Psychoidal

Once upon a time I saw things
in my mind. I saw a heart inside of a ribcage, a woman who glowed in the dark, transparent. I heard a voice in the silence echoing in rooms filled with the images in my head.

Once upon a time I wrote these things down on paper and believed in them. My days were not so filled with activity and socialization. I had a lot of solitude. I do not know how to reconcile this.

If I was standing on a dark path and before me was a road that led to the East and a road that led to the West, what would be the way to go? How would I evaluate such a thing? It is at times like these that the little doll in my pocket becomes very handy. I can't hear her over my fears. I hope she jumps up and down and tells me which to go. I have a strange suspicion that she will tell me to look up, that no divergence exists. That there is only one path, and that path is the Secret Heart of things; not the reality of life, but the dream.

I hope my hands are almost all grown back now. There is so much mystery in what I write, only you could understand it fully. And maybe that is why I write. My rope, you know, around the North star. My bread-crumbs along the forest floor. You are the only one who knows the truth, the real truth. Please don't forget me.