March 4, 2009
Lately I feel as though I am dreaming while awake, as if all of RhyDin were a dream. Intangible. It certainly seems that way sometimes, does it not? My glamour feels more real to me at times than this very pen I hold. However, maybe this pen, this paper, these words are a dream--a glamour crafted illusion--and I am not even writing them at all.
See what I mean?
The line between worlds blurs and I feel I am slipping through, or perhaps, just spending so much time alone with my dreams, my thoughts, my fancies that I have simply lost the ability to tell what I have crafted within my own mind, with my own mind, and what really truly stands before me.
What is real, anyways? The concept becomes subjective when one can take a thought or idea and bring it to life before themselves. To make it really real. I can craft reality. Therefore, is anything really real? Is it all just an illusion? Perhaps we all live within layers of illusions.
There used to be things that I knew were real, very real and very separate from the supposed reality that I can affect and create. Death was one such reality; it was very real to me once. It filled my nostrils with the scent of burnt flesh and singed hair, turned my stomach, and made me howl in pain that was emotional yet tore at my very being. Death was real then. I could touch it, feel it, see it, smell it. Perhaps those too were illusions, though? It is not beyond the realm of possibility (but what is in RhyDin?). We can trick ourselves every day with things we think are real--things we can touch, smell, see--but are simply the imaginings of our own minds.
However, the absence of life that day was undeniable, no matter how persistently I denied it. There was reality in that. Finality.
But even death--that greatest enemy of mortals and harbinger of a deep sorrow to those longer lifed--can be made unreal, can it not? In RhyDin, where reality bends around death or perhaps death bows to this reality, it certainly seems so. In this place, the reality of death--which is perhaps unreality, as death makes one no longer real, if the presence of animation and life is real--can be reversed or made unreal itself. Death can become dead.
In this place, one who was very really taken from me and made unreal in death is now real again--full of life, no longer painfully absent from it. In simpler terms: I saw Skyler last night. Living, breathing Skyler. He looked just as he should, just as my memory kept him in tact. Perhaps that?s why I could almost believe he was an illusion, that even that note that I saw before was an illusion. For him to look so perfectly whole once more, how could he be anything else but after what was done to him? Not an illusion of my own making, though. So far removed from that awful situation, I would not torture myself so with the illusion of him now. It would give me no comfort in my current misery and trials.
He is not a Dream, like Robin was. No, certainly not. I can feel the difference now. He is not an illusion, though, either. Not of my own or anyone else?s? making. I confirmed this by my touch, my eyes, but most importantly, my sense of life. No illusion can feel alive the way he does once more.
He looked? his hair, his eyes, the feel of his skin. All the way it should. But it hadn?t been that way the last time I saw him, when I held his broken and burnt body so tight and.. NO! I cannot think about.. I will not! Not again. But just seeing him again?
Regardless, it made me feel happy. Sad, yes, for what was lost and never can be gained back, but happy too. He does not remember, and maybe that is better for us both. There is still feeling there for him. Not strong romantic love, nor overwhelming physical desire, but love and fondness for someone I once cared so deeply for.
Now, I feel truly awake for the first time in weeks. My earlier ramblings are nothing, the barest glimpse into my dreaming mind as of late. It is clearer now, though. I have become so solitary that it is easy for me to get lost within my theories and thoughts once I get started. Yet, such an encounter has brought me back to the here and now. No, perhaps not to the here and now. It has brought me back to the past for a moment.
Was I more alive then?
Lately I feel as though I am dreaming while awake, as if all of RhyDin were a dream. Intangible. It certainly seems that way sometimes, does it not? My glamour feels more real to me at times than this very pen I hold. However, maybe this pen, this paper, these words are a dream--a glamour crafted illusion--and I am not even writing them at all.
See what I mean?
The line between worlds blurs and I feel I am slipping through, or perhaps, just spending so much time alone with my dreams, my thoughts, my fancies that I have simply lost the ability to tell what I have crafted within my own mind, with my own mind, and what really truly stands before me.
What is real, anyways? The concept becomes subjective when one can take a thought or idea and bring it to life before themselves. To make it really real. I can craft reality. Therefore, is anything really real? Is it all just an illusion? Perhaps we all live within layers of illusions.
There used to be things that I knew were real, very real and very separate from the supposed reality that I can affect and create. Death was one such reality; it was very real to me once. It filled my nostrils with the scent of burnt flesh and singed hair, turned my stomach, and made me howl in pain that was emotional yet tore at my very being. Death was real then. I could touch it, feel it, see it, smell it. Perhaps those too were illusions, though? It is not beyond the realm of possibility (but what is in RhyDin?). We can trick ourselves every day with things we think are real--things we can touch, smell, see--but are simply the imaginings of our own minds.
However, the absence of life that day was undeniable, no matter how persistently I denied it. There was reality in that. Finality.
But even death--that greatest enemy of mortals and harbinger of a deep sorrow to those longer lifed--can be made unreal, can it not? In RhyDin, where reality bends around death or perhaps death bows to this reality, it certainly seems so. In this place, the reality of death--which is perhaps unreality, as death makes one no longer real, if the presence of animation and life is real--can be reversed or made unreal itself. Death can become dead.
In this place, one who was very really taken from me and made unreal in death is now real again--full of life, no longer painfully absent from it. In simpler terms: I saw Skyler last night. Living, breathing Skyler. He looked just as he should, just as my memory kept him in tact. Perhaps that?s why I could almost believe he was an illusion, that even that note that I saw before was an illusion. For him to look so perfectly whole once more, how could he be anything else but after what was done to him? Not an illusion of my own making, though. So far removed from that awful situation, I would not torture myself so with the illusion of him now. It would give me no comfort in my current misery and trials.
He is not a Dream, like Robin was. No, certainly not. I can feel the difference now. He is not an illusion, though, either. Not of my own or anyone else?s? making. I confirmed this by my touch, my eyes, but most importantly, my sense of life. No illusion can feel alive the way he does once more.
He looked? his hair, his eyes, the feel of his skin. All the way it should. But it hadn?t been that way the last time I saw him, when I held his broken and burnt body so tight and.. NO! I cannot think about.. I will not! Not again. But just seeing him again?
Regardless, it made me feel happy. Sad, yes, for what was lost and never can be gained back, but happy too. He does not remember, and maybe that is better for us both. There is still feeling there for him. Not strong romantic love, nor overwhelming physical desire, but love and fondness for someone I once cared so deeply for.
Now, I feel truly awake for the first time in weeks. My earlier ramblings are nothing, the barest glimpse into my dreaming mind as of late. It is clearer now, though. I have become so solitary that it is easy for me to get lost within my theories and thoughts once I get started. Yet, such an encounter has brought me back to the here and now. No, perhaps not to the here and now. It has brought me back to the past for a moment.
Was I more alive then?