Notes - oracle-like sketch accepted / The Dead 17, draft one completed but unaccepted

         You were up by eight and after breakfast and the paper you did forty minutes of

exercises and you feel better having fully completed them. You awoke during the night realizing it was not a sacred photo you were looking for but something more, your 'mystic' sketches. You remember how it was in your head when drawing it.

         1034 hours. The drawing is as it was, authentic. I was in the sketch as it was within me. I have published this drawing before but to me it best represents what it is like to see without eyes and to hear without ears even if it is within the framework of imagination. Within this framework I can better 'understand' Pythia's character.

         Accepted. Drop in and post. - Amorella

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Inside and Outside

Past - Present - Future

ONE Penciled

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         You did a couple of chores, and you are feeling better about your fictional Delphi. - Amorella

         I am no one in particular, Amorella, but even a vivid imagination can have a sense of consciousness. I realize I make things up as I go along in life. It provides me a private joy to keep my head busy with none such ideas and things. I am as five and six and drawing cartoons for the fun of keeping busy, keeping my colors within the lines. Imagination is fun and all and has given me an anchor when I need it to survive better than I would otherwise. The above sketch still shows me where I am in terms of transcendental quirks and qualities of mental framework. I ask for nothing and I want nothing but to keep my freedom of mind as much and as long as is possible in this world, that's all. My fingers, especially on my right hand become numb more often and Carol thinks I am more 'distracted' with the computer than usual. Life is what it is. I sense I am slowing down (so to speak). It is a natural part of life and I have no regrets. I grumble about aging in my head, so here it is. Now maybe I can move on and forget about it.

         Cheer up boy, things are bound to get worse.  Amorella

         So, what else is new, Amorella? See this world then later perhaps another. I can deal with it.

         Take a nap. You'll feel better. Post. - Amorella

         1640 hours. I don't have this description down, but I am close in mind though not words.

         You just arrived at Kroger's on King's Mill Road for milk and pretzels. The description I would like you to use is the one you are interested in, the semi-nude form of Circle rather the Pythia, but it will do for enlightenment. - Amorella

         I am enjoying this segment better than I thought I would. I am surprised Pythia, being dead, still 'sees' into a future. (1654)

         We will complete Dead 17 tonight and move on to Brothers 17 tomorrow. - Amorella

         I thought you would comment on my surprise.

         You are not much of a prognosticator are you orndorff? - Amorella

         No, I am not. You bring a smile with such a question.

         The Living who have talents bring them with them as many think of talent as 'G---D's individual gift'. - Amorella

         People think and say all kinds of things. In the long or short of it I do not give such talk any more credence than I give my own. We may be a noble species but we carry a lot of bullshit within. Sometimes we even live or die believing it, but a believe does not make something so. I am not denying G---D here, but like Grandma (Mae Elizabeth Freeman) Schick, in her wisdom used to tell the younger me, "If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride." (1704)

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Google Image of Circe used as Pythia

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         Once on the blog posting we can tweak it a bit. Post. - Amorella

         
          I like the mirror . . . a bit of Alice. I place my sketch above flat on the disk in her right hand. Now, that ought to come to something in my imaginary head. (It is so much fun to pretend as a child.)

          Now, there is a bit of raw honesty, boy. Completely unexpected. - Amorella

         2150 hours. This is a first draft and needs an adding and cleaning tomorrow. Enough for tonight.

         Dead 17 is not so reckless as you think. We'll clean it up. Drop in the segment and post. - Amorella

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The Dead 17  ©2013, rho - draft 1

         The observer changes what is observed, thought Merlyn as sat facing south toward the meadow of ragged robin and white foxglove from the stage ruins in his sanctuary. He groused, "I am watched and even read." How does this entanglement in spirit change me?

         I can only read my own mind through it as a measuring device. I measure the human heart through my own first, and I measure my soul through my intuition of the conditional aspects of what others and myself consider the soul to be. These are as rays of light filtered through a deepened, dark-bottomed water-like consciousness, which rises or sinks as an alter ego, a presence of my own making forever without a mirrored reflection.

