I've been in a weird place for the last week or so. Almost every thing I saw, touched or did seemed to summon an image. I would see the curve of Kami's face, or the mist in the valley, the heat waves over a grill, wind blowing in the grass...
And things would well up- the face of a girl from nearly thirty years ago. A finger split lengthwise from impact, gray and yellow in death. Words from a rapist's private journal. The yellowing whites around a friend's eyes. A one-speed bicycle. The sound of water dripping in the back of a cave, sounding like vampires smacking their lips to a lone nine-year-old. A grula horse with Kiger stripes. A blank tarot card. The tracks of a beaver along the Washoe river. A rotting wolf eel on the beach. Looking into the eyes of a wild wolf. The feel of welded tuff. Old friends. Old adversaries. An obsidian hand ax. A purple tonka toy roadster.
When I'm not around people I don't think in words anyway. Images are nothing new... it just seemed that they were attached, coming from any sensation, part of that sensation. I would hug my wife and feel the exhiliration of a judo throw or hear the threats of some long forgotten criminal. It was like being in a room crowded with ghosts.
I read a theory long ago that the phenomenon of "life passed before my eyes" in a near-death experience is an attempt to go through history seeking a solution for the present problem. Without the problem, without fear, I've had that sensation for the last week. It seems to have no meaning, no triggering stimulus. It's faded now, enough that I can write at least.
It was a very odd week.
Violence Dynamics Washington D.C. - I was jotting down blog notes on "The wrong side of 40 - Goal Setting". I was going over my schedule and available time and decided I wanted to accomplish...
2 days ago