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The poem and the evening

The poem turned up, and it wasn't all that, but I decided to work on it anyway. Artifice  can make the overtly mediocre special,or  destroy anything that was interesting about it. I couldn't make the poem actively good without taking it apart and starting again; in short, it is what it is, and what it is is nothing much. But still, it lives.

Having left off the poem,I decided to entertain myself with  prophecies and started reading the words and deeds of the cheery Boeur prophet Siener Van Rensburg. At some point, as naturally as any occuring thought, it occurred to me that someone else was in the room.

I haven't had this kind of experience for a long time. It is not like the shiver of really hearing something that cannot physically be present, or even seeing something in your minds eye... It just slid into my mind, like the desire for a sandwich or the realisation that someone's left the light on in the garage.  It suddenly occurred to me that the room was very cold. The cats were not at all freaked, all was peaceful, there was nothing ominous or frightening. There was just someone else there.

I know how to address my irrational mind. First I do the child thing; I treat the phenomenon as though it is real. I told it not to freak me out,shock me or any of those things, because that would be rude and unfair. Then I checked the heating; it was on. And lastly, I waited for the resumption of the  normal.  larians turned up, we ate, talked, watched TV, went to bed. I personally expected strange dreams, but all that happened was that I woke this morning with a strong sense of my head being touched. This does happen to me from time to time,and is a very pleasant sensation, though it can worry me  because  my mother's symptoms include tactile hallucinations of intense pain.  I would rather think I was being visited by various ghosties than that I might be  exhibiting traits of her illness. Having said that, I woke this morning with this strong sense that I have one life and I should live it. Mum never got anything so positive from her experiences. I intend to go out and enjoy myself today, though there is a lot of work to do.

Or rather, there is a lot of work to do, but I am going to go out and enjoy myself today. Dinner party at a chum's tomorrow night, god knows what for Sunday. And then start fresh on Monday reading Mark's work.

Comments

( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
nyarbaggytep
Feb. 19th, 2016 12:09 pm (UTC)
I see what you mean about the poem, I really like the gist of it and it hasn't quite hung together somehow, although I still enjoyed it.

Taking the positive and making your experience what it is, is a very wise choice. There's quite a lot of evidence that many people experience things like that, but it's only if you are distressed by them that it really is experienced as a problem.
smokingboot
Feb. 20th, 2016 09:48 am (UTC)
Thank you for your thoughts on the poem,I entirely agree with you.

Re the experience itself, it divides up into a number of issues, but the sensation of touch is the one I concentrate on the most, because I have no label for it. Dysesthesia seems inaccurate as the sensations are extremely pleasant. As you say, it's not a problem unless it distresses, and the feeling is far from that.
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )

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