The Skeleton would kneel down on one knee–I’d be seated looking at its white skull, gaping eyes and a gap for a nose. “See all these bones?” it would add, stroking one side of its rib cage, strumming down each of the bones like a xylophone. I’d cringe at hearing a scale of discordant notes, among them some pure, whole sounds, a cacophony bringing to mind all my painful memories: like when I’d been betrayed, felt powerless, humiliated—but this is where it hurts most, it would then say, pointing to the area above the heart on its rib cage. ” Meanwhile, I’d still be gasping on the track, unable to rise.

“Sounds have a way of drawing feelings out of a person–so these discordant notes represent your unhealed emotions. “like this represents a time you had felt unloved, fear, abandoned” it goes up and down the scale of its ribs, chiming unpleasant sounds, as I remain cringing, feeling a surge of emotions; my cheeks burning and stomach tying, lurching into knots.

“You don’t look too good there, buddy.” It would say…”let me play something that will pick you up–not all of my sounds are miserable, ya know…”And get this–not all sounds are unhealed, some can even be real happy. ya ready to hear this ?” It strums a happy note and taps its feet, bringing to mind the birth of my nieces and nephew, which for someone like me who has no desire to be a parent, is a form of joy I can live vicariously through my sister.

“and not all of my sad sounds are discordant either–Some can be pure…” It says, playing a sad violin sound”, bringing to mind my grandfather’s death.

“I’ve got some real, beautiful sounds among the ugly”, it would proceed, “countless, infinite sounds–I can playabout any sound in the universe.” it raises its arms towards a setting sun.

The Skeleton goes in between playing sounds–my mind cycling between memories on the Race track of life; their recall jolting from one thought to the next, all choppy, with no harmonic transition or thoughtful pause in between them, feeling as though they were disparate, isolated events.

“But I cant seem to find the sound that holds your life together .”It sighs, “However much any of these memories might mean to ya in themselves, they don’t hold the beat to arrange or tie your memories together into a whole, like a thread.”It then digs its white finger in the dirt, twirling its finger, drilling dirt– “the wormhole, ya know”, it says, “pulling the out head of a worm, “ahh.. there we go.. thanks, buddy.” The worm.. For whatever reason, there is some thread.. onto it.. which it.. a golden thread…

“This thread part of my first aid kit, what docs use to stitch up wounds and tissues in the body. I think word for it is…” it taps its chin, pondering, “suture–that’s what this thing here is, it helps tye things up.”

The Skeleton now, sits further beside me, crossing its legs. I hear musical notes cracking from its joints and the rummaging of tools (first aid kit part…what is it..) as it pulls out a needle, tying a knot on the end of the thread, as the remainder in the ground without threading the needle through, a loose knotted loop that.. rest of the thread in the ground.. (looks behind it and tosses to the center of the track…? like bait..?) . “Say, you don’t want to share why you’ve been running, do you..? “It might be the keys..to start the engine, and help us find our way outta here..” (edge of track..) (how are visuals complementing this?) (draw myself for now..?) (how about reality box with bridge? hmm..) (is it a rainbow bridge?hmm..) nah.. hmm..

“Keys?”

“Right–in music, musical notes are referred to as keys. And your heart is like an Engine that has the rest of your body moving. vroom.. vroom..” . It rolls its hands, as if revving up the handles of a motorcycle, “since the notes I play are the sounds representin’ your memories, and I have countless sounds on here as I’ve said– it would take forever to guess which one to be the key that could start the engine to get us to skidaddle outta here, it would help if you told me the reason why you were running, because that could be the key.”

I continue looking at my Skeleton, staying quiet.

“A Prisoner choosing to plead the fifth, huh? You might think you had me locked me up, but it’s really your heart you’ve locked up in there, kid.” It pokes my chest with the other finger. I feel chill on flesh–. my bones against my bones.” As long you keep your heart stuck, you and I remain prisoners here, stuck in this loop, unable to start up the engine.” There’s a pause before it says, “sheesh, you’ve been running ’round and ’round your entire life”, doing a waving motion with its bony finger in the air. ” even i got dizzy in there–me and my notes locked up behind bars.” clearly, It just made a musical reference. It reclines on the ground, stretching its arms.. “ahh… I haven’t seen the light of day in ages… ahh sun…”, it is now sun bathing, tossing one ankle over the other; “this feels nice even if I do sound lousy and have grown used to life in the shadows… ” The dark holes of its eye look directly at the sun–what could otherwise blind a human in the flesh–if not a skeleton.) ” A good dose of Vitamin D… … ahhh….and no need for sun lotion– the joys of having no skin, when you’re stripped to bare bones.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Still gonna ask the questions and not answer mine?…hmm…Ok…Too bad..I see how it is..” it says, rising from the ground and now pacing in circles, so you don’t care about yourself..fine… but you don’t care about me either? “Now…I’d think you’d have enough Guilt… It strums..”.. you’ve left me no choice..” it says menacingly, then lunges toward me like a wild animal.. “Keeping your Skeleton locked up AND sounding bad.. now that’s just too much–and it’s the point you’re crossing the line..get it? crossin’ the line, like the finish line in a race?” it cackles.

”Stop playing!” I shout, “Stop manipulating me!” remembering all the times I felt that dreaded feeling: guilt.

“I’m not manipulating you,” it says sweetly, “Just trying to find the keys for our grand escape.” The Skeleton pulls out a stethoscope from underneath its whistle, which jingles like a jailer’s keys, using one hand, while continuing to…its bring to my chest, roving it over my heart… raising the needle, waving it like a conductor leads an orchestra.

“What are you doing? and what What does my heartbeat have anything to do with this?”

“Told ya, I’m trying to find the keys for our grand escape to get the engine to start. Remember what I had said–that In music, a key is a note, like all these sounds I play?”

“Yes, and I’m right now feeling plenty of guilt, in other words, –a jerk–, thanks to you”

“Well, what I’m doing is, checking your heartbeat now and guilt doesn’t seem to be a key, –or keyword, to unlocking the engine–anyway, enough yappin’– just look at the ground and refer to it as my monitor screen. and take a deep breath for me–a whiff of inspiration..” It again cackles.. “Anotha doctor’s joke, in case ya didn’t know. Inspiration is the same as takin’ a deep breath, –jus’ in doc speak.”

I abide, pulling in a deeper breath. The skeleton presses the stethoscope against my chest and says,
“good, hmm, it tunes in closely… the sounds that it plucks continue… and when I get a closeup of its face and see those dark eyes, I further feel its chill and avert myself away, focusing on my own breathing, feeling pressure constriction tighten around the heart, hearing the rattle of air along with all these sounds whistling through the skeleton’s empty ribs.

It waves the needle in hand like a a conductor’s baton, eying back and forth in between the stethoscope and the ground. (how about center of..) The ground from the end of the loop… wave… tomography.. “And to be clear… I’m not checking your physical heart here…, Buddy…” it says..tap tap tap.. “it’s your emotional heart—there’s a difference. It hums, “so the difference is this..and it’s this: The Emotional heart is nestled down beneath your physical heart; while Your physical heart beats 100% (heart rate..BPM) of the time, your emotional heart only does so when .there is something of meaning directly related to your purpose that activates it.” (like a Treasure..)

(put picture of hippocampus….) (how about reality box?)

(earthquake? hmm..)”We’re performin cardiatric bypass surgery on ya here, Buddy–even if your emotional heart ain’t beatin, the physical heart pumps oxygenated blood up into the brain– allowin’ it to keep working and by plucking my keys here–they act like keywords–happy, sad, glad, mad, hopeful, chaotic, bloody miserable–keys that unlock memories– I’m searchin’ for the a combo of emotion and memory that could stir up the memory that’ll cause the heart to beat. Ya can call it our loop hole, if ya will, our way of getting to an inactive, emotional heart through the physical.”

The sounds in me are bringing forth a lot of emotion alright– with no rhythm in between–plucking memories I wasn’t even aware of, or had long forgotten,– like when I was born, my pre-school years, high school, college, shuffling through the library of my life, of all my experiences of employment,  vacations, homes I’ve visited and lived in, people I’ve met, blurring into each all at once… something faint.. voice, phrase.. Phase I… breaks out..

“Yup no beat…”

I’m surprised by that comment, considering the amount of emotion I’m going through–especially with my breath being all frantic.. As I see… see the circuit being woven that looks like… diagram of my breathing part.. (tomography..) (how leaving from here.. and then that box of reality.. hmm.. that wave from racetrack of life then.. doing what along the island? hmm..(those passageways of water above them.. hmm..) (how about

“these memories are all jumbled, they keep zipping in and out—spinning all over the place!” I shout. The race track of life is an apt comparison to the state of mind I’m in; the waves on the ground reflecting an earthquake or torrential sea of mad, angry waves with dramatic peaks and troughs.

