Saturday, December 17, 2016

Autochthonic Nightmare

Somewhere inside the nightmare zones is a region I don't visit too often. But it's maybe when I visit there, I don't know how to send forward the experience to this side.

I remember running down shafts of sand and erosion. Like large tubes eroded by many hands rubbed across the walls of a soft wood. Thousands to hundreds of thousands of people over years. There were corridors of these cave shafts, these tubes, crossing over and bending around and narrowing down. It was probably a lot inspired by actually being inside Mammoth Cave. It was probably somewhat inspired by actual caves on an actual planet. It is just one version of a nightmare configuration through which I am learning alternative lessons.

The thing I remember about the running was the fear was not human. What is the way the alien fears? How does the goat or the dog show fear? How do they overcome that fear? What does a transdimensional form of life fear? How does a human fear something differently from other humans, from other consciousnesses?

I have no answers to these questions, only to say that in the nightmare, the feeling is a kind of motivating terror that drives me forward from just under my heart, toward my spine, and it rotates like a clockwise cylinder about three inches tall with a half-inch diameter, producing a larger magnetic current that moves clockwise first through the medium of my body in five spiral arms and then outwards from my body in seven spiral arms, gradually decreasing in intensity until the effect this fear has on the quantum probabilities is irrelevant for my own survival. There are probably some answers for my questions buried in those feelings I imagine in my nightmare.

I feel like a worm, running down these halls of food, warmth, home, trust that have always been underground.

In the nightmare, the person I am runs because something was unleashed on their home. It gave them such terror, they could only respond by running deeper into unexplored caves, grottos, coves, and the occasional mist-laden doorway in the middle of an ancient wood. Different people fled in different directions, and they promised each other they'd all find one another, somehow, possibly if they all remembered . . .

I couldn't remember. My nightmare ended. I only remember feeling like a worm. Feeling the earth on my hair, tickling me and telling me truths through the humming and trembling and convulsing of the earth, my mother, my home. I remember . . .

I remember the feeling, the overwhelming feeling, of a great many things waking up, waking up as one thing.

Waking as one large THING.

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