GATHERING NOTES

Being in someone else’s mind is not a battle for the faint of heart; it’s a war for control of their dreams. The clever player is nonchalant because with an unknown outcome, perception tricks the mind into believing reality and dreams are equal, but it’s far from true. The common fact is reality and dreams share the same senses whether awake or asleep, especially images that are misunderstood. Déjà vu is mysterious, has some meaning from a connection in time, but from a different realm. I remember sitting on my bike looking down the driveway at a small hill across the highway that had a path worn down from bikes that used it as a ramp. Usually, a friend would stand at the bottom of the driveway to signal when it was clear, and no cars or trucks were coming. I was alone this time, staring at the hill thinking to give it a try, fearless I headed down not paying attention to anything around me. When I was in the middle of the road I turned to the right and saw a car there, at that moment a strange thought went through my head, then I blasted up the hill and flew over the grassy ramp. I turned around watching a car driving away. I looked at my hands, touched my face, and took a deep breath. What just happened? Was there a car? It missed me.

Can I be young again? Since asking myself that question my life has never been the same. Human, alien, energy, space all filled with dreams words and notes from memories past and present building a convoluted record of stories collected over the years. All of this tells a story more complicated than anyone can imagine, especially if we believe it’s born from a notion and piece of cosmic puzzle.

Ask yourself what snowflakes are, or the stars, perhaps the moon. Are they simply lights and cosmic decoration that cause confusion or a systematic form of clarity? Thoughts are written with sparse facts to create a loose narrative to ask or answer mystifying questions. The single most asked question or thought of wonder we all ask ourselves is – what happens after we die. We know or are told from who raised us that we grow inside a woman, and now some humans now are grown in a laboratory test tubes. When we die are we reincarnation, reformed and returned to from whence we came. Round and round, born innocent, with or without power, knowing nothing, learning everything we think we understand. I must say, I forget moments and things, but also recall special specific experiences from the past, dreams, and memories with wonder. I can never answer the question why.

As I read a book, newspaper, or article online, I know that information ends up somewhere in my memory. Memory is a vast universe of light, darkness, ice and fire, all connected by thoughts shared verbally or by written words and symbols in many different languages. Games are created using this knowledge for entertainment, prediction, deduction, and eventually control. A question can shape what we believe, how we gather information, then gain knowledge to experience and recall a lifetime of memories to share. In the end there is only the end, but perhaps, if you are religious, as far as we know even the end may be temporary. The wonder of how knowledge accumulates and is shared. This continues by looking at the beginning which usually starts with identifying, naming, solving the obvious, or creating practices to understand the unknown. As we all head on our journey on our individual odyssey using certain guiding principles with collective responsibility, it seems the vision of the few is clear, but muddled for most others. We create our own universe as we imagine planets and stars in the welkin, and our own solar system of life friends and relatives connected by stories, memories, and dreams.   

Then there are anointed prophets who engage in rigorous challenges employing and maximizing equitable skills. Blending commitment, utilizing discipline to engage dynamic changes to enrich themselves, and other inhabitants to some or a lesser degree. A taste of knowledge or an experience normally unavailable is shared only leaving enough for most, and a few hungry for more still searching for the missing link of human existence. Back to the question I need to cover before I get to an answer, or at least start since it’s a topic so vast, and the part of this universe that belongs to you and me alone. Where is your piece of space, do you understand the value of it, where do you belong, and when will you know you’re there?

There are always individuals who lead citizens with inspirational awareness that we write off as genius as they create and shape the future. It seems benefits from these wise profits filter down and through with assets brought to the table on a first come first serve charge, slowly trickling to the vulnerable at a snail’s pace. Who are they and where do these individuals come from? Once a voice blurted out don’t tell them anything, treat them like mushrooms, keep them in the dark. Where was this voice from, I wondered, and who was the voice speaking to? Is that why most people are lost, clueless on history, and just chasing shadows.

Then a blast from nowhere with news repeating, blowing like wind. Reporters echo stories of the mystery similar to continuous bell ringing, echoing waves and vibrations out to all occupants of the world including birds, animals, insects and people. Whipping them into a frenzied reactional behavior, leaving the normal routine functional services stunned. All life and people lost, searching for leadership, not knowing where to go, what to do, or even to understand the events happening.

Events that happened changed all things dramatically from the moment after walking near the river with Sue during school summer vacation. Starting with seeing a floating hulk of something in the middle of the river, then raising the courage to swim out and check, finding, it was the body of a man. More startling is discovering the man was known to my grandfather when I told him about it. And rifling through the dead man’s pockets coming across the notebook and key. Asking Poppi about the amulet he gave me, how it would glow when I held it.

Otto Vortich, hounding me through dimensions to get the notebook with the formula to make amulets for time travel, along with the people I met, like the professor, and Luke Paris, who devised the formula. The research center, RIM (Responsive Integrated Machines) where Sue worked, after finding out that her biological father was Otto Vortich. The room where the little kid, stood guarding the paintings of – The Tribe – and where I read the names of the ten W-IX, (World Nine). Nine because each took a turn in the center of RIM STONE leaving nine outside, Epag, Cadra, Abo, Gohl, Morana, Osrar, Tura, Uzura, Yapiz, and Ralk.

Ralk took his turn to control the W-IX at the time of FRAHAZ, the last time when they all gathered in the center of RIM STONE. Leaving their dominion weakened, to share moral conscience, thought, stability, power. Power, and control of time itself.

Separation from time long gone, never returned, tick-tock never repeated its own motion. And how can this be? Who created time? How do you return a thought, a smile, a gentle touch? All valuable and minor reaction it some way, priceless, unique beyond any comprehension, even though we try, do not understand any of it. Pictures connected to stories, sounds that whisper sounds of love, sleep taking us to another world where possibilities are endless. Walking through a park, a store, airport as planes fly overhead. I have a craving for popcorn and get out of my seat and go to the concession counter. Following the guide lights on the floor, a dream, then I open my eyes. Looking around see I’m in an old shed that was used for storage. The door is cracked open a bit, blocked from closing by the snow collecting on the ground. I walk over, push it open, and look in the distance watching the snow fall and drift on the wind. The sky azure blue, and the air cold, a world passing, seasons changing, the sun warming my face, then suddenly I’m in a house. I walk up the steps to the room at the top of the stairs and open the door–I am born.