(Insert picture of Race track of life)…

The Skeleton stops waving, observing the waves, to which it replies “dead sea”, sounding unimpressed.

“dead? That movement doesn’t look dead to me– it’s frantic.”

“Ya heard me, kid–D-E-A-D. Simple–it’s dead. There ain’t no pathway of life, or promise of.. the right amount of electricity weaving in through there to tye memories into a sequence to spring your emotional body back to life. That pattern may be frantic, but it ain’t gonna bring ya to life.”

“Pathway of life?

“Yup… circuit…brain works with…all types of circuits..pathway of circuit is…(defiines…. needs to tye…group memories.. so how is this sequence working? hmm.. pulse running through brain.. hmm..circulation…) so Let me ask..a question to ya instead of hte other way around–Doctor’s orders.. so I’ve got a little bit of trivia for ya…What’s another word for race track?”

“uhh..” i hesitate before I say anything.

The skeleton smacks its forehead, “circuit! circuit! and where is this circuit, or race track located–the one we are trying to get off of?”

“The mind…”

“Bingo! Now tell me, what is another word for the connections the mind makes between its brain cells?””

“Synapase?”

“Good– now do you know what a combination of synapses make?”

“uhh..”

“Come on you’re killin’ me here, Kid, worse than that sea”.

“circuit…” I reply.

(For more detail on how the brain and heart work click here) (Click here–another clue–Treasure related)

“And since we’re in this hidden place in your mind, even if we get the heart, or engine to start, where are you going to go to avoid falling back onto this track? It points to the track, and it’s right–this place looks like no man’s land–a round, vast, empty loop with nothing but fog in the distance, though I have a sense of it being an island as I hear the sound of crashing waves in the distance—The Skeleton continues, “Even if this race track here is called a circuit, it acts more like a loop that goes round and around– The point is to walk out of this state of mind you’re in where your life just goes a whirlin’. towards a new state of mind where you got a greater sense of direction, a purpose towards knowing where you’re headed , kid; if you don’t know your (4 doubleyou’s of what you’re doing, where you’re why…how do you know where you’re going… nevermind that’s an H.. so 3 double you’s.. I think..I lost count.. you can feel pretty lost.. so you gotta figure out what moves ya and makes your heart sing? Ya get what I’m Sayin’—then get headed in that direction” it taps its feet, moving in and out of the fog.–those are the routes your heart powers your mind to build some channels of meaning–which we can figure that out through your life story and song, both of which are tied to your purpose– again your Treasure.

How? What is even story and song..? A sort of device? Like, I know know what songs are…it’s what you hear and play; and what are stories?”

(Present image of circuits..) (Reality box..)

Hint..Click here to learn what story is– (color-coded)

” Good stories are what get us up off here, off this dang track to start moving again. Reframing those lousy events in empowering ways–to get the bad and ugly stuff to starting sound good.. and meaningful.

“meaningful… huh?“ it repeats it again, “meaningful” the..Skeleton pauses, “Hey wait a second…”

Suddenly brings its hand tomits rib and plucks.. it plays….(what kind of sound..)

“Meaningful… purpose…” (together..)

“why didn’t I think of this sooner?” Paired Keyword and emotion..

Stethoscope..

The reason I’m running.. bolts right through my head..What I’ve been avoiding to tell the skeleton.. conducting..

“Ahh I feel pressure.. the engine is turned on… at least its ignition..right combo of keyword, memory and feeling to turn on the igition.. listens to heart beat… but that beats to needs to be amplified more to build the routes..a lil’ too weak for now..—“

It points to diagram on ground where I see stitches.. what resembles… (pulses?) of the heart.. growing from above the heart.. (so heart activated something..in hippocampus.. those notes.. allude to convo with Anna on paper..

“The circuit of the pathway.. life..it’s….. describe the growth..we’ll be outta here in no time..so now we gotta draw dem routes..ya know what I’m sayin..”what carries meaning.. (how about reality.. hmm.. edge of the continent..) (is sun shining… rising and setting? hmm..)how am I to explain all of this with that chap 4 where worm has been.. (can you explain for me this connection please? this explanation.. help.. hmm..)

“What are my routes?”

“Them circuits of story and sound..”

I look at it.. (click here to understand combo or keep reading…) (thread…)

“ how do you know so much?” I ask.

“When you’re locked up inside a person for enough as I have, you just know things, kid. Shadows.. Besides, ,maybe there is a world inside you that you don’t know about.. For a slight moment, it looks pensive…)…looking up at the newly lit sky… regaining back its focus..But let’s hold off on that and.. focus on.. what I still don’t know is why you’ve been running..”

“Well It’s by NO means tragic, I say. If I tell you, I’ll end up sounding melodramatic and that is what…”, the Skeleton, strums a dramatic.. note, so I quickly add, “but it is something of importance to me.”

“A high, light note then.” the skeleton grins, or at least I think it’s a smile, because the lack of skin and muscle makes for an awkward contortion of the jaw. “Just speak your truth.”

I fumble. “Well uhh…It’s really long…you sure you want to hear it?”

“We gotta get this out of you…or I’ll keep stroking some pretty ugly soundin’ keys.” (be stuck…

(Unskippable cut scene to teahouse..) (… thread..)

I was trying to write a story after having suppressed my imagination for so long. But it did result in something, like the contents on this website here. I add, with I wave, as if presenting, a magic trick, and since it is my imagining, poof! the fog momentarily clears..quite conveniently showing the faint silhouette of a billboard in the distance… . track..what in relation to the track….(pointing..) then clasp my hands back together dismally.. “It’s actually kind of embarassing to be this vulnerable…. not sure if what I’m saying makes sense or if the following does.” The skeleton pats my back. Again, I’m unable to get up.The fog clouds the scene…. again.

“Continue.. I understand.. but tell me more…” the skeleton again strums its ribs,. “Ahh, a note of suppression, denial, longing, separation. (slow beat..) (heart..)

“Indeed.. that’s exactly what it was. From being a toddler, to a child, a teenager then an adult, I have always been in awe of the fictional–the imaginary, the magical. I resume. ” A Series of memories..” The route on the ground… “Circuit of…”

“Go on..”

(go to neatline map.. ) (thead unravels there..) https://inter-routes.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=1914&action=edit

Then in Highschool, during that awkward transition into adulthood, when one is impressionable, I was being exposed more to the philosophy of materialism, the notion that if something is not physical, it’s not real. and even more depressing for me, nihilism, arguing that nothing in the world even exists.

These feelings can all be Summarized best by what a friend had said one day, sitting on a couch, that the only reason she didn’t like reading fiction was because “those fictional worlds are so vivid that I become invested in reading them, only to remember we can never enter those worlds so it makes me sad.”

As I say this, there is a drop in the skeleton’s face–as much as there can be since it doesn’t have the muscle to show emotion. “So my fear… ” I say as it plucks harder…* almost with vengeance…I continue is not being understood and not being a good enough writer to carry this vision..but that.. uhh” It strums, “having my writing be rejected (another note..) and….” now I see there is a realization in the skeleton, of what I’m about to say…”and also being delusional… because really, you’ve just been an aspect of me all along that I used to say all this.”

Once I finish blabbing, I see, my skeleton looking at me aghast–as if betrayed, manipulated.

“So.. are you saying… I’m not real.. I’M JUST A PUPPET FOR YOU!? WHY COULDN’T YOU JUST SAY IT, HUH!? HAVE THE COURAGE TO SAY WHAT YOU WERE FEELING UPFRONT WITHOUT USING ME!?” It marches, tossing off its hat, flings off its stethoscope as I sit on the track, watching. “NONE OF THESE WORDS WERE EVER MY OWN!?” The skeleton even kicks the cooler, breaking a toe.. “owww… OR WAS I EVEN MEANT TO FEEL THAT!? oh great writer.?…. kid..” It rolls its eyes, or as much as those gaping ones can–I don’t care if this is my own imaginging… they’re creepy. *

“well, yes, but no..as a literary device, to explain to the reader in a way I couldn’t easily have done so without boring them to tears..and this was already long. otherwise, you have been used–but it doesn’t make you any less real, or so I’ve come to learn–or am still learning… Uhh..You just crept up from my subconscious.. besides, if I hadn’t used you, would you exist?…”

“UNBELIEVABLE!” The skeleton exclaims, referring as much to my myth as to my response. “Bore them to tears? What–well what about MY tears?” It begins making sobbing sounds, yet its face is dry as a BONE. “WHO AM I TO YOU!? Who am I really then? Did I ever have free-will? Did I ever have.. it’s all existensial really.. my purpose.. I don’t know what it is..CAN I EVEN THINK?.OR IS IT ALL THROUGH YOU?” It points an accusatory, trembling finger, then lies on the floor, banging its skull which rolls off the neck. conveniently.. ” AM I JUST A MERE EXTENSION OF YOU!? I thought I knew who I was.. what is my purpose? AM I EVEN AN I?” (prisoner to a..)

