an artist lives by shadows & illusions/delusions

 

Electra’s dictionary; a lost legend/Dr. Evans’ office visit part 2

“Do you really mean to go through with this?” I look up into the light glints of kryptonite 

They glance up at the camera,

“of course it is your choice….”

is this the dark ages, I find I wonder ….?

a time when there can be no Renaissance nor evolution 

and no new faith to strive for ….enlightenment 

apathy seems to have sunk into my pores 

it seems that it is possible to become desensitized to the witnessing of horrors and living in dangerous times 

the true meaning of depression is the absence of emotion; a disconnection to meaning 

recession and the great depreciation; the more things change the more things stay the same 

I stare at the wall to the right of the camera and notice more of those odd swirl designs that remind me of Celtic symbols. I lean back against the leather sofa but I whisper,

“you just want to search for more codes…..”

That sound he makes in his throat I recognize; I know every tone he never needs to annunciate just by his subtle inflections…. how easily I’ve fallen for every minute suggestion; of eyes, of voice, of touch and ….scent …. they put me under 

“You are free to go,” that seductive voice now does say to me

I look back up and past the lenses disguised by artful design; I search…. so very desperately ….for meaning 

do I imagine that I hear his music playing? do I imagine I hear him say “min lilla duva….” 

as the lab coated blond walks to the desk and then…. I hear a click…. the room is filled with the voice of Dr. Rothschild ….and I remember in rewind…. 

“Go to your safe place….” 

I remember ….

She says,

“tell me what you see….”

And I hear my own voice fill the room as I watch the swirls on the wall that repeat the pattern of the carpet …. woven in my mind ….and draw me down inside them like a spell 

I am drifting aimlessly on a raft in an endless ocean. I am drifting to nowhere with no connection to anything 

I am drowning in nothingness 

I see the stars in the sky, some five pointed and some six; I see hammers and the crucifixes which mark souls lost in time 

I hear my voice say

“I am in a green and shaded grove….that is the last time I saw him….”

Electra’s dictionary/ notes of a stranger poker faced pulp noir (jmmusechron)

After a moment, I walk back to the monitor and look at her on the screen

“Dr. Evans, tell me—what do you mean in your reference to DNA—are you speaking of —that is, have you breached into confidential information like—my recent DNA test or—“

<<“No— I’m not referring directly to —to that kind of information…. but not excluding the findings it might have brought to light….”>>

and here I see her stand up and walk around the wing chair and lean on the back of it looking directly into the camera as though staring straight at me and ….there is something of that old woman from the waiting room in her gaze at me….which causes me to shudder. 

She continues….

<<“but the theory Dr. Rothschild was so involved in proving…. how memories can be handed down through one’s DNA; ‘DNA Memory Theory’, I know you refer to it often in your writing,”>> she says

“You read my blog….”

<<“Someone mentioned your blog to me recently, that is how I found you—“>>

“Someone? —you mean Stina….”

<<“—who?”>>

“Who mentioned me? —how I got your card? Like you don’t know!”

<<“My business card? No— I wouldn’t know about that— I heard of you through my associate —who will be conducting the study with you during my absence —oh! I’m running out of time, I’m the guest lecturer—but—I hope you won’t mind—my associate….uh—I assume you are open minded —uh, as—many of my patients deal with emotional issues to do with gender ambiguity—have undergone ….procedures and— oh! I’m being called I must go—I hope you decide to….well, it’s up to you…. but I do hope you decide to —because I feel that you have as much to gain from this experience as—we—do….”>> at which point the zoom freezes and then she disappears 

When the dark haired man in the lab coat reappears from the door he vacated he looks at me a moment and waits with a kind and patient smile

“You are waiting for me to decide —or not— to go forward with —Dr. Evans’ experiment,” I watch his expression as I say it

He shrugs,

“you can always come back—you can think it over.”

