Here is a little story I’ve written. “When the sun goes down.”
In the dawning light a boy steps out onto the shadowed plane. All around him lie the pits of entry into the other realms. When he reaches the edge of these pits he skirts his way around slowly and carefully until reaching the open space between them. He continues walking in the shadowed plane until the sun has waned completely, and all is dark. And then the shadowed plane becomes the night plane.
In the night the pits cannot be seen, and the boy can no longer walk his way among them to avoid the entrance into the other realms. He is faced with the decision of continuing the journey in danger, or stopping, and setting up a camp in one place. He knows he has a small safe area around him which would be free of obstacles and the dangers of the pits. But it is a place of stagnation in the night plane, and it lies stagnant as a swampy pool until the sun has come again. And it can be hard to guess the rising of the sun in the night plane, when there is nothing to judge the changing of the sky.
Experience has shown him that the pits could be both good and bad, but frequently bad. The pits had stress and nervousness and fear. There could be great rewards lieing in the pits, waiting to be seized, but these rewards required the unknown descent. The descent into the other realms was like a deep pulsing fear inside the boy’s mind. He sits down on the rough ground of the night plane, looking to the sky for distraction. He looks to escape the decision to enter the pits or to continue walking along the plane. Either decision holds fear, the commitment, the isolation of the pits.
“I seek distraction from my journey,” says the boy, and in response a sprite appears on the horizon, a point of light. This light is dimmer than the sun, far dimmer. The light holds his gaze. From the direction of the light there comes a voice.
Sprite: Welcome to the other space.
Boy: Show me something new.
Sprite: What would you like to see?
Boy: I will see what lies in the pits. But I will not enter.
Sprite: I can show you the pits, but you cannot touch them, you can only look.
And the boy nods his head and the Sprite takes his hand, and his mind leaves his body sitting on the night plane. In the other space, his mind runs from pit to pit, leaning just over the edge, without fear of entry. The sprite stands beside him all the while, a comforting presence, an ethereal presence which takes no form. When it takes his hand, he feels the hand of air. When he sees its light, it is the light of a distant star, never close enough to be revealed for its source.
In the pits he sees many things. He sees all of his curiosities, and branching curiosities, points of humor, interest, and instinctual desire. Each view leads him to the next as though the night plane lay below him at a great distance, where the solid spaces between the pits could not be seen. In the other space, the boy could look down on the night plane, see into the pits, and move from one to the next with no more effort than the slight shift of his gaze.
The sun approaches rapidly now and the boy begins to feel a sense of weariness. He feels confused, lonely, fatigued by his removal from the solid earth of the shadowed plane. He calls out to the emptiness once more.
Boy: Take me back to the plane. The sun approaches.
Sprite: Let us go then.
And with his simple command he executes his path. Back on the plane the sun begins to rise—the boy, tired, exhausted from his journeys in the other space. He feels safe, having avoided the treacheries of the pits for one more night. In the daytime he can navigate safely once again. In the back of his mind, he knows the pits will come once more, and the fear remains inside his mind, tucked away into a back corner. The fatigue of the experience has its own fear, but this fear he cannot understand, and so he does not feel it.
The sun rises, the boy sleeps to recover, wakes again, and looks out among the plane. There is only a short time now before the sun will dawn upon the shadowed plane. In the dim light the boy begins again.
Here is a little story I’ve written. “When the sun goes down.”
In the dawning light a boy steps out onto the shadowed plane. All around him lie the pits of entry into the other realms. When he reaches the edge of these pits he skirts his way around slowly and carefully until reaching the open space between them. He continues walking in the shadowed plane until the sun has waned completely, and all is dark. And then the shadowed plane becomes the night plane.
In the night the pits cannot be seen, and the boy can no longer walk his way among them to avoid the entrance into the other realms. He is faced with the decision of continuing the journey in danger, or stopping, and setting up a camp in one place. He knows he has a small safe area around him which would be free of obstacles and the dangers of the pits. But it is a place of stagnation in the night plane, and it lies stagnant as a swampy pool until the sun has come again. And it can be hard to guess the rising of the sun in the night plane, when there is nothing to judge the changing of the sky.
Experience has shown him that the pits could be both good and bad, but frequently bad. The pits had stress and nervousness and fear. There could be great rewards lieing in the pits, waiting to be seized, but these rewards required the unknown descent. The descent into the other realms was like a deep pulsing fear inside the boy’s mind. He sits down on the rough ground of the night plane, looking to the sky for distraction. He looks to escape the decision to enter the pits or to continue walking along the plane. Either decision holds fear, the commitment, the isolation of the pits.
“I seek distraction from my journey,” says the boy, and in response a sprite appears on the horizon, a point of light. This light is dimmer than the sun, far dimmer. The light holds his gaze. From the direction of the light there comes a voice.
Sprite: Welcome to the other space.
Boy: Show me something new.
Sprite: What would you like to see?
Boy: I will see what lies in the pits. But I will not enter.
Sprite: I can show you the pits, but you cannot touch them, you can only look.
And the boy nods his head and the Sprite takes his hand, and his mind leaves his body sitting on the night plane. In the other space, his mind runs from pit to pit, leaning just over the edge, without fear of entry. The sprite stands beside him all the while, a comforting presence, an ethereal presence which takes no form. When it takes his hand, he feels the hand of air. When he sees its light, it is the light of a distant star, never close enough to be revealed for its source.
In the pits he sees many things. He sees all of his curiosities, and branching curiosities, points of humor, interest, and instinctual desire. Each view leads him to the next as though the night plane lay below him at a great distance, where the solid spaces between the pits could not be seen. In the other space, the boy could look down on the night plane, see into the pits, and move from one to the next with no more effort than the slight shift of his gaze.
The sun approaches rapidly now and the boy begins to feel a sense of weariness. He feels confused, lonely, fatigued by his removal from the solid earth of the shadowed plane. He calls out to the emptiness once more.
Boy: Take me back to the plane. The sun approaches.
Sprite: Let us go then.
And with his simple command he executes his path. Back on the plane the sun begins to rise—the boy, tired, exhausted from his journeys in the other space. He feels safe, having avoided the treacheries of the pits for one more night. In the daytime he can navigate safely once again. In the back of his mind, he knows the pits will come once more, and the fear remains inside his mind, tucked away into a back corner. The fatigue of the experience has its own fear, but this fear he cannot understand, and so he does not feel it.
The sun rises, the boy sleeps to recover, wakes again, and looks out among the plane. There is only a short time now before the sun will dawn upon the shadowed plane. In the dim light the boy begins again.