Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Timed Writing: 2/29/2012


Time: 15 minutes
Source Photo: Dog Walk, by Maggie's Camera


Sometimes I let other people create my worlds,  or, more often, I accept invitations to visit the worlds that they've created for themselves. Worlds created by others are never as perfectly suited to my preferences as the ones that I create, but they are worth visiting for the sake of novelty and surprise. Sometimes I will visit a world and find myself saying, can we really do that? is it allowed? But of course, if it can be imagined it can be done, and there's nothing that isn't allowed. There are just a lot of things I never would have imagined on my own.

A few days ago -- or a few years or centuries; time means so little here -- I received an invitation from Habakuk Jones, an old friend who had chosen to spend much of his physical life as a dog. His message suggested that I visit his latest creation. A meditative world, he called it -- a place to quiet the mind and commune with the soul. I sent him a time-delimited access key with the start point scheduled for my next waking.

I don't have to sleep, but for me the transition to a new world comes most naturally with a waking from sleep, so I maintain a simple, non-dreaming sleep function in my repertoire. I engaged it for the minimal period and then I awoke.

As soon as I awoke my feet started moving. I was trotting down a long wooden causeway on all fours. I had paws rather than hands, and judging by their shape and by the fur and claws, I was a dog. This was hardly surprising, given Habakuk's canine affinities. The causeway was narrow -- only twenty inches or so wide, and was bounded on either side by still, dark water reflecting a gray sky. Chains stretched between stanchion posts provided a semblance of safety, but the boards below were smooth and wet and might have provided very little traction in case of unbalance. The water on the left stretched for several miles, to a distant land, whose mountains were partly obscured by hazy clouds. On the right, there was nothing but the water between me and the horizon. Before and behind, the wooden path stretched for as far as the eye could see, narrowing to a point and vanishing.


(about my timed writing exercises)

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