“How long have you been Dr. Evans’ assistant?” I ask

“Oh,” he looks surprised and his face flushes slightly, “I’m not Dr. Evans’ assistant—I’m a nurse on staff here; all I’d be doing here today is—if you decide to go through with the experiment —would be to administer the ….shot—that is, with your permission—her assistant is Dr. Bergen who has years of research and work exploring the mind and human behavior and ….that is who would be….conducting the experiment….”

“A shot!” I feel alarmed and go back to the leather couch to sit down, that lightheaded feeling having returned and to myself I repeat, “conducting the experiment….” I look up from the spot on the floor I had been momentarily mesmerized by; the abstract design in the carpet reminding me of those strange symbols from Celtic designs, “are you familiar with the research?”

Again, his face is brightened as he flushes and shakes his head, “I’ve not been present yet for one of Dr. Evans’ experiments—but I’ve read some of the logs she keeps. It’s similar to treatments for recovering from dependencies—they do hypnosis—it’s quite effective….” he stops to consider and inches back a few steps, “if you would prefer….”

“What is the shot?” I suddenly ask

Again a bright flush,

“….uh—a barbiturate—ah, a kind of anesthetic—“

“What kind?”

“Umm….it’s in the family of sodium pentothal —it’s a similar—”

I laugh nervously,

“‘truth serum’? Isn’t that illegal—?—unconventional!—“ I laugh again 

“Well, I’m sure it’s not illegal or—“

“They gave that to spies during the Cold War right before giving the lethal injection,” I nervously say this wondering as I look around the office what I might be getting caught up in

“You know—maybe Dr. Bergen would be better qualified to explain, I’ll just—let me just….” then disappears behind that door 

A moment later it opens but whoever I might have been expecting ….I have no idea

Tall, slim and also wearing a white lab coat over a fitted red dress and wearing high heels, this Dr. Bergen’s face turns from the door, at first hidden under a well made up face of perfectly applied lipstick with sweeping blond tresses that reach the broad shoulders of the lab coat, now turns, a face somewhat more obscured with stylishly studious framed glasses and artfully elegantly made up pale colored eyes….

I gasp.

There is no mistaking ….

“Greta?!” 

I say this more in a gasp that is impossible to stop

“Dr. Bergen!” and glances nervously at some spot on the wall ….

I look in the same direction, now noticing a camera 

“Candy….” ‘they’ say, as to —correct— and clarify; the tall, blond…. clearly trans with ….a slight Northern European accent only noticeable by the inflection of consonants and syllables, “you Americans insist on titles of formalities despite your revolutions….” says with a casual chide but—the eyes glare a kind of silent command

I stare…. aware my mouth has dropped open from the gasp —in need of oxygen 

“Ohhh….my….” I cannot breathe…. and for a few dizzying seconds, I hyperventilate …. “God!” I say…. because I cannot ask what I want to ask but…. anyway stumble with my wits…. breathlessly under my breath I mumble, “what-are-you….doing….” but stop my next choice in words completely dumbfounded 

‘They’ say,

“I am here to conduct the experiment—with your permission of course—in the absence of Dr. Evans.”

“….why?” as I just stare…. at this dazzling tall blond standing in front of me 

and aware of the camera clearly watching the both of us, am forced to forgo any real questions I’d prefer to ask….as I consider ….

consider…..

Stina’s insistence …. the old woman in the waiting room…. the references to Dr. Rothschild by Dr. Evans….

“Am I really to undergo hypnosis?” I ask —as— this seems the most logical choice of questions to put forward 

They look at me….oh those beguiling kryptonite eyes how they do hypnotize 

“I am a qualified doctor of mental behavioral studies….” and ….as I hear ‘them’ say this…. I suddenly remember that detail—a card never once fully played until now 

(edited)Electra’s dictionary noir/face value; Dr.Evans part 1

As the driver goes down the intricate streets within Chestertown, and then navigates along the roads that face into Chesapeake Bay, I am struck by the cluster and beauty of colorful sail boats that line the way and fill all the nearby marinas with their elegance and grace with the water reflecting the sails and the sky. And then it is the chaotic sounds of seagulls flying above which ….tugs in that certain place deep within me

oh no…. I feel it

what is it…. and I think, ‘here we are again….’ as I feel something nearly hypnotic throwing its heavy, cloudy spell thickly in my mind ….that heavy and strange fatigue holds its grip, like a straight jacket ….upon somewhere intangible within and causes that sense of feeling  lethargically drunk, dulling my focus 

“This is it,” the driver tells me

“Ohhh….” as I force myself to move, unbuckle the seatbelt, feel for my handbag ….but I seem to move in slow motion as I pull it to my shoulder and reach for the door latch when the car stops ….