I take the skeleton’s shrieking skull and regard it like Hamlet. Meanwhile, its arms and legs have slid off from its body onto the track. “I’m falling apart and can’t get up..” “I’m only who you want me to be… I’m not even a Self” It remains sobbing.

While the skeleton can serve as a metaphor for the parts of ourselves we’d rather ignore, like my current fear of not being understood and in turn not belonging—“the skeleton in the closet” it can also serve as a metaphor for the parts of ourselves we don’t easily see– not just the vulnerabilities.

My character is right in someway— it has no brain, no heart, everything it says, does, is imagined and conveyed through me: its indignation, the way it storms, how it flung off its hat and collapsed into my arms, even the strumming on its ribs that caused the heart in my chest to beat is my own imagining. 

Yet when I look into these gaping eyes of a sad skull on my lap, seeing pitch black, feeling the chill through the ribs that lie here the track, they seem to hold clues into something—both within and beyond me. Even the whistle streaming through the ribs sounds like it poses the age old question of existence,warranting these bones as being ancient.

I didn’t consciously choose for the skeleton to appear in my mind as I mulled over how to write all this—it sort of did on its own, like all other images that seem meaningless to us in our physical reality, making their way up past  the veil of imagination–or the crypt from which the Skeleton came–carrying some imprint of life, such as those statutes in DC.

Perhaps this could also all be due to images my conscious mind may compiled over the course of my life that may have just made their way to my subconscious, brought out into awareness through associated thoughts), but considering how this all feels exciting, animated and even purposeful to me, well, could the Skeleton have emerged from a mysterious psyche Jung mentioned had a life of its own, that connects us to life itself–this veil of imagination or the crypt?

I reach for the stethoscope, bringing my hand over its heart and though it is empty, I feel the unsteady, uneven, unrhythmic beating of mine in its place.

“You know.. I empathsize a lot with you.”

“Oh, do you? I suppose it’s because I am you?” .What do you mean?” .”I can only feel, think and obtain a voice through you…. psh..” (know things… pshhhh…)

“You have a life of your own you know, you need to give yourself more credit here. If you didn’t appear.. I wouldn’t have had this beat..Plus… you told me earlier that… life of your own..it’s.how i found yyou..

“Bury me..”

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

I get up the track… wobbly… towards an exit ramp..

” (How about inter-routes waves? hmm..) (exit ramp…) (so tracing a route to get to the exit ramp…? hmm.. help..) (if we see the exit ramp.. why can’t we just get up and go..no barriers..) (try to get up…) (see the pointer.. is the exit rampt hen appearing later? hmm..) (right.. remember it is a change of observation.. so are we seeing it as an island.. what is going on here? hmm..) (meaning..)

all a map…

—————————————————————————————————————————————–

“Still not going to tell me..hmm…Ok…Too bad..I see how it is.. so you don’t care about yourself..fine… but you don’t care about me either? “Now…I’d think you’d have enough Guilt… strums..”.. (rolls head..) but now.. looks like I’ve got to draw the ramp myself…”

”Stop playing!” I shout, “Stop manipulating me!” remembering all the times I… then I see it having… I now see it has… stopped..my chest…

“Uhh…”

it looks in my eyes curiously, making me nervous. “do re mi fa so la ti do..” it sings, I suppose it’s to soothe me, but the attempt fails.

“And to be clear… I’m not checking your physical heart here…, Buddy…”tap tap tap.. “it’s your emotional heart—there’s a difference… hums…. pressure… so the difference is this..and it’s this: The Emotional heart is nestled down beneath your physical heart; while Your physical heart beats 100% (heart rate..BPM) of the time, your emotional heart only does so when .there is something of meaning that activates it… (these notes sounds through me?)…(laaaaaa…) what makes your heart sing…barriers preventing it from beating more regularly, or locked up most of the time, are a result of whatever other hurt you Feel inside…including (what kind..) beliefs..(demonstrates these notes?) Without realizing, sometimes your heart being locked up is a result of not feeling at all, where you’ve just been tuned off from feeling.. (does a locked motion with its fingers…) or even… just be feeling plain  Blahhhh..(lowers other arm..).You might even have certain memories or beliefs where despite having some pain attached, they still have the potential to make your heart beat since they make you feel alive…the skeleton gets up and leaps… “Hip hip, hooray!” it cheers, (shaking from hip to hip..) then continues, “inspiring you to get up and keep moving when you’ve fallen, needing the guts to get up…. it’s those memories (feelings..) (beliefs..) that serve as the keys to unlocking the heart…and are likely.. the notes….” (how about that musical keys part.. I said it up there but…) (notes..)

Now take a deeper breath for me… we’ll need a bigger whiff there….. inspiration…” cackles.. slaps knee part..” part.. “find the keys..song.. ” (going in… map.. part.. connection for yourself..) (how about with brain..) breath…brain and heart.. (something about circuit..) (remember.. wave is what is going on here..)

(something I say..)

“who knows… maybe the reason you’re running could be those reasons.. notes.. the keys… even if the memory is an unhealed…”

“it’s unhealed alright..”

Even conflicting notes/memories/feelings can still be in harmony if arranged in the right way that feels meaningful. .” hmm… so let’s search for a note with some sort of beat… which might take forever have to tap all these keys….have to keep searching… (list number of… all sounds of the universe? have to go through all the… lots of sounds here… orrrr make it easier for me and just spill the beans, ok, so I can just press on the… with the associated feeling…@ (but what was the original line of logic…?) “How about you tell me so I can at least interpret an emotion based on what you say and move my fingers there to play to see if my hunch is right. Is it too much to Help a fellow inmate out, here?” (Have mercy…) (on yourself too? Hmm..) hmm..;  l.” hmm… “I’ll just know which key to hit…” “have to tap all these keys…” hmm… (as I am breathing.. do I feel the ground underneath me spin too? or crack.. since beating will be like tomography.. like earthquake.. (soil…)

“Well It’s by NO means tragic, I say. If I tell you, I’ll end up sounding melodramatic and that is what…”, the Skeleton, strums a higher note, so I quickly add, “but it is something of importance to me.”

“A high, light note then.” the skeleton grins, or at least I think it’s a smile, because the lack of skin and muscle makes for an awkward contortion of the jaw. “Just speak your truth.”

I fumble. “Well uhh…It’s really long…you sure you want to hear it?”

“We gotta get this out of you…or I’ll keep stroking….

” Okay..As I said, not that deep but..” I look at the skeleton’s bones, a visual aid prompting me to dig through fossilized memories to arrive at 2016. ” So, in 2016, yes, 2016, I started a project called the Teahouse–so, The Teahouse was about serving Tea and was to operate as a cafe in some capacity but it went much deeper than that for me.

I decide to pick up my pace, seeing how intently the Skeleton listens–the symbol of death in many cultures qualifying as a great counselor. It rejoices… (underneath.. found the beat…(like a route..)

“I saw Tea as a unifying symbol since Tea is a beverage existing in many cultures, offered as a gesture of hospitality and warmth and for many other reasons that if you stick around long enough will hear. Tea of course is only one option of drink, as there are coffee drinkers out there–and some who just like.,.. water.” The skeleton hands me a cup from a cooler nearby… chilly… paper cup..conical… shape of cup…my hands cold.. “Thank you…. so The notion of Tea was just an excuse to gather to reflect on what it means to be human is, having participants share their own personal stories with others. I also wanted to incorporate analysis and self-reflection, having people ask themselves questions along the lines of who they are, why they believe what they do, why they see others the way they do, and their overall worldview. This was to be done with the intent of getting people to reflect on what makes them human, analyzing any beliefs they might have that don’t contribute much to their personal growth, that of society, or nature’s well-being.

“Uh huh.. not everyone’s cup of tea… but I see your point..” (note part..) “Now I can pinpoint it… ahh…” (right where I suspected… pressure right there…)… “Ahh.. I see.. an instance of belonging..unfulfiled purpose..being misunderstood… (checking for beat…) “When it strikes belonging…” (muffled sound..” (Ahh.. I believe I’ve.. key to unlocking the heart.. the note of belonging..Ahh.. I see.. an instance of belonging..unfulfiled purpose..being misunderstood. (what is going on with thread..) joy of skeleton’s seeing circuit of stories being built..

take another sip.. also.. chatters.. skeleton..?. doubles the cold… frigid..chatters…gulp..Right… so.. I managed to drag a few of my friends to participate in this project–while a few had an understanding of what the Teahouse was about, many just saw it as an excuse to meet people. I viewed the events we engaged in as being artistic, groundbreaking, wanting my friends to view it through the same lens–but I just couldn’t get them to see things the way I wanted. I thought that if I were to reframe the actual events in such a way as to make them fantastical, I could better capture and convey the essence of the Teahouse’s vision. I saw the phenomena of Harry Potter and how much excitement it generated and though my friends didn’t understand the scope of my vision, everyone agreed they felt they were being called unto something bigger–it was a shared feeling that somehow eluded us all, a vision we couldn’t quite form into our shared reality together.

