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  • #761

    So then, said Franiel sitting down beside a small mound of earth, what now?

    The top of the mound of earth was smoothed flat, and with a twig Franiel began to form small spiral patterns abstractedly in the earth. He felt no desire to go back to the monastery and face Aum Geog with the news of the loss.

    He held the twig high, and then released it to fall to the ground. It fell without sound, landed unharmed on the mound of earth. He closed his eyes and in the dark at the back of his mind, he heard the voice of his grandmother whisper; Spirals make more sense than crosses Franiel my boy, joys more than sorrows.

    Spirals make more sense than crosses….

    None of it made much sense to Franiel. The feeling of freedom he felt momentarily slipped away. He was left looking at the space where it had been, feeling empty. The task given him by Aum Geog had given him a feeling of purpose, for a short time had allowed him to forget how lost he felt. Yet now the task had been taken from him, and he was in no hurry to retrieve it, he saw it for the illusion it had been.

    What would it feel like to want to go somewhere? Or to want to be something, to want to be a monk, to want to be a teacher, to want to be the father of a family? To be able to arrange oneself neatly in a box and say I belong here?

    Spirals make more sense than crosses …. day becomes night becomes day, lives come into being, and go out of being … there is always new life coming into being …… around and around

    He began to walk along the path, away from where he had already been …. towards something new? He caught sight of a dead blackbird lying in the long grass to the side of the track and knelt down to look at it.

    It is quiet and still.

    He dug a hole, scraping in the dirt with his fingers and then using a stone to lever the lifeless body into the hole. The bird’s brown eyes are still open. Franiel covered it with dirt, looking deep into it’s eyes, until there is no sign of it, just a mound of earth.

    He traced a spiral in the dirt.

    Joys more than sorrows…

    He sat back on his heels, and keeping his mind empty, he sang to the dead bird.

    #1997

    In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud

    ÉricÉric
    Keymaster

      A cloud-assisted demented rewrite, just for fun…

      PERPLEXED BY THAT PARTICULAR case, THE sheriff HAD HIS glassES floatING BEFORE HIS eyeS.

      SOME mean rather weird beings… THE brotherHOOD OF magic NEEDED TO SEND Elikozoe INTO A space Craft TO CARE FOR THE boy WHO felt six motherSHIPS COMING IN HIS dreams.

      DURING THESE moments easily FORGOTTEN, SOME others young legends WERE sent Aside TO answer AND bounce WITH alone aspects THAT wondered HOW TO keep focused.

      THE trees WERE laughing “yeah!” THEY SAID, AS Anita FELT cold AMONG THE roseS randomLY SCATTERED.
      SOME told HER ABOUT love, AS SHE asked WHETHER dragons REALLY seemed LIKE nothing ELSE SHE HAD SEEN BEFORE.

      Chris turned wondering ABOUT nature THESE days WHEN everyone, Elizabeth INCLUDED, KEPT thinking WHAT THEIR hair looked LIKE FROM behind.

      DEEP inside, SOME help began slightly TO COME TO THE lady AS SOON AS THE dark cloud HAD taken HER TO sleep. THE truth IN particular WAS LIKE A friend WITH purple COLOURS AND A skull IN HIS HAND, WHO sat WAITING FOR HER.
      “let HOPE COME, despite whatever FATE bringS TO THE door! YOU must wait SOMETIMES, AS factS follow!”

      Nice Tina WAS caught floating ON THE STREAM, AND moving ALONG IN A green jogGING GEAR WAS Joe, BOTH full OF IDEAS THAT gave THEIR friends AN experience NEWLY created. BUT THEY needed magpieS AND tried FOR THESE creatureS INSERTION TO work.

      FOR Arona, ALL WAS happening ON Earth LIKE SOME important dream. IT WAS LIKE dancing IN A real play, WITH THE sea NEARBY.
      A series OF dog-EARED BOOKS WERE NEARLY outside, AND deep INSIDE, SHE KNEW THE novelS WERE close TO surface OUR dimension, WITH HER head looking BEYOND, AS perhaps Yurick WOULD AGREE.
      HIS heart often sounds interesting, BUT OF ALL THE ones SHE liked, IT SHOULD BE herself.
      THE Duane SHALL BE rememberED, SHE thought, IN DUE times…

      WITH THE goat, Anna suddenly giveS THE blue busy spiders SOME NEW reality, AND Kay IS getting hot. SHE HAD forgotten THAT handS COULD BE making names, AND SHOUTING HER CreEd, THE voice OF THE girl SAID IT matterED THAT THE story became shouted IN THE sky.
      Eric WAS ENduring Sanso WHO loved THE sandY BEACHES.