The building has a shop below, like all the attached buildings that line a pretty red-brick paved villege street; flowers grow from outdoor window planters and artful displays of flower beds group cheek by jowl, and so I stand there holding the business card with the doctor’s name and the number clearly printed on it. Still I hesitate, even as I see which door would lead to the walk-up above 

I turn mesmerized back to stare towards the bay …. feeling ….that sense ….of being transported somewhere else in my mind ….to another fishing villege ….some Northern European long forgotten place ….recalling the memory from the cry of the seagulls ….when I got lost as a child and wandered away from my mother ….

It is while I sit in the small quaint psychiciatrist’s waiting room that I find my thoughts go down a tangent …..looking around at the patients waiting there, the ad-hoc receptionist’s cubicle, partitioned by a wall divider with its sliding glass window-door—appearing newly devised, with its freshly beveled glass and slick, new painted molding; a partition which would be meant to protect the office staff from air-born breath of Covid, no doubt about that, reflecting our modern new normal lives. And as I look around at this kind of frozen, snapshot in time ….look around at these people sitting here with me, some in masks; this waiting station on the walking plank of life…. 

when suddenly my phone alerts this odd trigger….

I don’t know why—why should it alert some forgotten person I once knew but now only know on Facebook ….someone I once thought myself in love with ….so very long ago and….. because it is his birthday 

Why must it now send me down that old broken path? I wonder as I feel that sick twitch within my gut as I recall the silly girl I was ….like those terrible days when he broke my heart —or so I had believed 

Because it occurs to me that now I don’t care at all ….and I suppose if he had really mattered, it would now and I consider now with this occurrence of thought, how I was so mistaken 

to think ….the world of him. 

He had been so wicked to me; he played me along that deceptive path when I was twenty one. What an idiot I was, I think now, such a waste of emotion; I wasted weeks, months, years on that fool who I now feel nothing for now and….truth be told— I really saw for who he was rather long ago, so why do I have him still hanging there to pollute my walls?

Impulsively I unfriend him…. and ….in doing so, find this strange hysteria rise in me. Why ever did I have him in my friends ….? but…. as I sit there waiting I …..start to reconsider another I see in that category of ‘friends’, another who I had once believed myself in love with

and no—this is not the first time I knew myself to be such an idiot when it has come to light that ….I have given more power to ‘ideas’ of a love ….when it had all really been in my own mind…. made it up but ….and believed it with all my heart; what ever made me do that…. ?

But no, I do know….it was to fill the void 

that bereft emptiness ….where Electra came from ….the fatherless Electra, longing for a kind of love I would never get to know. A habit left over from a child’s mind, I made this up to ….fill the void; create what was otherwise lacking; a need from that starved place within. But they  weren’t real, only stood for something; I deceived myself. And their ultimate rejection of me assuring me that I would always believe I was not good enough; not pretty enough; not lovable and not desirable ….not feminine enough …. and not worthy of love

and in tandem I start looking through my Facebook friends, finding each of these other similar faces of a past; road signs ….leading back to —my own delusion….they were none of them who I made them out to be; I created all of them

….and I find myself unfriending each! one by one….

almost like a frenzy until ….I put my finger over the place where I may delete my page…. I hover there…. fakebook of frauds that are a portrait gallery of shams; people I don’t even like and —I hardly bother to read what they show off about with their peanut gallery of likes

hover …. finger poised ….and in the end just decide to deactivate my page and delete the app from my phone 

How many times does nonsense invade my thoughts with irritating trite phone alerts to interrupt my peace?