I imagined that if I wrote a myth–something grand, exciting, and whimsical– blown to exaggerated proportion, much like Romulus and Remus in their founding of Rome (YES–I was THAT eager, ambitious, and nuts as the contents of this website will prove)–weaving fiction together with actual events, it would ground the vision, making it believable without compromising the integrity of an “external, objective” reality; perhaps then the Teahouse vision could be built, seen and shared.

But there was another problem.. 

I was trying to write a story after having suppressed my imagination for so long. But it did result in something, like the contents on this website here. I add, with I wave, as if presenting, a magic trick, (what in relation to the track….wait wasn’t this a track….) then clasp my hands back together dismally.. “It’s actually kind of embarassing to be this vulnerable…. not sure if what I’m saying makes sense or if the following does.” The skeleton pats my back. Again, I’m unable to get up.

“Continue.. I understand.. but tell me more…” the skeleton again strums its ribs,. “Ahh, a note of suppression, denial, longing, separation. (slow beat..) (heart..) (route…)

“Indeed.. that’s exactly what it was. From being a toddler, to a child, a teenager then an adult, I have always been in awe of the fictional–the imaginary, the magical. I resume. “Series of memories..”

“Go on..”

Like those times in Washington DC, the capitol by which I’d live, whenever I’d walk the corridors of Union Station, as both a child and adult, I’d see gargoyles lining the ceiling rim, each with a own unique expression carved onto their stone faces, one inspecting me curiously, while another was intended to evoke in me a chill, its arched brows and fangs, hissing without a sound, and beside it, its pudgy, funny neighbor, eying me though indifferent as to whether I was even there;. I’d be amazed at how they were filled with so much personality, then walk away feeling sad, sometimes relieved, at knowing they weren’t “real”.

This same feeling would occur when visiting other parts of the city once I’d walk out the station’s doors, like the grand Roman horseman at the entrance of the Memorial bridge, as if the Gatekeeper of the city, before the Lincoln Monument–his horse fully fleshed though lifeless, bloodless, bulged veins running through its calves, the body sculpted in iron grey. Everywhere within this Capitol is an illusion to the etheral: mythic depictions of George Washington, columns and steps resembling those of Ancient Rome and Greece.. Lady Justice crowning Congress.. and her colossal sister up in NYC, Lady Liberty, wielding her torch to welcome weary immigrants arriving by boats and ships in the pursuit of a better life.

“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free..”

Witnessing these statues in these settings is like falling into some master architect’s dream where mythical beings inhabit a city, and as you you excitedly run towards a denizen (in this case, these and other statues), they tease you by never coming to life, and you’re trapped in that dream.

There seems to be life in them–though there’s no motion, no pulse. (How about in me here..)

I had also been discouraged from exploring the imagination when in school, my creativity was so little valued so I just shunned that part of me.

Then in Highschool, during that awkward transition into adulthood, when one is impressionable, I was being exposed more to the philosophy of materialism, the notion that if something is not physical, it’s not real. and even more depressing for me, nihilism, arguing that nothing in the world even exists.

These feelings can all be Summarized best by what a friend had said one day, sitting on a couch, that the only reason she didn’t like reading fiction was because “those fictional worlds are so vivid that I become invested in reading them, only to remember we can never enter those worlds so it makes me sad.”

I had agreed. Besides, it seemed self-centered to immerse oneself in make-believe worlds when time could be spent on finding practical solutions to real-world problems, or rather than even painting a problem through a fictional scenario, such as if one wanted to capture the dreaded reality of homelessness, why create characters living out the situation instead of finding real life subjects to explain their feelings, and day-to-day life experience?. While I took such an approach wayyy too far, I was harboring dread at living in a mundane, practical world, attempting to face life as it “was” rather than how I’d like it to be, trying to be as objective as possible, all while feeling helpless. I was being conditioned to, and choosing, to prefer what I thought at the time was pure rationale, doubting everything, above all myself, out of fear of being delusional (the irony, right?), and distancing myself from even wanting to tell or hear fictional stories; although like my friend, that separation from what I truly wanted.. felt so real. Expressions alluding to the power of story all sounded cliche to me, unless it was a “real” one, why not just exchange ideas, and cold, hard objective facts? Why don’t we even take it further and be literal to exclude any use of the metaphor, and when discussing stories, why not prefer non-fiction, real human stories versus fictional ones?

Engaging in imagination was like an escape and denial of reality.

Yet I was being called to investigate, examine, explore characters and fictional element– an invitation summoning me from deep within, through an impulse as if it had a life of its own. How could I understand the full-extent of reality by denouncing the feelings within me that are just as real though concealed (albeit not in this physical reality)? At first it felt silly to create dialogue between my characters, as it just felt like only me talking, merely using my characters as puppets to get a point across that I could easily instead just say outright “THIS IS HOW I FEEL OR VIEW A SITUATION, AND I DON’T NEED TO USE A FICTIONAL CHARACTER TO CONVEY THIS”. It just felt plain silly to ascribe a separate life to characters as if they were real, despite it being said by many that fiction expresses truths of life experiences that plain facts cannot–yet this still didn’t make sense to me.

I found out that with time, and many challenging attempts at writing the following Teahouse sci-fi “myth” that imagination can lead one to discover there being much more to reality than we think and that characters are more like self-inspectors, helping us investigate our complex, buried emotions and thoughts, acting out in scenarios that can shed light on angles in our own lives or that of others we may not have considered before, which in turn provide perspective on how to lead our lives more meaningfully. The fact that those characters stem from the single mind of a writer, prove that they still have basis in physical reality for they emanate from the mind of someone who “exists” or has at some point “existed”, demonstrating some part of what constitutes as “human nature/human thought”–or at least proof of what came out of the mind of one person within the collective.

By reimagining my own life stories and incorporating fantastical elements as I reframed them, I better understood the link between my inner and outer world, in turn who I am by integrating what I felt inside with the external circumstances of reality, which by extension helped me fulfill mission of the Teahouse for myself which is to examine who we are. Though the common scientific community’s narrative for the past few centuries is that we are mere biological organisms conditioned by sociological factors, there have been many thinkers, particularly Carl Jung, who were astounded by a strange phenomena called the psyche–one’s inner world in which there are characters, dreams, and stories brimming with life that can explain more about a person than factual, biographical accounts and even represent patterns in the collective mind.

What if we were to blend the imaginary, inner forces within us that are packed with so much feeling, with an external, objective reality to discover what’s real for ourselves, and in turn answer who we are? It may not be a conventionally scientific, philosophical, or ontological approach in terms of tackling the notion of existence, but still establishes greater meaning for ourselves when leading our daily lives–and while the idea of Meaning being real or inherent, is a different subject, it is addressed throughout the following myth.

I wanted the reader to be able to interact with the story, to make it feel “real” and like a multi-dimensional experience. and to share their own stories.

As I say this, there is a drop in the skeleton’s face–as much as there can be since it doesn’t have the muscle to show emotion. “So my fear… ” I say as it plucks harder…* almost with vengeance…I continue is not being understood and not being a good enough writer to carry this vision..but that.. uhh” It strums, “having my writing be rejected (another note..) and….” now I see there is a realization in the skeleton, of what I’m about to say…”and also being delusional… because really, you’ve just been an aspect of me all along that I used to say all this.”

Once I finish blabbing, I see, my skeleton looking at me aghast–as if betrayed, manipulated.

“So.. are you saying… I’m not real.. I’M JUST A PUPPET FOR YOU!? WHY COULDN’T YOU JUST SAY IT, HUH!? HAVE THE COURAGE TO SAY WHAT YOU WERE FEELING UPFRONT WITHOUT USING ME!?” It marches, tossing off its hat, flings off its stethoscope as I sit on the track, watching. “NONE OF THESE WORDS WERE EVER MY OWN!?” The skeleton even kicks the cooler, breaking a toe.. “owww… OR WAS I EVEN MEANT TO FEEL THAT!? oh great writer.?…sobs… kid..” It rolls its eyes, or as much as those gaping ones can–I don’t care if this is my own imaginging… they’re creepy.

