I came here and ranted about the psych hospital but didn’t really explain how I got there. As much as I hate making posts all about “me, me, me”, I think my revelation on my walk today can also be beneficial for others. That’s usually the goal of my posts anyway.
The day before the police were called on me, I went into the forest. I also made a post about that, but not about my thought processes behind all of it.
I’m very aware that I have a connection with the universe. I’m very aware that it knows my thoughts without giving me the benefit of know it’s thoughts. I don’t know what direction it’s guiding me or why, but I know that it guides me towards specific goals at specific times for specific reasons. I know this because of the feeling I get when I enter certain establishments, certain classrooms, talk to certain people–you just know that you’re where you’re meant to be.
I was lead to that forest for a very specific reason. It was by complete chance, to my limited human brain, that I came across the national park on the internet. I’ve looked at different national parks around this area on the internet millions of times and I’ve never seen this particular one–which is odd given how close it is to my proximity.
The first thing I noticed was the silence and the trees and the leaves. The leaves were like a neon green . . . but the day was dark and cloud cover completely encased the town in grey. There were only certain trees along our path with these colors. If I still had my Photoshop subscription, I’d manipulate a photo to show what the world looked like through my eyes.
There were lots of little gnats and moths and the trees were very loud. Not with words, but just with presence and enormity. I liked crawling in between them and sitting with them and letting them tell me it would be okay. The birds too. I tried to climb one, but being 50-60 pounds over my ideal weight and having been lazy the last two years of my life, I couldn’t really get far off the ground. That’s probably the other reason my blood pressure was a little high.
Which is partly why I’m walking more and changing my diet once again.
Anyway, none of that is the point. Don’t get me on another tangent. I’ve been on a lot of those lately.
Now, after exiting that forest I felt like the universe really had my back. It was watching out for me. It could hear me screaming out mentally and it understood. When I returned that feeling had vanished. It was too hot, even under the cover of the trees, and that warmth I felt with the animals and vegetation had left. The only thing left was the three hawks circling right above me like I was a dead carcass–or about to be. Which I was.
It felt like I’d lost my reason to be here on Earth.
All my life I’ve been doing things with the universe on my side, even when I was a toddler I knew I had that connection. And now I felt like it has severed all contact with me. On top of that, my life is chaotic, unstructured, stressful, and I have no release. All of that lead up to why the police was called.
Something pushed me to go for another walk today. Also because I need exercise.
The moment I saw the monarch I understood everything.
By now you all know that I’m someone who strongly advocates for the spiritual and fantasy worlds. People call it irrational, but what I think is irrational is the idea that any one human being could understand all there is to understand about Earth, The universe, or even themselves. That’s irrational.
So I’m caught in a crossfire.
The Monarch isn’t just a butterfly, or a symbol of delicacy (for those bunches of you that like metaphors and similes and analysis), I see them as remnants of ancestors, of good spirits, of watchers. I don’t know where the thought came from, it just happened the instant I saw that first monarch.
More monarchs followed me along my path and that made me feel good because it lets me know I was wrong; the universe isn’t leaving me alone.
But something isn’t right. There’s a disconnect somewhere, a war. I mean, Trump is running for president. Come on.
Then I saw the ripped in half tail of a squirrel and it all made sense again. Those portions of the spiritual world that I feel watch me, that follow me, are at war with the portion that’s been guiding me. Both follow me along my path: a ripped bird wing lay in the middle of the walk way, along the path the monarchs followed me.
I wished I could speak the language of the Monarchs and understand more about what’s going on. I asked them to speak with me, but didn’t get an answer (is that a good thing?). I know these spirits embody every living thing on earth, including people, and I met a benevolent one in the form of an old man pacing back and forth on the grass of an apartment complex. He paused just to stare at me and smiled and I felt like a part of his spirit was related to the monarchs.
The problem I see with this is how can you tell the malevolent from the benevolent? Those “evil” ones, the ones that follow me and haunt me and rustle noises outside when I’m at Second Story at night, are tricky. They can play so many different forms.
Like I said, I’m caught in a crossfire. I’m in the middle of a war and maybe that’s why I’m here. Maybe I need to exist for that war to exist and maybe that war needs to exist because I exist and maybe without me and the war, life itself wouldn’t exist.
This is what I thought of while I walked and picked out sign after sign of the war. There are many.
And as I walked, one of my other thoughts was “how could I turn this into a story?”.
And that’s when it hit me.
I’m aware that how I see things isn’t how everyone sees things. To me it’s truth, to everyone else it’s nothing. I’m not incompetent, much to the hospital’s dismay. I’m also aware that sometimes people get a little turned off and confused when people say things like what I’ve said above. But when it’s turned into a fictional piece, when it’s suddenly labeled “fantasy”, that’s when we get to call things symbolism. That’s when we regard it as a deep piece of literature.
And maybe that can help those of us who think differently and can turn our experiences into a piece of history rather than our own personal nightmare. Maybe it can help us show others that there’s nothing to be scared of. Maybe it can help us show ourselves that there’s nothing in our mind to be scared of.
Writing isn’t just a form of therapy. It’s a way to communicate.
The monarchs, by the way, followed me home.