03

I won't be dating these, I think, because I'll be putting things down so haphazardly as I recall them that at
times things won't be in complete "order." I'm going to write down things as I remember them. As I feel
them. So, I'm just going to number them as I write. I hope that's good enough for everyone.

I'm listening to music this very moment, headphones completely covering my ears so that there are no
outside distractions and I can feel the pull. The movement. It's difficult for me to...what do I call it? Hold
on?

It's the kind of thing that creative people must dream of. To be able to just goddamn MOVE when the spirit
of "inspiration" moves them. To just leave this and go where the spirit moves them.

Really move.

Well, *I* can. And I now have the gift of remembering.

Does music ever move you that way? Just move your heart until you can't stand it? Pulling and pulling and
pulling you and the adventure is that you're never really sure where it's going to take you?

Sometimes I find tragedy. Sometimes joy.

And I truly, ever so truly, adore it all. Because it's not here. Not stuck in a world where the colors really
*are* grey compared to there.

The leaves on a tree are truly ALIVE. They are not a dingy green struggling to breathe because the air is
so full of pollutants that we would hear them crying.

If we could only hear.

The music is pulling me. It's not always the words. It's usually the harmonies. The tones. Something in
them.

Right now it's pulling me to the past. But it's not really the past because time is not what we, as humans,
think it is.

The trick? The answer?

Time is what we feel it is.

That simple. (An example - think of how a child views time...)

The memories of the places I've been with this music fills me. You've never been introduced to the people
that I see, but I'll show you them, now.

There's a wonderful young woman named Orchid, who was also a walker. She just didn't know it. She lived
here. And died here. And when she transitioned, I felt her movement and was drawn and began typing.
Practically out of nowhere I could see what she was experiencing.

And it was an adventure unlike any other as again, I almost could not stop. Every single night for at least
three hours for a month I wrote. It was the only way I could keep up. Barely.

Everyone around me thought I was writing a story. A book. But is that how a book is written? I don't know.
All I did was chronicle what I was seeing - feeling. Experiencing. I didn't have to stop and figure out what
was going to happen next. I was just hoping my fingers could keep up.

And when I was finished I had pages and pages and pages of movement and adventure.

Of living.

I wrote without even seeing the screen of my monitor. The words flowed like water and the people were
brought to life. Or...in actually, I was given the gift of dipping into them. Experiencing their lives and loves
and adventure.

Do you know how hard it is not to fall in love when you get THAT close to someone? Inside their head and
yet they are not *you*? And you feel their heart?

It was like that.

It's always like that - unless it's me traveling, myself.

But with the music I'm moving with now it was what we affectionately call an adventure. Something hard and
at times harsh that you look back on affectionately after it is long done. And it had nothing to do with Earth.
Poor little blue marble. The little denizens there are in a car with no breaks and most refuse to admit it. But
that's another story - and another opinion. We won't go there right now because that pulls me away. Pulls
me back.

What would YOU do? *smile*

Back to the movement. The heart filling movement. The excitement of that movement. Of just SEEING
these people.

My heart is lost so easily.

This is why I mostly keep this to myself. I never actually speak to anyone about this. No one will actually
believe my written words so I feel more comfortable putting them down. There seems to be a distinct
difference between speaking to someone about the outrageous and their reading about it. Their minds wrap
around it differently. In person, I would be considered insane very likely if I spoke of it. Here, it's different.
It can be looked at as pure fantasy. An overactive imagination. *smile* And that's fine with me. It's my
"journal". *smile*

Just another one of my...stories.