“well, yes, but no..as a literary device, to explain to the reader in a way I couldn’t easily have done so without boring them to tears..and this was already long. otherwise, you have been used–but it doesn’t make you any less real, or so I’ve come to learn–or am learning… You just crept up from my subconscious.. besides, if I hadn’t used you, would you exist?…”

“UNBELIEVABLE!” The skeleton exclaims, referring as much to my myth as to my response. “Bore them to tears? What–well what about MY tears?” It begins making sobbing sounds, yet its face is dry as a BONE. “WHO AM I TO YOU!? Who am I really then? Did I ever have free-will? Did I ever have.. it’s all existensial really.. my purpose.. I don’t know what it is..CAN I EVEN THINK?.OR IS IT ALL THROUGH YOU?” It points an accusatory, trembling finger, then lies on the floor, banging its skull which rolls off the neck. conveniently.. ” AM I JUST A MERE EXTENSION OF YOU!? I thought I knew who I was.. what is my purpose? AM I EVEN AN I?”

I take the skeleton’s shrieking skull and regard it like Hamlet. Meanwhile, its arms and legs have slid off from its body onto the track. “I’m falling apart and can’t get up..” “I’m only who you want me to be… I’m not even a Self” It remains sobbing.

While the skeleton can serve as a metaphor for the parts of ourselves we’d rather ignore, like my current fear of not being understood and in turn not belonging—“the skeleton in the closet” it can also serve as a metaphor for the parts of ourselves we don’t easily see– not just the vulnerabilities.

“I mean… you already knew.. unless I didn’t intend for you to…” My character is right in someway— it has no brain, no heart, everything it says, does, is imagined and conveyed through me: its indignation, the way it storms, how it flung off its hat and collapsed into my arms, even the strumming on its ribs that caused the heart in my chest to beat is my own imagining. 

Yet when I look into these gaping eyes of a sad skull on my lap, seeing pitch black, feeling the chill through the ribs that lie here the track, they seem to hold clues into something—both within and beyond me. Even the whistle streaming through the ribs sounds like it poses the age old question of existence,warranting these bones as being ancient.

I didn’t consciously choose for the skeleton to appear in my mind as I mulled over how to write all this—it sort of did on its own, like all other images that seem meaningless to us in our physical reality, making their way up past  the veil of imagination–or the crypt from which the Skeleton came–carrying some imprint of life, such as those statutes in DC.

Perhaps this could also all be due to images my conscious mind may compiled over the course of my life that may have just made their way to my subconscious, brought out into awareness, but considering how this all feels exciting, animated and even purposeful, well, could the Skeleton have emerged from a mysterious psyche Jung mentioned had a life of its own, that connects us to life itself–this veil of imagination or the crypt?

I reach for the stethoscope, bringing my hand over its heart and though it is empty, I feel the unsteady, uneven, unrhythmic beating of mine in its place. (my hand on the ground.. Treasure..

“You know.. I empathsize a lot with you.”

“Oh, do you? I suppose it’s because I am you?” .What do you mean?” .”I can only feel, think and obtain a voice through you.”

“You have a life of your own you know, you need to give yourself more credit here. If you didn’t appear.. I wouldn’t have had this beat..Plus… you told me earlier that… life of your own…how i found you..

“Pathway of life.. circuit of stories.. circuit of sound..” (Got the engine started… now drawing new routes.. all it had to do was hit meaningful now.. hmm..) (associated feelings.. in amygdala.. hmm..) As I’m playing. ” the skeleton continues, “I do feel something, a bit of pressure here. ” I see.. the needle… the thread does what..

“Now Ready to build those circuits? (it’s now a matter of the routes..)

all a map…

wobbly… with a beat.. (how with phase I right… hmm..) integrate story and song part too.. (drops it in crater.. hmm..) as I wobble off to show shcute with where it connects with self-island..

“You are an aspect of me–yes.. we seem to be two aspects of the same self. it’s true that i’m in a physical reality, while you are not, and that as a writer i can choose to describe you in any which way I choose (it’s called free-will, yeah baby)–but you know, you deserve a lot more credit than you’re giving yourself here. You emerged out from the crypt of my subconscious in ways that felt much beyond my control–since I didn’t really have much choice in your coming to m mind.. you kind of just did; thus, I am happy to tell you that your purpose is your own. See..

I slip the stethoscope again over its ears..

“How is my purpose my own if I…? So I inspired you?.. inspiration..?” Looks quizically.. stethoscope.. “You know, or should I say, you’ve made me know..it’s called inspriation..”inspiration is a funny word..” my dear skeleton says.. helpless….”

“Invention.. discovery part?…Inspiration, yes. you have life inside your eyes and ribs that’s inspiring ME to talk, instead of the other around–The same pulse acts through us both (make clearer…). You’re an instrument into which I breathe life. I feel alive, in turn, hence my heart flutters–for lack of a better word, even though there’s constriction and worry of sounding delusional or cheesy–and that’s the reason behind unsteady beat… rhythm..By using you to tell this myth, it’s how we realize our purpose, and ourselves through each other…. (unlocking the heart.. hmm.. about to tie..)

integrate.. unsteady beat.. (for unlocking..) uneven..

“I want you to hear something..” I take… finding ourselves through each other..

song ancient bones.. I put the stethoscope on my ears.. snd place it over the skeleton’s heart snd say (what with existing dialogue?) “it says it receives its voice through me and ability to think or become conscious through me, yet by having it listen to its own heart beat through mine.. remember.. the heart’s beats are unsteady, uneven, so in each of these unsteady beats…waits anxiously to feels its purpose for existing..hmm.. ? Since the skeleton can’t breathe.. hollow.. structure..I pull a breath in for it… and exhale.. (inspiration and expiration here?) and is it upon expiration it hears it… (pulling in air.. to get life to move through me.: brain and heart link to burial..) hmm.. what in relationship to it feeling.. hmm.. by breathing… (unsteady rhythm..?) this is how I am rising off the race track,, (the brain-heart-lungs relationship.. must help skeleton rise too..  and remember next phase.. hmm…  how are those unsteady beats helping me rise? (Paired with breathing right.. life or blood? Pump to the rest of my body..) Hmm..  am i doing cpr on the skeleton orrr just breathing through myself? Hmm.. I still wonder why do they carry that form or symbolism? Bring out what exists.. It’s like thereis a life in you, your ribs and eyes that has been informing me..

Unlocking part then is crucial here.. Hmm…(what about for burial and getting the heart at its proper best.. or frequency..) pulse.. how to depict this.: with heart beat.. and how it feels.. feeling what in relation to its purpose? (Same life acting through us both? Hmm..) Hmmxx.. it’s individuality as the underlying structure of the self? (Remember.. some things are about to be covered soo..) (is it that it has a life of its own through its purpose or.. and how does this tie to us all being diff versions of the same self? Hmm,.  And remember it’s ribs are over heart so.. hmm..  drops of meaning are supposed to make it come alive from that point onward so.. before it was talking out now.. drops of meaning sooo.. unlock it from its place..  keeping a steady pace… (to walk through and face life..) is skeleton’s head on my lap? (Anything related to the brain through this separation? Hmm..) looking up at me while in my lap.. seated and talking to it like hamlet then? In one hand is its skull, and with other hand I am using stethoscope to place it over my heart.. or,, is one of my hands on its chest, its skull on my lap.. and using stethoscope to place it over my heart.. and the breathing sequence.. pulling through since it doesn’t have the lungs to breathe.. how about it’s arms and legs? (And what about new strumming of chest?) hmm.. your purpose is your own.., see, feel that.. bring stethoscope over my chest.. I take a bit whiff—of inspiration in— snd give a big whiff of expiration out— conscious that.. as I am breathing thay.. (what about the brain activity..) pumping.. difficulty with the constriction.. but upon each one.. the skeleton goes.. “ahh… I feel it..” pause.. “so that’s what I’m meant to do..” (processing through my own thoughts?) “yep—we’ll bury you to be able to reveal your purpose—since some things are much better to show than tell.” Grt off the race track.. wobbly.. rythm.. to move.. snd accomplish purpose.. hmm..

But this part is due to rising.. hmm.. and what about my own rising.. is its skeleton’s willingness to work with me? Hmm..  finding .. wobbling off with an awkward pace.. from the race track.. “if we csn get it to further unlock then.. both wel I’ll be able to…”

“I should bury you to find out.. if we can figure out.. and see how this story is coming to be..that way, by telling the myth.. I am realizing my purpose..) again constriction.. and the other.. by its very telling, I’m revealing your own purpose to you.. sometimes you just can’t directly tell.. you simply have to show..” unlocking the Treasure..(this constriction– at the same time the realization of purpose.. hmm..)

Everything about this skeleton seems musical.. 

“I can only feel through you..?”

“When your heart.. it’s called inspiration..” (my rhythm.. and skeleton’s rhythm is the realization of our purpose..” (excitement to find out..?)

  As a person with free-will, I can describe my character in anyway I choose; but what is the life, impulse, dictating or inspiring to say what I do to cause my emotional heart to flutter and feel alive?these bones you claim as being empty.. it’s as if the life in these dead, empty bones I view as being ancient, The inspiration beyond the vacancy of these eyes that’s making ME talk, instead of the other way around; my intuition taking the form through this character having emerged up from the crypt of my subconscious into my awareness. what form it is supposed to appear in.. (make later part conversation…) (make convo..)

