#dacus

Thought Form Companion I Thought Form Companion II  

It happens as I’m walking back from the laundry room on my floor. 

I was in the middle of writing this post while simultaneously trying to get chores done around my apartment. I had been contemplating these thoughts for most of the day and the previous evening, and was wrapped up in a circle of thinking that was getting me nowhere. My thoughts were currently stuck in the area of considering my thought form, and the proof of his existence beyond my own mind. Thinking like this gets rather hairy when you’re dealing with creatures that exist simply because of focused energy, and I’m still unsure as to whether or not Dacus is technically an egregore, created by myself and the person who collaborated his creation with me, or if he is simply a thought form that has advanced beyond the limits of a servitor.  In my other two posts about him, I believe I loosely implied that I had not created him intentionally, and that for the most part, he seemed to develop due to all of the energy and thought I was putting into him for well over a year. I have heard that it’s common for writers to unintentionally thought form their characters if they put enough heart into them, and that many writers may never know that this has occurred, only that they don’t seem to have total control over the story anymore. Instead, their characters seem to write it for them. This is very similar to how I began suspecting him having been thought formed myself.  The other night, however, I was rolling things around in my head, contemplating his spiritual existence, and comparing it to the most likely and most logical explanation, which is simply that I know my character so well, I can instantaneously know how he would respond to most situations. I’m generally alright with this idea, because something does not have to be real to other people for it to feel real and have spiritual influence on me. Yet, as I was considering this, the thought crossed my mind, that if something were to happen to me that disallowed me to continue working with him - say memory loss, or even death - would he simply cease to exist all together?

My boyfriend and friends assume no, because they know about him and have worked with him. My friends who are familiar with astral work have even felt his presence and seen him, as well as have witnessed him sitting near me even if I am unaware of him at the moment. One of them has even hugged him on occasion, then described his energy to be almost exactly how I sense it as well.  Yet, there still remains that nagging thought. Group influence is a simple enough explanation for what my friends have experienced, and if this happens to be the case, does Dacus begin and end with me? If something happens to me that I can no longer experience him, does he simply vanish? It’s during these thoughts that the image comes to me. I’m sitting on our couch, my legs pulled up underneath me, gazing across the room. He sits in front of me, slouching into his seat, head propped up lazily on his closed fist as he lounges his elbow on the arm of the office chair. He’s gazing at me with soft amber eyes, and a slight crooked smile.

I ask him quietly what he’s doing here, and gives me a little shrug, just a small twitch of his left shoulder. “Listening to you doubt yourself all over again.” “It’s not like that,” I say flatly, “It’s more complicated than doubting. It’s searching for truth.” “All of your searching is bringing up feelings and thoughts that you can’t afford to have. Eventually you might drive yourself mad thinking of things like this. You need to slow down and trust your experiences.” “I know that,” I reply, “But if I’m doing something wrong and then I simply trust the experience, I might continue to do things incorrectly. That’s what I’m trying to avoid.”  He doesn’t move, but gazes at me a little harder. I see and feel a brief flicker of hurt cross his face, and his thoughts are suddenly blending with mine again. “You’re worried about me losing interest in you,” I say.  He lifts his head from his hand and links his fingers across his stomach, making the desk chair swing back and forth slightly by shifting his weight. “Am I? Or are you afraid of it?”

“Isn’t it generally the same thing?”  “You tell me. I’m in your head.” I realized later that this came out more snarky than he intended.  I sink back into my seat and feel a small lump suddenly begin to rise in the back of my throat. I swallow it down and look at him seriously. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” There’s a moment of silence as he stares at me evenly. I sense a mutual understanding between the two of us that we are both a little afraid. Both a little concerned that something which should be so simple, which is so simple for many others, is not so simple for either of us. I created him to be the type to wonder, to question, and to be skeptical, just like I am. I didn’t mean to, but then I didn’t mean to create him the way I did. Just as I am uncertain of what he is, of what is real, Dacus is uncertain of the same. “I feel real,” he tells me on nights that I’m brave enough to ask, “but I know that doesn’t help you any.” A long moment passes as we sit quietly, until his rumbly voice breaks it softly. “Do me one favor,” he murmurs. “If you can’t have blind faith, then so be it. If you don’t have faith in yourself, if you don’t have faith in this whole idea of spirit work and thought forms, then fine. Just do this one thing for both of us, alright?” I’m suddenly aware of him sitting beside me, his heat gracing my skin, and his scent filling my breath. A hand brushes the back of my head gently, and his voice is close to my ear when he speaks. Both are soft and warm.

One of Taylor Swift‘s friends made a damning confession about the singer’s relationship with Matty Healy. In case you don’t remember, the Midnights singer had a short fling with The 1975 vocalist, and she went in on him on her album The Tortured Poets Department. A song that was speculated to be about Healy was the titular track. In it, she sings about the tumultuous breakup and name-drops some…