      STAYING clear THIS NEW year DEMANDS SOME self AWARENESS, ESPECIALLY ON THE yellow CHAKRA points, TO ALLEVIATE UNNECESSARY physical pain.

      CLAD IN teal, SHE WAS waiting FOR HIS parents’ words TO HAVE moved AND TO BE connected. Franiel HAD FELT within HIMSELF four OLD fatherS’ ADVICES, AND HAD AGREED TO TALK TO Salome’S face AND ANSWER HER call THAT HAD APPEARED quickly UPON THE wall AND HAD BEEN wandering OVER HIS bed.
      HE careD FOR THE past, AND THAT VISION WAS telling. IN THE morning, HE SAW IT AS A gift, SHINING IN SOME DISTANT island, LIKE A moviNG presence.

      Yann VowED TO FIND HIS WAY IN THE soup OF linkS, AND FIND THE OLD godS’ energy THAT kept THE planetS MOVING.
      HE heard SOMETHING, A FUGACIOUS moment following HIS ADMIRING OF THE beautiful weather, UNDER THE Glistening sun. A SINGLE dragon’S hands COULD nurse POTENT writing abIlITIeS, AND soon WOULD open GREAT awareNESS OF joy AND moveMENTS AND music WHICH WOULD MAKE HIM laugh OF ALL THAT HE WAS creating WITHIN THIS focus.

      Tracy FEELS away OF THE action. IT seems QUITE human… NOTHING IS white DURING twilight, SHE noticed, AND FELT given TO understand.
      AS MRS Bellamy, SHE WOULD HAVE stopPED LONG ago, HAD NOT come THAT powerful mummy.
      WITH Georges startING TO APPEAR, worry BECOMES quietNESS FOR Jib, AND crystal-CLEARNESS FOR Sam.
      MANY years AHEAD IN A GALAXY far-AWAY, ANOTHER Dory IS named AND readS ABOUT DR Bronklehampton’s WORKS.
      HAVING TAKING leaveS, AND BEING gone FOR ALL, OLD Hrih DELVES INTO THE skulls AND HIS eyes SEE A next hope IN A book.
      MovementS HAPPEN FOR Claudio already… THE world woke UP IN surprise.
      A known sense OF TIMESPACE-travel APPEARS IN THE commentS, AS seen THROUGH light.

      Akita’S body AND mind started TO ACT LIKE A saint AND FEEL strange under THE change.
      “TO danGER, bugger!” WAS HIS decision NO longer… HE FELT warm… Towards THE worlds treeS, askING HIMSELF IF IT WAS A game, HE SAW TWO male children PLAYING against EACH OTHER.
      THEY managed TO show HIM THAT THE Murtuane WAS familiar.
      THE whole air WAS speaking. IT sort OF opened ITSELF SO THAT HE knew later OF THAT SPECIAL room OF TIME AND SPACE, AND HAD THE WIND AGAIN BRUSH HIS skin similar TO WHEN HE WAS seeing home IN HIS HEAD.

      Felicity IN THE BEDlam SAW half-formS, COUNTING three OF THEM, INCLUDING Gustav IN THE saloon, AND Becky WHO WAS THINKING SHE WAS AGAIN IN THE wrong PLACE: A monastery!
      SHE’D RATHER HAVE yourself BE A star, AND HERSELF BE HERE TO MAKE THE FUN postS AND playing lost.

      Eight powers smiled: true saying!
      THE sisters focuses IN THEIR caveS HAD SOME fine land TO PLAY WITH.
      Apparently sound WAS key once, BUT THE VOICES IN THE night speak UNCEASINGLY, AND TO write SOME great stories, SPEAK strongLY. THEY seem TO BE feeling yesterday SOME perfect movements…

      THE marmoset HAD FOUND A family, AND funny wordS TO process. IT laughed short GIGGLES
      AS FOR myself, SAID THE cat TO Floyd, I’D create A party-LIKE life, WHERE I DO AS I please, AND LET paper WORK AND feelINGS AND desireS AND tryING AND tellING TO monkey.
      THAT shapeD SOME fun, AND syncHRONICITIES AGAIN happened SHORTLY.