(make convo..) (looking into eyes is like looking into soul?)

“We must bury you” I say curtly to the Skeleton, “To be able to understand just how our own myth emerged up from the subconscious, through the act of telling the myth itself, the symbolism you hold..? Death.. life.. reborn.. how all the conscious.. Self.. future, past and present coincide… crypt..” “like a fossil.. overtime..” “Your like a fossil.. if we bury you.. we can retrace the steps of how you got here.. in turn revealing your purpose. So you’ll have to return to the crypt from which you emerged… “we find our purpose through each other..” the beating.. still a little uneven.. on my own heart and on its chest..

And so the map on the following pages.. has a connection to the Skull and Chest–Treasure beating right through me..

The maps on these pages are compiled to form of a game, leading from one story to the next to the next and Linked through a series of geographic trails, ending up in a Treasure hunt which has a strange connection to the heartbeat.. all through a reconstruction of this skeleton to bring it back to life. (from subconscious..) Self..

begin by looking at a map–can find breaks in narration and alternating points of view–like, talking with this skeleton here. It might require a lot of patience to navigate and Yes, the rational could explain that it’s all me, but who am I, or really who are any of us for that matter, truly?

This all a quest and journey to find out who we are.

I’d like to add that Some people featured in this story I don’t talk with.. anymore.. but many wonderful accounts and experiences..  I wanted..It to be a way of honoring those in this experience.. many might read.. the self.. a common motif you’ll find.. travelers throughout time.. Rumi said.. 

To facilitate between what is “real or not” sidebars have been added.

Without further ado, Let’s begin.. ..”Yes, I’m so bored sitting here..lifeless, listless.. Since I’m your instrument, Bring me to life, will you, help me understand who I am?” pleading.. dark eyes..age-old question.. old as these ancient bones.. strum the rib bones.. and hear.. routes.pumps.. .heart.. rest of body.. routes..

“I’m happy to say the reader will help with that.” and though with… beats that are steady, uneven, I merge onto a more purposeful route..(and hopefully a solution…) “who we all are.. and to do that.. I must bury you.. I feel my heart beating again fast.. picking it up..”It’s how.. parts of ourselves part..” strumming.. crypt.. sending you to the abyss from which you came.. to.. it’s that life.. same place from where the impulse for the Teahouse came.. same impulse..

“I have to bury you” I say, matter a factedly.. “That way, the reader and I can bring you to life..” Is it an alternating heartbeat? Hmm.. skipping a beat? Hmm.. is it circling back to me on race track? Hmm… where it becomes a race track of the mind? Hmm.. what is going on here.. help..  interesting.. heartbeat shared between skeleton and me.. or does my heart beat on behalf of skeleton.. what is the skeleton’s source of life.. or is it coming to life through me… or… what is going on? What is skipping a beat? or shared.. for it doesn’t have an organ.. beating on behalf of us both.. hmm.. (my heart beating on behalf of the skeleton.. that earlier part for the statue where I said it had no pulse so.. hmm.. where is its life stemming from?) crypt.. I also wonder what life is..  life with h20 and all that other stuff.. hmm.. the eyes of the skeleton.. seeing what.. an abyss? (Or seeing the soul?) Hmm.. abyss of possibilities.. or.. looking into its eyes and causing it to jitter? Seeing life in its eyes so..? Hmm.. then what about the overlay of organs? Seeing desth.. looking into the eyes of the skeleton.. what do I see? Hmm:: what does it mean for our hearts to beat on behalf of the ethereal? Hmm..  depths.. gaps in its eyes.. hmm.. gaping.. (eye of the heart..) and what about brain.. processing through me…  ethereal beings find life through us orr? 

time-old question… bones..

So my dear Skeleton.. heart.. life..Feeling my heart beat..? and so the pain you bring out of me is my fear at not being understood but still having to go inward…. for… (can be anyone..)…. then.. (what about with heart here..)  (my heart intelligence..) Likewise, the parts of me I don’t want to see but have to face anyway—like my fear is I won’t have any readers.. ties to sense of belonging.. and understood.. alone.. courage to go inward.. feel and see.. hmm… “what I need to do is face is my fear.. and present the story.. Underlying fear of belonging.. (tying it to Tea house and Myth.. hmm?) (strumming..fear not belonging..c ompounding..)

This idea somehow legitimized for me that what I was writing wasn’t self-centered and regardless of whatever the size of my readership, my work still had a purpose in the larger scheme of things (as all creative works do), since it was at least proof of what came out of the mind of one person in the collective. As long as I validate myself mentally/emotionally, I can continue to generate output and explore the characters within me, leading to a sense of emotional well-being that is a part of my holistic well-being.

what the skeleton . (in the form of stories..trail of stories) (if younotice.. all like a brain..).. events in my life.. (the illustrations..) hmm..  myth.. to explain who we are..  story entryway.. employing geography.. Interact with it.. rather than being passive.. csn engage.. psyche.. collective.. all leading to creation of human myth.. shared.. (human part hmm..) find the Skeleton and what “Self” really is. This is the point of everything.. especically use of geographical maps..not an escape from reality, but the use of ficition is an integration with it, taking these two very real parts of ourselves. I’m also comforted to say a substantial part draws on scientific principles and theory..

off the race track, carrying the disjointed skull and torso, that turns into a route… and walk with you.. burying.. (or box?) (grave..?) burial.. purposeful.. to where.. having gained strength.. (that life.. hmm..).. walking away from the chaos centered around this race track of life.. about to embark on a purposeful route.. (skeleton needs to rise too.. hmm..)

(remember.. you are carrying the Treasure chest..) and what about the earlier roles? hmm.. in the sense of manipulation.. writer goes to lock the Treasure so reader can unlock it.. (hmm.. helps discover the story.. that part..)

Hopefully a solution to get off the race track and onto more puproposeful routes…

Okay—- while I’ve fallen down on that race track enough times in my life, I’ve never actually “conversed” with my skeleton; though, for the purposes of explaining something to you by way of example, and sneaking in the purpose of this website with a nod and a wink, I can imagine a conversation with my personal skeleton going something like this:

what the skeleton . (in the form of stories..trail of stories) (if younotice.. all like a brain..).. events in my life.. (the illustrations..) hmm..  myth.. to explain who we are..  story entryway.. employing geography.. Interact with it.. rather than being passive.. csn engage.. psyche.. collective.. all leading to creation of human myth.. shared.. (human part hmm..) find the Skeleton and what “Self” really is. This is the point of everything.. especically use of geographical maps..not an escape from reality, but the use of ficition is an integration with it, taking these two very real parts of ourselves. I’m also comforted to say a substantial part draws on scientific principles and theory..

“I know.. it’s not an easy answer. All I can say is you aren’t just a useless puppet.. yes, I could have chosen to assign or describe you anyway I chose but inside here..” I say..that emotional heart.. life moving on its…  flutter… (a body’s own rhythm..) (has its mission).. (the constriction being a sort of.. resistance part to.. vulnerability..) own.. .. “it felt right to do it this way— you appeared in my mind, and from there it was all just a scavenger hunt to try and piece you together as a character to deliver this message.. and guess what? There is more to discover about you because your purpose it seems..  is that you are the parts of me I don’t easily see, as I feel so here, again referring to that metaphorical heart, I say — feeling its flutter, for a lack of a better word, constricted by the fear or constriction that I could be wrong and entirely delusional— but still there is that beat, a desire that feels beyond my control.. —and your purpose is so unique that it feels you’re not just here to help me see those concealed parts of myself But assist others in seeing theirs too.

“hey look.. zu don’t have a brain.. “ knocks skull.. “I don’t have a heart.. then how is it that incan exist, process or even have any of the knowledge to say things if you are just talking through me?””

“You do exist, snd I am talking through you, but it doesn’t make you any less real and because that is due to your purpose snd what I feel…” 

“But you’ve assigned me my purpose—my role.. what was it it.. shrink..,.you think you’re clever, huh, a wise guy?”

tying existing to burying.. hmm..

I’ll have to bury you..” exist.. burial.. breathing life.. crater..

“after finding you.. it feels strange to bury you but by all means still right in here.. and it is the connection you share:: burying you.. your purpose.. hmm.. 

how about burying in relation to existence..

“We have to cooperate with the reader.” I say, and so I rise after having fallen from running aimlessly on the racetrack of life, slightly hesitant and afraid of not being understood, carrying the skull and torso of a broken skeleton I hope to bury, and proceed onto a purposeful path on which I hope our skeleton will rise again too.” (why bury though?) don’t have any skin to shed.. so how to die.. letting go for expansion..

