Well, this is certainly a puzzle.
It happened on Thursday. Thursday, of all days... it never goes quite the way you expect it. I crawled back inside covered in snow, freezing even by my standards, barely able to walk. I haven't improved much since then, though I'm able to get about just fine. My head feels like it's been carpet bombed. My insides feel smashed and misshapen, with a splinter of ice running right down the middle of my body. I'm tired, as though I haven't slept for weeks. Constantly. And I'm not exactly sleeping well either. I'm careening between feeling like I'm going to pass out or burst into tears. Emotions are running wild. Not a day goes by when I haven't been triggered or slipped into a pit of depression. I can't concentrate on anything. The Rooms are in chaos; alters are switching out seemingly at random. Spiritually it feels like something prickly crawled into my soul and died. I'm broken, bleeding and falling apart on all three levels. To top it off I'm getting a fever.
And yet... somehow... I survived.
We have made what we call the Pact of the Banshee. (Because we like silly names.) Long story short, so long as we can prove that there's still hope we're allowed to live. Dum spiro, spero. While I breathe, I hope. Life goes on... for now.
Perhaps this is for the best. I believe in strength through adversary: that which does not kill you only makes you stronger. Maybe this was a gift... on the other hand, if my condition deteriorates, or if it strikes again, I almost certainly won't survive.
Curious to think about it. Death. But not right now.
Anyway. Point is the nightmare is over for now. The skies are clear again. Time to rest, to recover. And I'll be able to say, "In my darkest hour, I stood against the darkness... and I survived."
4 comments:
Pact of the Banshee? I love it! But I'm Scottish, so that's to be expected.
Welcome to the land of those who are dead but still here. It's strange, isn't it? It was about a year ago, here, very Dickens flavored, very... well, it's awefully difficult to describe a theophany. Please, do tell more of the experience. It helps to get it all out into words, before the images start to fade.
Anyways, welcome back, all of you.
Jane, you are either cursed, gifted, insightful, or completely full of shit.
...so am I. Nice to meet you.
Seeing as we're still working out for ourselves what happened, there's not much I can tell you. I'll let you know when things become clearer again. In the meantime, my past writings should give you some idea of my experiences. Mostly it's overly sentimental bullshit, but I didn't expect this to be read.
I'd also like to hear more about you... but perhaps this is not the place for it.
Nine, i am cursed, gifted, insightful, blessed and completely full of it. This is the art of polyphrenic consciousness, to hold multiple perspectives simultaneously, like facets on a diamond. For the schizophrenic, the perspectives are disconnected and isolated. Not to say that polyphrenia eliminates conflict and competition between views, but things go much more smoothly when all lines of communication are open and connected.
Some call this being betwixt and between the worlds, having at least one foot solidly planted in the consensual reality of those around us, and at least one foot anchored in the nether regions. I have but two feet - guess I'm lucky.
Both sides of the divide are important. We are physical, embodied beings, and that means we must tend to that side of the abyss. It has value in of itself, like the foundation of a home. On the Other Side, we have the spirit and hence meaning, which lies in the realm of the numinous.
For me, everything comes in pairs - twins, more like. Good twins and bad twins. I imagine seeing in nines would be kaleidoscopic, a rainbowed experience. Trust me on this, metaphor is your friend.
I'll finish this off with a fragment of poem:
She left the web: she left the loom:
She made three paces thro' the room:
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume:
She looked down to Camelot.
Out flew the web, and floated wide,
The mirror crack'd from side to side,
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.
Ah, a kindred spirit. At least, you're completely mad and have a gift for words.
I'm afraid I'm not as multi-faceted as I'd like. Each of the Nine is an individual. Since the Shattering many years ago we've grown apart. Someday we hope to make peace and grow together again, our combined thoughts and experiences making a whole far greater than the sum of our parts. Maybe that's a pipe dream.
Seven male, two female. two children, three teenagers, one adult, three unknown. Seven human, one angel, one demon. Such is the way of things. Sometimes I wish we could separate, live our own lives.
Our world is strange. Confused. Broken. Sometimes warped and twisted. I wonder if you have the same experiences I do. Think of what that would mean...
but I am tired.
Post a Comment