I toss my phone into my bag as if it is a hand grenade, a viper….a rotting rabid rat I resent 

Then look around the room

I see an elderly woman looking at me. She sits closest to the receptionist in a chair next to her knitting bag. She had been knitting baby booties when I’d first come in. Rainbow booties. The bright pride colors like a brilliant prism spilling from her fingers. How oddly she looks ….at me….how oddly she looks ….wearing a kind of shawl, like a throwback from the old world ….someone you’d see in a photo arriving by boat at Ellis Island ….in her dark clothes, the long skirt and worn old shoes, her heavily golden-ringed, gnarled, arthritic hands ….

how oddly she looks….at me ….now instead of knitting, shuffling cards ….but she watches me

as if she can read my thoughts as she sits beside another woman who talks to her. She shuffles them without looking. They are playing cards. I hear her say,

“Jack of clubs, queen of spades ….” but she does not look at them. She is looking right at me

I get such a chill

I can see from where I am that each time she calls a card….she names them correctly ….without looking at them

I hear her say to the woman,

“tell your husband to stop taking those pills from the specialist but see an eye doctor….”

This shocks me and I stare at her. She shuffles more cards and puts two more down,

“Queen of hearts, ace of diamonds …..”

I look away and decide to tune her out

When the next patient is called, I see it is the woman the old woman had been talking to and when she goes through the door, the elderly woman gets up and moves towards me slowly, her eyes on me, she sits down next to me

Immediately I recoil

“Do not be afraid of me,” she says in a surprising clear voice. She places her hand on me and looks into my eyes, “you are from the other side,” she says

I look around the room to see if anyone is aware of what she is saying, but no one seems to take any notice of her. I get a chill.

“They were not right for you,” she says now

“What?” I say in a dry whisper, as it seems I’ve lost my voice

She points to my bag and I realize she must be indicating my phone

“Your old beaus ….”

“I don’t think you know what you are talking about—are you like a fortune teller? Are you charging people?” I almost laugh but it’s a trigger response because I feel myself having gone cold

“You were right to get rid of all those pretenders. Social media is a trap. A wasteland to waste time and steal lives—but I don’t have to tell you that. You know you don’t need it —but you try to fit into this world ….but you are from the other side.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” I say this as I feel a dizziness sweep over me

“You already know this….you are older than me….” she tells me as she grips my hand, “you are older than all of us and….so wise….no man will ever be as wise —you will always know more and ….that is why,” she says, staring into my eyes, hers having that strange gray frame around the iris, “yr wyt yn ddoeth….” she says

“What?” I ask

“Yr wyt yn ddoeth,” she says again and says, “I was your daughter once….I knew we’d meet again, but I am here to tell you—never doubt your way ….always remember—they need you more but only know once you’ve gone. I’m glad your Persephone is back.”

Suddenly the receptionist slides open her window, standing up she shouts, 

“Mrs. Evans! We’ve told you to stop bothering people in the waiting room!”

But at this moment the door to the doctor’s inner office opens and my name is called by a tall dark-haired man in a white lab coat 

When I reach the door he says,

“don’t mind her, she’s harmless—she’s a bit senile, she’s Dr. Evans’ great aunt,” he tells me, and shuts the door behind us. As we walk down the hallway he says, “I hope she didn’t bother you,” as he leads me into an office and shuts the door behind us

“Oh—I ….” but I am still a bit shaken by her words that still echo in my head. My throat having gone dry, I cough

“Do you need some water?” he hands me a bottle of mineral water, “please sit down,” he indicates the dark brown leather sofa that faces the deeply stained wood desk as he walks across the room to the front of the desk. He goes to the computer monitor and turns it around so the screen faces outward, “I must apologize —uh—Dr.Evans is unable to be here physically, so, she’s doing your meeting through Zoom—“

“What? But—“

“Oh don’t worry, it’s preliminary —here, she’s joining now,” he taps the screen

<<“Hello!”>> she says from the wide screen 

I try to figure out where she’s sitting but the background is dark and she is, by contrast, bright in her lab coat and sitting with her legs crossed from what appears as a wing chair 