Once the heart beats, it means there is some hope of promise behind the painful memory for you to get up and move. Some pain, however, can cause the emotional heart to become blocked where the heart just can’t beat at all–in that case it’s a matter of approaching the process of healing more gently; yet there’s always hope. Either way,– in the event of lighter or heavier pain, or even when there’s numbness, it’s a matter of getting that heart to beat, to keep pumping, reducing the constriction of the ache.. basically, having one face that pain so they can move off this track onto more a more purposeful route.

When it moves.. (does what..) despair.. those sobs.. those beats.. like violin too.. and then what about spider.. hmm.. like a song and myth.. to get soul’s song to play.. 

. “True, I could describe you in anyway I chose.. but here.. as cheesy as it sounds to talk you, another aspect of myself, what causes it to flutter.. dictating or inspiring.. these bones you claim are empty..”

Vibrations.. my own heart..my own memories..) bringing my fingers to its nostrils..little.. gaps..poking?). what should be the breath.. traveling.. but air… (what about throat?) non-functioning skull… (Brain..).. obtaining a voice only through me… .. (indication of life?) … (how is this part being tied?) Through these eyes and… I see those parts…holding a clue into something—both within and beyond me.

PlAce—slowly.. with constriction.. the constriction due to the fear of being delusional..  bringing mine to It.. (the stethoscope?) About to realize my purpose through telling this myth. (Was it this very beating heart that had been informing me of what skeleton is supposed to say? In terms of the brain.. this connection between my brain and heart.. now how did I work through the time with this and the reader’s assistance in getting the heart to beat? Hmm..) 

enough to cause this emotional heart to beat, uneven still, as I feel the constriction, the fear of being delusional and not being heard by an audience as I intend, I watch the……. strum the two notes of its empty rib cage, (its arm dropped off..) When strumming.. causes it to beat..(skull..) Meanings attached to those experiences that cause it to beat.. and it is tied to our mission..(Is it a chord..)  so here as my heart is beating.. what is going on.. strumming those two particular chords.. having the resistance loosening although it is still there due to the fear of being delusional? Projecting onto one another..(anything about soul..?) (sometimes have to show instead of tell..) strumming part.. remember it is a matter of figuring out which notes.. and the major part.. hmm..(also integrate today’s lesson..) (finding my rhythm with unsteady beats but forming into something? hmm..)

wobbily caryring off..

“Tapping foot..” ((This shows how rhythm is counting..) “1…1.. 2…3…5 carving musical notes in the dirt.. strumming.. represented by bars..

tallies…

4” (bars..) no no no… (new rhythm…) “1 2 1.. 2.. 1..2..” with crossing tallies.. (with one hand… etches soil on dirt track..as a prisoner counts down their days till freedom.. or tracks time to keep sane… otherwise..) risks… confined.. (does it say pitch dark..?) strumming with other to check…? Where the sounds are not matching with any combination of counts…(either coming too.. soon before or after..? Hmm…) so must be counting a variety of combinations..)UGH! … hmm.. (rhythm..) would mean its freedom… (without time would crazy in there so..:) (dungeon..) (remover time signature hmm..) (keeping time a fundamental trait in music.. hmm..) combination..

“Still not going to tell me..hmm…Ok…Too bad..I see how it is.. so you don’t care about yourself..fine… but you don’t care about me either? “Now…I’d think you’d have enough Guilt… strums..”.. (rolls head..) you’ve left me no choice..” menacing.. lunges toward me.. wild animal.. Skeleton locked up AND sounding bad.. now that’s jst too much..”crossing the line..get it.. race track.. corssing line..” finish line.. boundary line.. cackles..boundaries..

”Stop playing!” I shout, “Stop manipulating me!” remembering all the times I… then I see it having… I now see it has… my chest…

“I’m not manipulating you…” says sweetly, “Just trying to find the keys for our grand escape.”

Then all of a sudden.. pulls out whistle..stethoscope.. jingles like a jailer’s keys…. Around the whistle on its neck, the Skeleton would also have a stethoscope that it would bring to my chest, roving over my heart.. whistles.. lassoing..

“What are you doing? and what What does my heartbeat have anything to do with this?”

“Told ya, I’m trying to find the keys. notes behind bars…Remember what I had said..In music, a key is a note, like all these sounds I play. keeps strumming…(how about sounds have a way of bringing people part..? hmmm..) engine….(looking for the keys to turn on ignition.. hmm.. trying out the keys..) beat..

(Serving time..) and best way is to… (think and feel…) hmm…  (unlocking the beat… turning on the key..hmm…) gps…? Hmm.. “get movin’.. honk honk?”)(any of this where you are center of the world eventually? Hmm..).(also think about timing in song with the hand lines.. those lessons… hmm..) (how is the heart like engine and gps… hmm..) (can figure it out if… ) hmm.. that road map thing.. hmm..(remember birds do they act as a gps.. they have a role in that alignment process.. hmm..) (now car ride with Josh is making more sense wow..) (is it the soundtrack of life… also… the markers along the road…) (that’s what I mean by song..)

Again, These notes, or memories are the keys—like the keys in a song, also known as the root? notes.. that bring us back..(what to..).(home…) so…let’s see which of your memories causes the heart to beat..as we focus on finding those keys..(or memories..) repetitive here…. (notes themselves… hmm…) rhythm.. the rest of the notes or memories will fall into place, rearranging…. themselves ..into your life or soul, song as they will find where they fit..

(and if you want a hint… represented..a Treasure… some Treasure with your name… supposed to be a wink.. go and grab a.. hmm… crime of the centruy..)

“So remember when I said the story and song were routes…If we can find the memories reminding you of your purpose, then we can tie your life into a meaningful song and both..both song and story..can get you onto a proper route..” (engine..) pathway of life..(breathe life..) (heart and brain..)

hmm… We gotta search for a note with some sort of beat… which might take forever have to tap all these keys….have to keep searching… (I mean.. my ribs do contain all sounds of the universe… orrrr make it easier for me and just spill the beans, ok, so I can just press on a zone on my ribs the related feeling…@ (but what was the original line of logic…?) “How about you tell me so I can at least interpret an emotion based on what you say and move my fingers there to play to see if my hunch is right. Is it too much to Help a fellow inmate out, here?” (Have mercy…) (on yourself too? Hmm..) hmm..;  l.” hmm… “I’ll just know which key to hit…” “have to tap all these keys…” hmm…

circuit.. pathway of life..

(turns around… menacingly.. ) “I know it’s a lot..I’ll talk more…I promise.. but I’ll..let me find the keys…” you’ve left me no choice..” menacing.. lunges toward me.. wild animal.. Skeleton locked up AND sounding bad.. now that’s jst too much..”crossing the line..get it.. race track.. corssing line..” finish line.. boundary line.. cackles..boundaries.. Then all of a sudden.. pulls out whistle..stethoscope.. jingles like a jailer’s keys…. Around the whistle on its neck, the Skeleton would also have a stethoscope that it would bring to my chest, roving over my heart.. whistles.

The Skeleton that exists in my thoughts continues as if to complete my thoughts… (life..) (and that is tied to the blockage around your heart.. (story behind the memory…?) (do we go through.. finding the memories reminding us of our purpose..) (otherwise if it did.. we’d be outta here by now..” (hmm..) (because would a road be drawn? hmm..) (dumps.. first aid kid.. finds needle.. surgical needle.. thread… ahh there it is..” (twirling thread in its finger..) (needle in one hand and thread in another..) (dumps.. no no.. there we go..)

(turns around… menacingly.. ) “I know it’s a lot..I’ll talk more…I promise.. but I’ll..let me find the keys…” you’ve left me no choice..” menacing.. lunges toward me.. wild animal.. Skeleton locked up AND sounding bad.. now that’s jst too much..”crossing the line..get it.. race track.. corssing line..” finish line.. boundary line.. cackles..boundaries.. Then all of a sudden.. pulls out whistle..stethoscope.. jingles like a jailer’s keys…. Around the whistle on its neck, the Skeleton would also have a stethoscope that it would bring to my chest, roving over my heart.. whistles.

The Skeleton that exists in my thoughts continues as if to complete my thoughts… (life..) (and that is tied to the blockage around your heart.. (story behind the memory…?) (do we go through.. finding the memories reminding us of our purpose..) (otherwise if it did.. we’d be outta here by now..” (hmm..) (because would a road be drawn? hmm..) (dumps.. first aid kid.. finds needle.. surgical needle.. thread… ahh there it is..” (twirling thread in its finger..) (needle in one hand and thread in another..) (dumps.. no no.. there we go..)

To blend story and song together, take the routes out… it helps to know why you’re on the track or at least think on some points in your life where you felt like your life had greater meaning, even if it was the tiniest bit..(it shows a pinch with its finger because that can reveal purpose.. and its remembrance is what has the emotional heart beating in the first place because of that meaning it holds for ya.

