This field log introduces a grounded, profoundly melancholic territory to my archives.
The Liminal Slums.
Unlike the grandiose cosmic battles or sprawling neon heights, this realm manifests the heavy weight of shared, quiet human suffering.
I sometimes see people who have crossed over whom I once knew.
This is one such time.
The contrast between my memory of her as a "young woman" beautifully highlights how deeply spiritual hardships can age a person's vessel in these liminal spaces.
Story arc.
Lost in a rundown town.
I felt pulled to a doorway.
So I stepped inside.
And there she was.
An old friend.
Sitting at the bottom of a communal stairwell on an old, discarded sofa.
Her intense, unwavering gaze held me, hostage, in her silent pain, while the rest of the world blurred past in the background.
We never spoke but looked.
I felt she recognised me, and then she looked away as if I should leave.
Hopefully, the next time we meet, she's happier and has overcome the trauma of her previous life.
So I reopened the door and left. Leaving the dream.
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
No comments:
Post a Comment