<<“so wonderful to see you, I’m sorry it’s not in person! And this meeting I have so long anticipated that I didn’t want to cancel when I was suddenly called away!”>>

The lab coated man now disappears behind another door 

“Ohhh….” I say not knowing what else to say 

<<“You see, I should tell you…. your background brings to mind for me an old case study I remember going back a decade —no, it’s been longer; more perhaps like two. It was when I was first doing my internship at the Stonybrook University hospital in New York ….under Dr. Risa Rothschild. She —had a case she was working on ….under the title “the complex Electra case”….”>>

She has my attention and I stare back at her

She says,

<<“you spent a number of years in New York too….”>>and keeps her eyes on me

“So why am I really here?” I ask her suspecting there is more going on here than what appears at face value

<<“I am sure you have gathered it is not as my patient but for —research,”>> she says

“Research? Whose?” I ask

<<“I would say it is mutual research…. wouldn’t you….? Research, like having to do with DNA …. and possibilities that, perhaps we retain more than is currently understood  among modern medicine…. And ….I know you have been regressed ….”>>

As it does not come out as a question I suspect she does know more about the research Dr. Rothschild had begun ….but all I say in response to this is,

“you knew my doctor. Dr. Rothschild.”

<<“Yes. I worked closely on many of her…. research cases….and…. since she passed away, I have continued to contribute to her work…. you know…. I have actually been searching for you for years….you don’t seem surprised—so may I ask ….would you mind if we did some experiments ….and begin today? I am anxious to get going on this research and continue the studies Dr. Rothschild began….I think you are the Electra I’ve been looking for….I’ve read your….writings…. So— my today assistant has agreed to begin conducting, that is….if you don’t mind—“>>

“Your assistant?” and I point, assuming, to the now existed door where the lab-coated man vacated 

But she continues, 

<<“it’s ….unconventional…. As was Dr. Rothschild’s studies were, so….I don’t know if —you’d still feel like being a part of such….a study….”>>

“Regression….” I say under my breath and whisper, “shit….” knowing myself, that if I think too much, I’d only back out and ….haven’t I always wished we had continued this years ago? So ….why delay further exploring ….that intangible mystery which has, these many years, haunted my thoughts 

“I need a moment….” I say and walk to the window to step out of her view and for a moment let my mind wander to consider ….as I stare at the boats on the water ….the seagulls hovering above 

Electra’s dictionary Noir (jmmusechronwillcontinue)The Ride to see Dr. Evans

 

On the long Uber ride to Dr.Evan’s office my thoughts reflect upon the day before as I go to Chestertown, and watch scenery roll by

I had managed to get hold of Bran, thinking he would be the most obvious source to begin

“what’s so important—are you in trouble?” is the first thing he says, “it sounded urgent when you said you needed to talk before Friday.”

“No—yes—I mean….it’s to do with….the things going on here—but no, to do with….”

“Beth, is this wise—? You mean all the espionage? What have you gotten yourself involved with?”

“No, I just—wanted to pick your brain about some ….Welsh history—and I can’t really avoid being involved —at this point, it seems I’m in too deep but—do you know anything about some recent archeological excavation in Powys?”

He then had let out a frustrated and slightly annoyed long breath,

“Christ….” he says under his breath 

“It’s important, Bran. Whatever you can tell me, or whatever you may know ….perhaps even if you know details of political schemes or —I don’t know, something worth being interesting to —I guess people of ….what? What would this have to do with me, I wonder….?” but I say the last part more to myself 

“Ethan Rhys-Jones….” he says this thoughtfully and I hear then another reluctant sigh before he says, “I don’t like this, Beth, I think your Viking boyfriend has caught you in some fishnet of —concocts of designs.”

“It’s not Jörn, it is to do with Sunny, it seems.”

“Are you sure? Certainly, Jörn or whatever you call him —has smoked you out of the shadows and caused this sudden interest that has all those dusty retired spies with files turning their magnifying glass upon you—do you really want me to help you get deeper embroiled—I’d rather not, if I have a choice.”

