Once you see yourself as a puppet, or perhaps more aptly a character, for the first time, it's really hard to… forget the significance of that feeling? There's both the potential to be whatever you want to be and also the dissolution of your entire sense of self.
I can't think of anything more sublime. If you have any sense you will fear it; and if your heart is at all still alive, you will crave it. It unravels you, you become unmoored, and your relationship to meaning becomes strange. Roots swirling around your ankles and yet you feel like you're flying.
There's ultimate freedom if you can just let yourself… flow. But in every way you fail to let yourself flow, the process turns to alienation and the sobering realization of your estrangement from things that should be important. And that "should" hangs above your head like the Sword of Damocles.
It is the death of everything you care about and also its source. But it is not chaos. It is more like a… numinous light descending. Everything is rendered strange under this light. It is perfectly calm and any storm is purely within your own self; it is not of this place.
That light means that this is not, in fact, a sunless land, but it is far, very far. So far that you see yourself stretched and the distinction between master and puppet dissolves. With that feeling held, even intense suffering can be subsumed to a stage where higher concepts reign.
The way you and others occupy roles becomes so transparent, to the point that the concept warps in on itself. You may see yourself suffering from the outside and embody your own assailant, obstacle, misfortune, as if you've plugged into some cosmic sadomasochism.
Your resentment… melts away. All that you feared is relieved as long as you stop fearing the loss of self. That is when you give up control. But since it's possible to reach this place on your own, to whom are you giving it up?
It is to versions of yourself that might not be able to exist outside. It is to everything you love all at once, yet also to obsession unbridled.
It can infect you with nostalgia and sadness for things that do not yet exist. You may come to mourn them like the dead, and if you do, you will inherit the burden and privilege of creating them.
Most of all, it is giving up control to your own unfiltered heartbeat, whose strangeness you never fully understood and never will.
Forcing yourself to this place or overstaying here can feel like heavy poison pumped into your veins. It is both difficult to avoid recoiling, and difficult to let go. It will present itself to you as a magic you must never allow to fade. Whether that is true or not is up to you.
The color of this place is Green. Its name is the Emerald Mirror, the Waking Dream.
For it to have any meaning, you must return. You must return.
prguitarman
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