         This presence is also an observer but separate and unlike myself -- a parallel and unequal self -- a natural doppelganger of spirit, this is the non-shadowed presence. This is a sensory experience, a human experience, be the spirit encased in living matter or no. Nothing is observed; however, the lingering awareness of 'a separate being' in heartansoulanmind exists nevertheless.

         Merlyn fell into a memory of Plutarch, whom he met at the Academy of Athens when Plutarch was in a parallel and entangled memory. Plutarch was stand with his friend Senecio and their discussion was on how long consciousness would last after death.

         "Excuse me," said Merlyn, "Did I overhear that one of you is Plutarch of Chaeronea, the once senior priest at Delphi?"

         "I am," commented the Greek on the right. "And you are?"

         "Merlyn, a man interested in the arts, living some six hundred years after yourself and your friend, Senecio, I presume."

         "Yes, I am," responded Senecio somewhat interested, "And you are which Merlyn?"

         "Merlyn, a Scottish bard of the seventh century."

         "I know of you Merlyn," noted Plutarch. "You are interested in Pythia."

         "And, yourself," replied Merlyn generously. "I see we are engaged through channeled memories."

         "Astute."

         "I would like to meet Pythia for reasons presently unclear."

         Plutarch smiled confidently, "In those days people knew what question to ask; or at least they thought they did. What is unclear, Merlyn?"

         Merlyn announced distinctly and clearly, "Pythia's tranced mind."

         In a pronounced manner similar to Merlyn's, Plutarch replied, "We two have a similar interest."

         "Dead, and she still makes pronouncements?"

         "An oracle needs not Delphi or any other place. What is more sacred than here."

         Senecio smiled at his friend, nodded politely toward Merlyn and faded like colors of a rainbow.

         "Senecio and I will talk later, Merlyn."

         Merlyn turned to his left to see an attending fair and vibrant female physique personify from air. I am reminded of the sword thrust only this graceful fresh hand grasps the blade and pull rather than push from the hilt.

         "Pythia, you join us unconditionally, how kind," commented Plutarch who suddenly felt world-weary in the Land of the Ancient Greek Dead, Elysium.

         She appears Celtic rather than Greek, thought Merlyn. Coal black hair falling near but parsing wide green eyes as thin theatre curtains upon her forehead. What a wonderfully well looking woman you were in life flew his mind as he said, "I am Merlyn, a sage of Scotland in the seventh century."

         "I know your name."

         "This is during the First Rebellion," responded Merlyn. I am not yet born to physically die and move on."

         She noted, "Yet here you are, and we three talk together as though living."

         "We speak through our heartsanminds," said Merlyn confidently, "not our souls as you think."

         "The soul is first, our souls gathered for this meeting," said Plutarch.

         "Souls do not display purpose," answered Merlyn unapologetically.

         "I want to know if we are the same within heartansoulanmind?" asked Merlyn. "I cannot foresee the future and am looking for a clue as to how the Second Rebellion will help or hinder the Living as the future can do nothing to the Dead."

         "I see many eyes, Merlyn, they walk within your heartanmind as slippers on the wind and the weight of pressed fingers holding a raw soul."

         Merlyn responded, "I know the in and out weave of time is not as it seems, unwoven it is one, neither straight forward or curved back."

         Plutarch grumbled, "You cannot be alive and dead both at once. This is a dangerous illusion. This meeting is as a fact unconstructed."

         Pythia gathered her face into Plutarch and said, "I know what Merlyn wishes, and you may speak my response to him."

         "The lumpiness under a bushy top holds the dusty desert to the ground, Merlyn, while those windy furrows follow free."

         "A riddle for the Living, not for me," smiled Merlyn, and like the fading dance of colors, transparent the breathless air filled the drop of memory unclouded.

791 words    

  

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          I am not satisfied with this piece nor do I fully understand Dead 17 as is. Merlyn's memory may be unclouded but I am not.