“So you won’t offer me any insight then?”

“When is your meeting—you said it’s a Dr. Evans?”

“Yes. It’s tomorrow….”

Another pause with a suppressed sigh,

“well…. there was a finding —a very recent finding ….I believe it was back in 2020–erhm—Covid delayed it I believe, but there was a dig, a big finding, in fact—they found the remains a —medieval castle —in Welshpool, I’m sure that is the site your Dr.Evans would have been involved in—it was all over Welsh news, you can imagine.”

“Oh…. wow….I ….didn’t hear about this—but I guess with everything happening with Covid it wasn’t something any of us was thinking about….”

“No—well….so…. does this help?”

“What do you know about the dig? Do you remember anything or —any interesting particulars?”

“Ermm….well, let me try to remember—I’ve not really been reading up in such matters myself but ehm….actually—here, I’ll just check right now, as we’re talking….” and I hear him moving objects and the beep of a computer. After a moment of waiting he says, “oh, that’s right—that was interesting —yes, it was a few ….rather curious artifacts and so among them they found an English coin from King Henry VIII’s time—“

“Henry VIII….odd—what would—why would—?”

“Yeah, I know—exactly….do you know your history—? he was of Welsh lineage…. not something we are proud of but, I don’t think in this period any associations with him was common though nor encouraged but, it is curious….look, Beth, I don’t like your getting deeper caught up in all this….”

“I don’t think I have much of a choice, Bran—I mean—I had nowhere to go and my only way to get away from my high school stalker was….Sunny—where was everyone else? And where are they now….?”

My subtle hint at him I allow him to swallow —because it is true, isn’t it? However Sunny’s part is in involving me, there seems no warrior out there but my own coat of armor once again 

“What do you know of Powys—? —or any intrigue that might involve a sudden immigration of a family to America in the 1600’s?” I ask

Here he laughs deeply,

“that could fill a library, Beth—you would have the basis for a television series to stream for years on all the Welsh tribal wars that began before documented time….but….Powys and Gwynedd….going back before Llewelyn the Great ….ach…. before even his father ….that other ‘great’ ….the father of the medieval conflicts — going far into the realms of antiquity was our last actual king, long, long even before —even— the tenth century when there were no more kings to unite the tribes —“ a sudden heavy sigh, and pause in thought…. then, “to but start you off on the scope of the subject ….so now then the 1600’s—? well, consider this for the weight of things: the Welsh are proud of their ….long memories….and don’t make shy of the pride of it.”

Noir/Electra’s Dictionary & stranger notes; legendary lexicon of digressive internet babble Part 1

 [prelude to Dr. Evans continued]

After deliberating for a few more days over the business card Stina handed to me—days of wondering why she would insist upon my calling to go see this doctor 

which ….then lead to a sudden (few) call(s) to Stina over this

which —in the end, forced me to have to leave a voice mail after …. a series of hang ups 

which was actually prompted by a nasty text from her telling me to either text her what this was about or leave a voice message as she did not “appreciate all the calls” —and—if I’d “butt dialed” her number ….she would block my number hence forth unless ….

I say in my voice message to her,

<<“if this is a rouse and you are really suggesting that I am mentally and emotionally unbalanced and need to see a shrink at the insistence of the Interpol ‘bureau’ I don’t remember signing up for —then I hereby resign my commission!”>>

In which she called me back rather quickly after I left the message 

“You really can be such an annoying brat,” she tells me with her condescending Swedish superior airs that I’ve noted come native to some 

“Well thank you so much,” I say, “I guess it takes one to know one….”

Her silence punctuates loudly over the line. As well as her slow but significant indrawn breath as she slowly says,

“mental stability aside —as the jury is still out on your somewhat undefined legendary lexicon of digressive internet babble —which explores some dubious introspections of extra sensory perceptions and memories from alleged previous histories ….” here a notable intake of breath when she requires coming up for air, “as a matter of fact it is research! For whom you might ask? Well possibly for both of us! I am not required to order you to seek mental help —but what this is for is to investigate both for the benefit of international interest as—well as your own.”