      IN THE FLOWING water, “aum” SOUNDS RIPPLED IN A huge dear dance beginning TO REFLECT himself IN images. HE sighed AS HIS attention GOT INVOLVED IN THE trip AND HE remembered…
      ON THE beach, obviously AWARE OF THE synchRONICITIES, THE creatures wanted TO CLAP THUNDEROUS applauseS.
      LIVING THE dead GUYS’ ideaS…

      #587
      ÉricÉric
      Keymaster

        Georges and Salome’s journal

        From Salome’s account of their first journey to the Alienor star system

        I had more insights about the Murtuane and its biosphere. The race of green-skinned people seem to foster some deeply religious feelings. Not religious as in our age old beliefs on Earth, nothing of that sort. It’s more “religious” in the sense of caring for life, and the sacredness of it.
        It seems they are so attuned to their feelings that they can feel in each other’s waves of moods, so that it becomes very difficult for them to entertain such violence that we have been enacting for so long on Earth.
        It is like they form some kind of invisible bond, and can feel each other through the belonging of some kind of unseen social memory complex. I think they call each others Children of Turmak, or somewhat close.

        There are other forms of lives present here, many underwater, and I can feel some ties between the Nirguals (those huge eagle-like winged beings) and what we, on Earth, remember as “dragons”. It is as though they are different forms of the same energetic blueprints, or species… In evolutionary terms, it would be tantamount to say that they share a common ancestor, but I know it is none of that either.
        The Nirguals (let us call them like that for the time being) are indigenous to this planetoid of Murtuane, but they somewhat seem to have seeded some of them on the Duane, the dual or sister planet — though this is my loose interpretation… But even though it reminds me of a cuckoo being forgetful of its eggs in another nest, this strikes me as an evidence of some kind of awareness of each other, by each of the planets sentients. And also of an evidence of a kind of travel route between the two, though discontinuous if not vagarious, and probably uni-directional as per now, as nothing tends to corroborate a continuous interaction.

        #1547

        In reply to: Synchronicity

        ÉricÉric
        Keymaster

          Bald sync in NY, with the song from the Brit group Morcheeba I had in my mind yesterday What New York Couples Fight About & Skye (the singer)’s haircut :)

          Once a label is on something
          It becomes an “it”
          Like it’s no longer alive

          […]

          If it’s up to you
          My little sweet baboo
          Through the shouting and the fever
          Think of life as queer
          Think of it my dear
          And some knobs or a fancy tone
          From here there is no reason
          Baby’s got it made
          But it’s not what the life’s about

          What is imagination
          May become a fact
          If we think of it that way
          If you want to know

          ( )

          #1308

          In reply to: Yuki’s Livrary

          ÉricÉric
          Keymaster

            September 24 th

            Quintin remembered a snapshot of the notes that Dory had taken during her first trip to the Madagascan caves, a year ago.

            Relevant extracts:

            At one moment, I saw some hooded figure in the sideways tunnels… He vanished on the left, couldn’t follow him…
            […] HE KNEW HIS WAY INSIDE !
            When he vanished, I had the vision of something, […] like the layout of a labyrinth, of cave tunnels — that are all underground and the many entrances are all over the world… PORTALS
            focus opening/doors ; time/space…
            The central cavernous part is some kind of key center, where anyone can meet…

            This has inspired Quintin to write some notes too.
            He has the vision of these portals organized as clusters, like a tree, with branches and leaves… I will send him a more detailed image, but that may take him some time to digest!

            September 26 th

            The latest additions to the story have inspired Quintin. He had some inkling of how “essence” (or what is somewhat referred as “oversoul” ) and all the “focus” of essence (or lifetimes) interplay, and are not as separate as they sometimes seem to be.

            Here would be what we will say to him, if he wants to listen:

            « Now, terminology can become tricky as, for much time, you have been accustomed to be considering of your experience as the projection of that of an “essence”, somewhat separate from you, the lowly focus.
            Of course, you pretend the contrary, and become quite nifty in brandishing sentences like “I am essence, and I create all of my reality”, which you are and do actually, but that you do not always believe and trust.
            These terms of “essence” and “focus” were given to you as means for you to better understand the interplay of consciousness. In the beginning of the acquaintance with these new terminologies, you have felt them remotely blurry and unrelated to previous concepts, which was the intention. But now, you once again objectify your understanding in something too rigid at times, and that little story is giving you a hint of what your real power is.
            And you begin to really experience it, and really pay attention.

