everyone must by definition follow nature's course, which for the Living
or the Dead, is to grow and mature into what is built to be, humane to one
another and in the process be humane to one's self.
Merlyn's
nearly volatilized spirit condensed into the spiritual Shroud of Elysium, until
his droplet of heartansoulanmind re-energized by flowering into the
full-stemmed spirit and personality of Merlyn the Bard of Scotland. Consciousness
had re-fixe Id its position head high. Merlyn found himself staring at the worn
stone, two-cart wide roadway. Unknown to him at the time the uneven stone
surface on which his ghostly spirit stands leads to Mother's House. Merlyn
thought, I know this place from my heart's memory of Classical Greek and Latin.
I am fully self-aware and residing in Elysium, Shroud of this collective
cultural consciousness of the Classical Era.
Unknown
to Merlyn alone and beginning his walk, Mother is awaiting his arrival as all
mothers since knowingly understand and wait for their own children, every last
one with whom to be reunited.
738 words
***
2122 hours.
I should like to leave this posting as it is, Amorella.
You should have left it like it was before
adding drafts of Dead 12 if this were out of respect for the Dead. - Amorella
I cannot think of a response to this,
but one is in here.
You have something else to add? - Amorella
Tonight Doug sent me a site that has beautiful
photo/composites of the universe. One is the Pencil Nebula whose shape reminds
me of the fictional Elysium as Merlyn travels closer. I doctored up the color
to give a more yellowish tone and would like to enclose it in today's post.
You add no disrespect to the earlier
spontaneous gesture, boy. Drop it in. - Amorella
A
Closing In On Merlyn's Elysium
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