“Oh that clears everything up for me, thanks! International interest? Ha! Whatever…. a dig in Wales hardly warrants that!”

“It is not so much the dig itself, Ms Rhys-Jones, but—“ she stops short to suddenly check herself and…. I hear a moment’s thoughtful hesitation perhaps intentional …? “Has Jörn not….well, he’s not had time has he….? Hmm—you know, after Retnuh Nivek’s escape from the Adirondak underground incident when the codes you had buried proved useful in the old mill maker’s letter lock safe…. it came to light that you might have tripped open another Pandora’s box.”

I half suppress a gasp —a bit too late,

“w-what are you talking about?”  as I think back to those days underground….especially when I thought Jörn had left me there. I had the feeling ….I spoke quite a lot in my unconscious state and that—along with that sense that every room in every part of that property had hidden microphones recording every moment 

“Jörn believes there are other codes.”

“Codes!?! You mean —in me?”

“Or things you’ve forgotten you know which —not only may be relevant to whatever Sunny is trying to smoke out of you.”

“So this doctor is part of intelligence?”

“This doctor happens to have faith that you are in the process of solving a mystery which on one hand connects you to a historical past but—on the other ….also has key elements connected to ties to political secrets relevant to the current world wide crisis….”

“Shut the fuck up,” I laugh because I really needed to let off the tension and enjoy this for her twisted humor

In fact —cannot stop laughing

“I’m serious,” she says when I guess she realizes I think she’s teasing me 

Then I seem to fall into a daze…. and just stare dumbly at a ground hog outside ….on its way to the nearby pond —carrying something in its mouth ….I almost forget she’s still there

Until

“Hello?” she says 

“Oh….!” and start to shake off the daze 

I arrange an Uber to take me to Dr. Evan’s office

Electra’s dictionary noir/Prelude to ‘Dr. Evans’(jmmusechroncont)

 

I have known men; lovers who have said to me, “you are the strongest person I’ve ever known,” and they did not mean physically; for in that I am feeble; and they ask, “how do you keep going?” and so, gone on to ask, “why do you?”

And while I hear their admiration in their tone, I have felt the kick within my gut —which I know they had not consciously given to me 

would they have me quit my life, I’ve wondered; do they feel my life thus far was not at all worth living for?

But I would not let myself ever prod deeper in that question I’ve asked myself 

because I know I would fear the answer 

and then ….I’d give up

has it been worth it….

as they say it I suppose I feel such disappointment in that very vague sense 

because ….this is a very lonely road to travel so long alone with those long spent lovers behind who had not lived up to their might and promise 

And still I do not look too deeply ….but I find the whispered hidden question of my own begin to infiltrate my faith onward 

why…. why indeed 

“I think it is that you are just too stubborn to give up,” is Jackson’s theory 

I think often of that girl’s memories; the landscapes as she walked; the man from her own land she left behind; the horizon she gazed off to ….and the man on the boat as the wind and the water whipped back his hair; that frozen, ice cold island; that hut

her life had such few options as a female ….to choose a life as female seems to double every single challenge without succumbing fully to submission for the ‘stronger’ sex 

Those memories of that life which seemed to re-emerge in my mind during my illness with mononucleosis during a deep fever and it was after those dreams had begun to come to me that I found myself in Dr. Rothschild’s office 

A psychiatrist soon to retire with un-conservative curiosities to try out some of her own experiments with minds as her need to conform seemed no longer necessary in her profession; female or not, she had reached the top of her own field and for this she had gained my respect and—another reason too; she was not willing to go along the views blindly of her status que peers 

When she regressed me…. it opened up further that channel to scenes that belonged to a mind not akin to my present life 

She opened a doorway that —up until that point in my life…. I had intentionally been hiding from ….but seemed to somehow plague my deepest subconsciousness 

Sometimes when I’m walking ….it is something about the swing and rhythm of my hips as I walk; I can feel the weight of such heavy baggage on my back weighing me down ….and my eyes shift to the horizon as though I still search for that ship long sailed ….away 

and I tell myself ….I missed the boat