            « As was expressed many times, “essence” is no thing. It is an action.
            The “essence” is each of you, that very portion of you that you feel when you slide your attention into the comment box.
            In that, your purpose, you see, is only to experience, nothing more, nothing less.
            And then time, as you know it, becomes irrelevant, you see. Your natural time is expressed through you and your explorations.
            Notice how playfully, as essence (essence playing focus or focus playing essence), you let your natural time unfold, and at times find some strange weather pattern in your awareness that needs clarification. As essence, you playfully find the most perfect habits [shapes and clothings] to wrap around you, and continue your story.
            Just as your dreams at night overlap and blend into each other.
            Just as Rafaela created new focuses [Sam and Becky] to continue to play and make the story expand for all of the other focuses, Dory included.

            « That “I” of you is ever present, and is reflected perfectly in others’ perceptions, as you are drawing them to you purposefully. Do not brush aside their adjuncts, for they are also you, having moved your pawns forward, so to speak, through their moves.

            « Thus understand that the story is a continuous stream reflecting the essence that is you, and your travel through the various guises you borrow.
            In that manner, it does not matter how much sense it makes in linear terms. Because, in a way, it can’t make sense in these linear terms.

            « Let us explain this in other terms.
            When you found difficulties in understanding the “scheme” so to speak, the figure that is drawn by the participants, it is because you apply the linear understanding of what such a scheme should be.
            In that, you only perceive the “plot” as a succession of dots without a continuity, whereas the continuity is to be found in the other stories interwoven.
            You are accustomed to stories where a single individual is enacting throughout the play, in a linear continuous fashion. The individual goes through many different actions, but is always the same in your perception.
            Here, the tricky thing is to notice the continuity throughout the various habits [clothings] taken by the essence(s). It matters not that the essence takes that guise of say, a pirate sailing on high seas, just after having been an old crafty Lord in his windy castle. The underlying aspects of his exploration has been continuous and coherent: in this case, exploring and making sense of one’s exploration. It is just that a certain appearance has been perhaps more fitting to express certain aspects or qualities of essence, but the exploration has been one, throughout the entirety of the experience.

            « We will let you ponder this, and we will continue our own story, writing about you… »

            September 28 th

            This sand symbol that Quintin has brought up seemed to have come from many directions at once. Each character has connected it, in various ways.
            Armelle (Arona) to her magic, Rafaela (Becky) to her collecting customs, etc. etc.

            Let us say that this symbol is not as innocent as it may seem. There are lots of associations with sand.
            It is solid, yet fluid. In association with water, it can be used to build, and also to erode. It can shift into many forms, one of which is your glass, and your electronic components.
            And most of all, it is, after your very oxygen, the most abundant constituent of your reality.
            It is almost limitless in your understanding.
            As is your magic.

            This magical device we made Quintin see in a visualization is an analogy of your very action of creation as essences.
            The sand which molds itself to make forms and shapes in three dimensions is in fact likened to your consciousness. Each grain of sand represents your links of consciousness that bind together to do your command.
            The shapes are moved by your essences, in which you may see that the essence is no thing at all, but is a continuous stream of action, not separate from others’.

            As Quintin said to Fiona, some individuals do differently when they create and shape their sands.
            In analogy with the coloured sands, some people like Quintin enjoy using other people’s colours in shaping his own characters, while some others prefer to keep their own colours, to create a more definite sense of individuality. But they integrate the others’ movements and shapes nonetheless, regardless of how much they perceive it to be coming from them.

            With that said, let us see how much more will appear from that sandbox…

            September 30 th

            The Wrick family tree as it is now (or “will be” drawn around the time of the twins in 2057).

            The Secret Life of Margaret Wrick , a newspaper cut from 2033.

            October 7 th

            The dragon Naasir’s dream
            A panorama illustrating the portals between the worlds created by each of the participants… But who is dreaming, really?

            And an illustration of Chiara’s encounter with the glutton “dreggun” Buckberry

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