1.38 pm
I could have sworn I did not expect it. But it’s been coming some time already. It’s not right to be blogging some things outright, and probably feels fine if it’s under some cover of anonymity. But these are plain facts. Oh boy.
Just looked around the envelopes and papers expecting my attention, you know. The mind immediately leapfrogs into the futures ahead, and immediately you have a sense of numbers going exactly where you know they ought to be.
It was no panic attack. Not breadthlessness. But a lucid conscious state of being, like entering into a whole new scenery you have been expecting and know exactly what it’s going to feel like. You can’t escape reality. It’s jumping from fantasy back into the real world. Cool dosage.
Then your head and whole body feels gravity. Everything is otherwise very fine. Thoughts are beginning to seep back in, like an endless train. You think about all the things you have thought about and the plans are simply unfurling as you had planned. It is exactly like an Escher artwork, or some other modernist art, that is a view within a view, within a view. Let me make this clear, there is absolutely no confusion.
But you know something is seriously amiss. I feel the weight of my being pulling my mind down, closing in slightly on itself. In an instant, I find myself giving in to grief, then acute sorrow, and the pain hits you like a stray dart that finds its mark in you. You know it’s too ridiculous to be true, but inside your mind, there is this urgent urge to connect with the intensity of the moment. No fear. No tears. Just a stinging split second of a moment, and the fabric of sanity is separated for you to feel. Just to feel.
Suddenly, I am thinking again. How did it all come to be like this, so desperate, so aggravating, so insanely wrong? The manic sense of falling, of entering into an abyss, of being in some depressed state seems so unnatural. In that instant, stupid and trivial thoughts interrupt the pain. What will they find. How long before they know. The house will be clean, the mess will be mostly in files, computer memory and papers here and there. Get rid of the books, and DVDs. Do I delete the same stupid stuff I just downloaded to view? Or, hell with it, they will clean the mess and like all respectable people, it will be swept under the shroud of discretion. Do I leave a note. What should it say: sorry? Why?
At that thought I am fully cognizant that it will not happen. I was acutely aware that the whole idea was simply and plainly against every concept I had lived for up to this moment, and you can betray your whole existence on just doubt. I was past doubt. I wondered why. Then I remembered, I could not feel the aloneness of being totally forgotten and alienated. I could still sense the love that held me to this uneasy embrace. It is like you can’t understand death if the spirit still lives. The spirit was stronger.
With that I felt comfort and leaned back. The air felt very cool, and very comfortable. Fresh, too. It felt as if I was on some boat out in the open sea, in the bright afternoon, within the shade of the cabin, or in some cool cabin out among the hills, in the deep woods. I felt asleep.
2.20 pm
I found myself alive, not breathing. There was no involuntary sense of breathing, and I did not know it then, but I knew I have always been a candidate for sleep apnea. I could feel the swirling in my head, like some sort of mental buzzing, and spinning and my limbs are soft and relaxed. Nothing wanted to move, and I felt like I was inside my own consciousness, conscious within being conscious, like being in a dream of your own dream. My chest was too relaxed to be breathing, and I could now feel my heart rate picking up, and the body feeling desperate. I could slip into this dream if I go this way, no further that way, yes, down that way.
But I feel fresh air tugging at my and before I could think further, my racing heart is galloping away, and I slowly feel my limbs limber and awakening.
I sit up. It is very strange. What happened. Then I felt hunger, like a strange siren welling up a music from the recesses of your own physical centre. It became very compelling. The brown rice should almost be ready, I think, as I prepared it even before all this happened. Funny as I thought what would they have thought if they found the brown rice remnant in the cooker…
With familiar flair the garlic cloves were chopped and ready, and then an onion. The cabbage in fine strips. I got the canola oil hot, dipped the chopped bulbs into a frenzy fry as they oozed their caramel flavours into the air, and then twisted open the can of corned beef. Best before date, 2008. Just then I wondered what year this was.
In a short instant, I got the corned beef softened, and lopped in the cabbage.