..even if we got your heart unlocked, beating, and singing, .Raising arms….(laaaaaa…), there barriers preventing it from beating more regularly, or locked up most of the time, are a result of whatever other hurt you Feel inside. (your Treasure..) Without realizing, sometimes your heart being locked up is a result of not feeling at all, where you’ve just been tuned off from feeling.. it does a locked motion with its fingers…..) or even… just be feeling plain  Blahhhh, it sings lowering its other arm..).You might even have certain memories or beliefs that though have some pain attached, still have the potential to make your heart beat since they make you feel alive.. it gets up and leaps, shaking from hip to hip, cheering “hip hip, hooray!, “inspiring you to  keep moving when you’ve fallen and need the guts to get up….. it’s those memories, and the feelings, beliefs behind them, that serve as the keys to unlocking the heart…which you’ve got here–beatin’ at.. now…the engine has started.. but needs to beat more to start building them routes

(looking at circuits part.. hmm..) (heart beating to brain..) hmm..(how is this working.. help me.. this sequence of breathing to establish connections in the brain.. because with oxygen powering the brain cells it works but what is the logic here..(heart and brain are a feedback loop..they send signals back and forth to each otha–which one does first is kind of a case of the chicken and the egg– but without a doubt, as you breathe.. pulls up…) (does the heart have a good road map.. have to explain that.. through dna..built-in.. white blood cells…help direct the flow..) the circuits to get out.. heart beats to build which circuits..how is this further assisted by my sharing.. hmm.. and then with that later part with meaningful..to your purpose.. (how is this going down those circuits..) (and at this point we aren’t even working with a heart beat are we..) (this map..) (and how about blood…) hmm..(sea of meaning with blood so.. hmm..) (does the heart have a good road map.. have to explain that.. through dna..built-in.. white blood cells…help direct the flow..)

“True.. scratches its head… though doesn’t have a nail…it’s hard to define story, but ya know, but what story here are those memories or stories in your life you think you’ve forgotten or puporsefully ignore,.. lying around like dust-covered bones…….. (whisper…) dun dun dun.. (strums solemn tone..) how dare you…..bury.. (what about the  dungeon..) menacing…. snaps right out…(fingers..) but need to do what.. to do is (figure out how the stories you’ve heard or your own memories… that (move you… (flex arm…) or any life stories that shape you.,, align in… ) how these stories, whether they’re your own or someone else’s aligns with all the other experiences in your life…both story and song…. (for medicine part..) intersect.. has a way of doing that… (takes care of the routes.. now the engine…)

(sea of meaning?) (rewind..and play? hmm..) (how about sound track… loop.. musical thing hmm..?)

…” (but not enough to.. inform those other routes.. hmm..)

while it looks like it might pull out something out of there like a worm or a blade of grass, it instead pulls out a golden thread. (from a worm…) hmm..) “avoid the slime…”hmm.. (wormhole..). an emotional heart.. not beating..” … points to the knot it had tied earlier.. anchored into the ground.. (for the slightest of moment’s.. thought it was a wormhole.. must be a further imagining in an imagining…mind’s eye playing tricks on me…”around getting the (what from brain to emotional heart? hmm.. (not like a dead sea.. but a sea of meaning?) (then those routes.. what about on map? hmm..) “sendin’ (remember data..) (what about the international data line from reality box to racetrack of life? hmm..) (what is this straight line.. and how about the loop hole.. hmm.. with those sitch marks.. hmm..) (and those brain waves.. hmm..) (from there that loop.. that then from race track goes to self-island.. hmm.. (oh right.. race track is a circle too but we have to funnel it to self-island.. hmm..) (in a meaningful flow of the breath.. hmm..) (how about the waves over the stitch marks.. hmm..) (so is loop then on race track of life… hmm…) (how to visually depict this..) (and thent he overlay of brain sequences..) (how is loop in position to pineal gland.. hmm.. bc how are we getting this.. hmm..) (how is this being a dead sea? hmm..) (then how about these circuits to web and crystal..? hmm..) (one going through underground.. other surface to web? hmm..) (silk road.. ipek yolu.. so the stitch marks starting from there.. race track of life.. hmm..) the continuation then.. hmm..on land so.. hmm..(remember the blood… directions to read a map later.. hmm..) (this blood or waves going.. remember the overlay with the .. part).. (and do we show crystal.. underneath..? hmm..) (this beating in relation to time..and the lesson.. hmm..) breath then circulating around this loop.. how about in terms of bringing the wheel the life to.. alignment.. hmm.. for the cotton.. hmm..(the dna too hmm..) (pathway of life.. hmm..) and those notes.. also where do these articles related to language go.. and that language interaction game thingy? hmm..(blood awakens within neurons the plan? hmm..) to connect.. why is it that extra layer of processing is needed to build those circuits.. (because the beat wasn’t enough to build the rest..) so what did heart’s beating contribute to building in brain when that happened.. hmm.. (the wind with pathway of life..the internatioal dataline.. pathway of life pushing along then.. hmm..) how to depict winds on map? hmm… (foundit…) (then how are stitchmarks being.. center of racetrack.. outward.. to an exit ramp.. that exit ramp is directing to.. self island via winds.. (but how about geography..? hmm..) continent.. (it is that underground crystal structure that is causing the stitching to occur.. hmm) the black forest..(this is enabling that stitching.. hmm..) between those two bodies and arc system and.. hmm.. that underground activity stuff related to crystal.. hmm..(pathway of life then through surface.. to the roots.. but what about underground with seismic stuff.. and leylines? hmm..) how seismic activity is working.. hmm.. from volcanoes? hmm.. seismic from heart with the crystal.. the pns and cns stuff.. hmm.. that circulation of blood… hmm.. (underground vs. surface.. what does this all mean? hmm..) (is it about an underground wave vs. a surface one.. hmm..) (for su hmm..” (no pattern indicating what… with circulation for body…) hmm..this pattern just shoes frantic breathing.. it doesn’t show.. what? (remember carrier waves.. hmm..) (what is it like when pathway of life is turned on?) (and that other scene.. hmm..) (electricity.. so does pathway of life only apply to emotional life? and what about with tree.. hmm..) (spark…) (electricity… interesting.. witht he leylines.. hmm..and that fire.. hmm..(with this underground system.. hmm..) (something in pathway of life going on electrical with leylines? hmm..) (this circuit in brain.. hmm..) (and then this sense of deadness with tree of life.. and what does this all mean in terms of neurons? hmm..) (and even rest of social media site.. hmm) (and by throwing loop in center of track like a bulls eye.. what happened..? hmm..noo.. has to be from point it pulls.. something from underground(underneath the ground is pulling it..) hmm..so top of loop is showing.. know on surface.. keeps pulling.. how is this vortex system working.. that connects the island arcs.. hmm.. and this underground.. underwater schute then? hmm..how is this working with crystal and web? hmm.. then how is it working as it is strumming.. from that crystal underneath ground.. hmm.. vortex keeps spinning.. but what about the redirction of vortex for something to go in favor of tree of life? hmm..(fire..) are all connected by way of underground tunnels> hmm.. the blueprint is contained underneath self-island though.. which draws meaning to its shores.. in a way is it about the vortex having which wave pulling.. hmm.. to the earth right.. hmm.. and then with the switch.. (what is going on with the connection of skeleton playing and then the waves hitting self-island.. hmm..) (skeleton would have had to have reassmble before going t hrough the tunnel then.. three networks.. hmm..) then through here.. connection to black forest of lessons being revealed.. hmm..(what does pathway of life mean in this.. hmm.. wasn’t it the winds.. pushing breath..those arrows.. then does everything travel through pathway of life to self-island or does anything go? hmm) (different tributarties drain there but spider wants to pay attention to those ones that are coming from there.. so in turn do all of them go through aqeuducts> hmm.. yes..) (pathway of life pushing along.. those meanings that make tree come to life.. so what does this mean in context of data flow.. hmm.. and then the organization of meaning.. hmm..) with that crystal.. connections one makes between memories.. hmm..(how about threading of memories underneath the island..where is it at this point in threading during/within the fall.. and how about the worm.. (sea of meaning..)

(turned on emotional heart.. which activated what within hippocampus.. for this exit from loop to soundtrack.. hmm..and that further processing.. hmm..)(what about earth quake.. hmm.. under ground..) (all volcanoes?_

hmm.. and what about pathway of life.. and those other waves coming to sea of meaning.. hmm..surely feel a beat underneath.. some underground activity..(how is this tying to Virginia..? hmm..) (with the black forest..? hmm.. ) (earthquake splitting of.. reality and this subconscious.. hmm..) those leylines.. hmm.. (self island’s location can pop up anywhere..) hmm..bc of that portkey aspect..