I have been living in a half-world the last few days. It has been a time of misty moments, shrouded in uncertainty and the knowledge that I must be going insane. There are dream moments and visions, the feeling of things outside of myself. There is a push here and a push there and I find no cause for it. I keep traveling as though I am onto something, one foot in front of another and then, stop short, frightened. Where is this heading? Why is this happening? What, in all the lands, is happening to me? Why do I feel as though my head is half in the clouds with my body still firmly rooted to the earth? I keep thinking that the trees are whispering to me, the snowfall that surrounds us in the form of dander and pollen a sure sign that something is coming. I feel nothing within except the desire to lose myself more so in all of this rashness and uncertainty.
A muse has taken me as of late. It is a muse that has its starts in the Song of Ice and Fire series that I’ve been borrowing to read, but it has its heart elsewhere too. I do not write fantasy and yet… a desire to know more of unicorns? A sudden burning need to write in a notebook that I have used but twice? Why now? What is all of this? The muse who holds my aching fingers in her grasp is unknown to me, but this is something OTHER here. There is something about it all that smacks of outside of myself. It is frightening and harrowing, but it is also exciting and thrilling. I am an instrument of something and it is an interesting story that it whispers in my ears when I am half-asleep as I plod through yet more chapters of the huge books. Sometimes, my fingers ache so much that I rush to write it all down and startle myself with how smooth the writing is. Writing? Me? Why? I have a laptop and yet… I fear to put it on anything other than paper, though the words are but half-starts and uncertainties.
What is all of this? Where is this heading?
Honestly, I don’t worry so much about the answers, inasmuch as I do the questions. It feels to me as though the questions will crash me back to reality faster than anything else. As I was crafting this entry in my mind’s eye earlier, I felt myself more firmly in tune with the world around me than I have been since the Silly Fight began. (If you have no clue to what I allude, read back a few entries and you’ll see.) While the idea of coming back and placing myself firmly in the realm of the living is enticing, I’m kind of enjoying this.
Often, I wonder, is this what the spirit riders feel? Is this how the oracles I know feel? Those who cross the hedge, is this what it is like? Is it more than the knowledge that the world surrounds, but also that you can be above it as well? Is it like living in a mist? Is it like traveling through a half-dream on a regular basis? A rational whisper threads its way through my fingers here, maybe it is only lack of sleep. I have not been having good sleep for weeks now and it only grows worse as the days go by: four to six hours, if I’m lucky. But more like, four on a regular night. But maybe, truly, I am going mad. It’s possible. Things have broken within me that I had not intended and I find myself wondering if they will ever mend. I don’t look to patch this with Band-aids and hydrogen peroxide or a good, deep tea that I can brew myself. The mending is not mine to do, not entirely. And I have no desire to begin that work now.
Instead, I revel in the feel of being half here and half there, wherever that may lead. And wonder, oft-times, how the surreality will affect me later.