Half an hour later, feeling more composed and slightly in equilibrium, I sat down and eat the brown rice with the corned beef and cabbage in my blue porcelain bowl. I looked out of the window…
3 pm
Hell, this is the best time of the day. Then I recollected the weird experience. At that moment of falling, suddenly it occurred to me that I was thinking several thoughts simultaneously. I was experiencing a whole host of comfort thoughts from my childhood, including some silly story I read when I was probably seven or eight. It was a Muffin book: there was this girl who had a dream. When she awoke, she noticed that what she saw in the dream was in her drawing book. She then drew flowers. When she slept, she was among the flowers. It went on. There was a lighthouse, a house in the hill… and in one eerie experiment, she drew a boy in the house. She met him, but he was trapped in the house. They became friends and she realised that there was nothing more she could do, and after this, it would be destruction. She drew terrible things into her dream, and the boy disappeared… I can’t tell you the ending, but what still haunts me is the dreamscape.
My own dreamscape is something which I have recorded several times over. It is the afternoon, in what is just like a Kodak moment, with grassy hills of bright green dotted with little yellow flowers of wild herbs, ablaze in the sure light of the 3 pm sun. Then as my eyes turn outwards through my own window, I see it is exactly the same sunlight which is now dancing on the leaves of the trees. This is a good time to depart.
Heaven, as my soul would recognise it, would beginning with a landing in this place. Perhaps, too young I had fed on a steady diet of scenes from Little House on the Praire or was so impressionable as to have stolen an image from the Kodak advertisement with Paul Anka’s timeless voice in the background. Cheesey. But I think the sort of Hollywood heaven we all seem to first know, may have been the product of our own times.
Anyway, I find myself accepting the fact, that I have fallen into the deepest deep, where there is no apparent measure of an end, but all you can feel is the ceaseless falling and the velocity you pick up, and within that realisation, the density of your own soul.
My imagination got fired. I felt focussed about where my energies needed to go and prepared tea, while I set the newspapers and laptop up. The scissors to cut the appointment ads, and ballpoint pen to mark the date of the ad for reference, and a plastic folder to put these in, should I be contacted, I could reference which advertisement it was from and promptly research. It feels totally afresh.
I was surprised at the lack of a déjà vu, for I have been sorting out interesting appointment advertisements for some five consecutive years. Got some calls, some queries but all to a frustrating and disappointing naught. Nothing. The only prospects I ever really had coming, was when someone made a recommendation or got me hired on a strong personal reference. Except for my very first full-time job in Singapore Airlines as flight steward, I have never successfully had clinched an appointment through correspondence.
It is an exercise in futility. That was what make me hit rock bottom. Feeling utterly worthless and still trying. Simply because the effort was supposed to account for something. But after all this time, nothing still. It is as if some charm or fate is determined to extinguish my being from the cycle of this life. But some other power makes me stay. It is as if my own destiny is no longer in my hands. Yet, if I my own convictions might have blinded me, to have faith and to believe when in fact there is nothing to hold on to, nothing to suggest that things may yet be.
I am being taught a serious lession about life. And that secret is beginning to unfold in untold ways. There is a mystery unfathomable, veiled and so secret, but its presence alone banishes fear.
4.09 pm
Suddenly, I am thinking again. How did it all come to be like this, so desperate, so aggravating, so insanely wrong? The manic sense of falling, of entering into an abyss, of being in some depressed state seems so unnatural. In that instant, stupid and trivial thoughts interrupt the pain. What will they find. How long before they know. The house will be clean, the mess will be mostly in files, computer memory and papers here and there. Get rid of the books, and DVDs. Do I delete the same stupid stuff I just downloaded to view? Or, hell with it, they will clean the mess and like all respectable people, it will be swept under the shroud of discretion. Do I leave a note. What should it say: sorry? Why?
At that thought I am fully cognizant that it will not happen. I was acutely aware that the whole idea was simply and plainly against every concept I had lived for up to this moment, and you can betray your whole existence on just doubt. I was past doubt. I wondered why. Then I remembered, I could not feel the aloneness of being totally forgotten and alienated. I could still sense the love that held me to this uneasy embrace. It is like you can’t understand death if the spirit still lives. The spirit was stronger.
With that I felt comfort and leaned back. The air felt very cool, and very comfortable. Fresh, too. It felt as if I was on some boat out in the open sea, in the bright afternoon, within the shade of the cabin, or in some cool cabin out among the hills, in the deep woods. I felt asleep.
2.20 pm
I found myself alive, not breathing. There was no involuntary sense of breathing, and I did not know it then, but I knew I have always been a candidate for sleep apnea. I could feel the swirling in my head, like some sort of mental buzzing, and spinning and my limbs are soft and relaxed. Nothing wanted to move, and I felt like I was inside my own consciousness, conscious within being conscious, like being in a dream of your own dream. My chest was too relaxed to be breathing, and I could now feel my heart rate picking up, and the body feeling desperate. I could slip into this dream if I go this way, no further that way, yes, down that way.
But I feel fresh air tugging at my and before I could think further, my racing heart is galloping away, and I slowly feel my limbs limber and awakening.
I sit up. It is very strange. What happened. Then I felt hunger, like a strange siren welling up a music from the recesses of your own physical centre. It became very compelling. The brown rice should almost be ready, I think, as I prepared it even before all this happened. Funny as I thought what would they have thought if they found the brown rice remnant in the cooker…
With familiar flair the garlic cloves were chopped and ready, and then an onion. The cabbage in fine strips. I got the canola oil hot, dipped the chopped bulbs into a frenzy fry as they oozed their caramel flavours into the air, and then twisted open the can of corned beef. Best before date, 2008. Just then I wondered what year this was.
In a short instant, I got the corned beef softened, and lopped in the cabbage.
Half an hour later, feeling more composed and slightly in equilibrium, I sat down and eat the brown rice with the corned beef and cabbage in my blue porcelain bowl. I looked out of the window…
3 pm
Hell, this is the best time of the day. Then I recollected the weird experience. At that moment of falling, suddenly it occurred to me that I was thinking several thoughts simultaneously. I was experiencing a whole host of comfort thoughts from my childhood, including some silly story I read when I was probably seven or eight. It was a Muffin book: there was this girl who had a dream. When she awoke, she noticed that what she saw in the dream was in her drawing book. She then drew flowers. When she slept, she was among the flowers. It went on. There was a lighthouse, a house in the hill… and in one eerie experiment, she drew a boy in the house. She met him, but he was trapped in the house. They became friends and she realised that there was nothing more she could do, and after this, it would be destruction. She drew terrible things into her dream, and the boy disappeared… I can’t tell you the ending, but what still haunts me is the dreamscape.
My own dreamscape is something which I have recorded several times over. It is the afternoon, in what is just like a Kodak moment, with grassy hills of bright green dotted with little yellow flowers of wild herbs, ablaze in the sure light of the 3 pm sun. Then as my eyes turn outwards through my own window, I see it is exactly the same sunlight which is now dancing on the leaves of the trees. This is a good time to depart.
Heaven, as my soul would recognise it, would beginning with a landing in this place. Perhaps, too young I had fed on a steady diet of scenes from Little House on the Praire or was so impressionable as to have stolen an image from the Kodak advertisement with Paul Anka’s timeless voice in the background. Cheesey. But I think the sort of Hollywood heaven we all seem to first know, may have been the product of our own times.
Anyway, I find myself accepting the fact, that I have fallen into the deepest deep, where there is no apparent measure of an end, but all you can feel is the ceaseless falling and the velocity you pick up, and within that realisation, the density of your own soul.
My imagination got fired. I felt focussed about where my energies needed to go and prepared tea, while I set the newspapers and laptop up. The scissors to cut the appointment ads, and ballpoint pen to mark the date of the ad for reference, and a plastic folder to put these in, should I be contacted, I could reference which advertisement it was from and promptly research. It feels totally afresh.
I was surprised at the lack of a déjà vu, for I have been sorting out interesting appointment advertisements for some five consecutive years. Got some calls, some queries but all to a frustrating and disappointing naught. Nothing. The only prospects I ever really had coming, was when someone made a recommendation or got me hired on a strong personal reference. Except for my very first full-time job in Singapore Airlines as flight steward, I have never successfully had clinched an appointment through correspondence.
It is an exercise in futility. That was what make me hit rock bottom. Feeling utterly worthless and still trying. Simply because the effort was supposed to account for something. But after all this time, nothing still. It is as if some charm or fate is determined to extinguish my being from the cycle of this life. But some other power makes me stay. It is as if my own destiny is no longer in my hands. Yet, if I my own convictions might have blinded me, to have faith and to believe when in fact there is nothing to hold on to, nothing to suggest that things may yet be.
I am being taught a serious lession about life. And that secret is beginning to unfold in untold ways. There is a mystery unfathomable, veiled and so secret, but its presence alone banishes fear.
4.09 pm
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