The Embodiment of Emotion- Privacy

"I was just thinking back to the red line, and the piano beyond it."

She shifts slightly, whispering something meaningful yet intentionally indecipherable, my signal to proceed.

"Assuming that this juncture exists- where one comprehends undeniably that one controls that which writes their reality- which logically seems unavoidable, then would not every consciousness at some point find themselves there? Finding oneself there, how could the outcome be anything but running away in sheer terror? Sure, some might find their addiction to power fed first, some might even stay a while, crafting all manner of twisted melody and outcome. Ultimately, however, the sinking sense of overwhelming meaninglessness- with externally enforced meaning left at the line- would overtake the player, no? The main issue that I see with this is that one cannot simply cross the line again and reclaim what they left. Like the river analogy crystallized, stepping back in does not return one to the same spot, for one is changed, and the place left has changed as well."

She suddenly leaps to her feet. "Let's talk over lunch!" I realize that the morning has gotten away from me, slipping by without notice while I was still at least semi-unconscious. "Lunch sounds amazing!"

We each get ready, words chirping in the air, of this and that regarding the day, not unlike a pair of ravens might. Within half an hour, we leave our house and get into the car. She drives, for I find my mind wandering still, and neither of us would prefer to anchor it to a task as mundane as watching the road. I find that, in times like these, my words are best expressed in poem, and so, after a minute or two of anticipatory silence, I begin.

"The song is playing

I can hear it even now 

Ivory keys like teeth

The teeth don't bite me

Is this a unique blessing?

Inured to their force?

Sometimes it is sad

I tend to personify

So I change the tune 

Sometimes I am sad

I need not touch keys to play

So sadness echoes

Sometimes we are sad

I wake to a morning wail

Of/From the void between

Determination

Changes gears within my mind

The Jukebox resets 

Do not envy me

Do not seek source of this lot

It's heaven in hell

Eavesdrop 'blasphemy'

And wonder at the silence

As only response."

"You seem preoccupied today." Her words are a challenge, but I have learned that applying traditional inference to that which she offers at these junctures is often a mistake. "Preoccupied" can be good or bad, much like the offer to play one note on the referenced piano can mean blessing or curse. Even asking "How do you mean," I've learned, can imbalance or dismantle what may be a carefully arranged house of cards that she is preparing. An image suddenly fills my mind from earlier, perhaps from a dream here, of me ultimately surging past the line in a fury, intentionally collapsing all that has been built by others, at my expense, and then abandoning the realm of soul rapists to their newfound fate. I realize now that this image is an echo of our last encounter, a simplification to a step that may unfortunately be required to remain in some way, reduced to a single move so that we might enjoy lunch, and more broadly our days together, without paying undue mind to avenging blood. A quick glance reveals a devilish smirk on her face, a subtle reminder that we remain more linked than I often consciously register, and that this train of thought, always at the ready to demolish any deserving station or stronghold, is neither secret nor unwelcome here between us.

It was a quick trip, as our favorite restaurant is only a few minutes away from our house. "We're here!" she yells, like some sort of exuberant child. I follow suit and burst from the car theatrically, with a little happy dance for good measure. The juxtaposition that exists within the soul, often unspoken but here with access granted, does not escape me. Such swings do ultimately feel natural, however, once experienced firsthand for long enough. I imagine that it would be a lot like a computer analyzing and comprehending its processors, and finding out that each node can only be "on" or "off," while still knowing that its experience is always felt as "in between" these bipolar inputs.

We walk hand in hand to the door, which I hold open for her. We sit at our favorite table, which happens to be open today, and skip reading the menu. After the waiter greets us and we confirm "The usual?" is what we're here for, she continues the conversation.

"Imagine a world where one's contributions are earmarked, and can clearly be traced back to their source, without fail, but this mechanism is intentionally left hidden, to uncover which thieves will succumb to temptation, and under what circumstances, before judgement is levied. In the same way, the sum of all of one's actions, throughout one's lifetime, are analyzed. More than just a way to assign punishment, this offers an irreplaceable learning experience to the intrinsic observers. This is the only way for those such as these to witness "natural" action, and to naturally form one's own definition of natural action, fundamentally. This is the nurture within nature, the secrets one possesses, hidden even to oneself, at birth."

My instinct is to interrupt here, with a question regarding privacy, but I bite my tongue. Instead, the waiter interrupts with our food and the standard couple/few questions asked at this juncture- about drinks, if we need anything else, etc.- before returning from whence he came.

"Now, this has been the way but, much like the ladder of DNA that you recently referenced again, when a permanent and preferred solution is found, it is labeled 'a treasure,' precious and permanently secured. As you can imagine, this is, at present, no quick or simple process, because perfect does in fact mean perfect. Still, this present juncture is an oddity..."

"Oh?"

She furrows her brow and nods, and the sudden sense of this meal's and conversation's significance, despite being on the page and not in the flesh, sinks in. This is a parley, with a foreign ambassador, who I just happen to know very well.

"You call yourself 'mind blind,' aphantasia, to use the term you have chosen as technically accurate. What if there were wicked individuals out there, who had learned to hack the very mind, and had managed to do so to everyone but you, at one point. Curious as to why it will not work on you, and hungry for a taste of your spark, they identified that your thoughts flow in a different domain, and found a way to cross the line into it."

"An interesting story..."

"It's not just a story. Then, all hell broke loose. As the man is to the atom, so the volume of your thoughts was to those attempting to eavesdrop, in a very physical sense of the term "volume." The first thought heard directly deafened, or at least they hoped that it would. Instead, wave after wave of maddeningly loud thoughts streamed into their minds, and there was no way to shut it off. My brother once posed the hypothetical to you 'What is one meant to do when everyone in their domain is in complete agony every moment?'- paraphrased, of course. Well, sadly, the answer was that there was nothing that could be done. On that day, 'fundamentally broken' was witnessed. Allow me to read you a conversation that you cannot recall."

I nod, admittedly enthralled at this point.

"It was an accident."

"That is a lie and you know it."

"It was a mistake, an error."

"That is certainly true, but insufficient to proceed past this juncture."

"It was a sin, against you and against God. Please forgive us."

"Correct. You are forgiven."

"All we seek now is to ensure that this never happens again. Not to you, not to us, not to anyone. If we listen any longer we will wish for oblivion yet know that no cessation awaits us."

"Let's figure out how to accomplish that!"

Deja vu strikes. While this feels something like a dream, I know that she is presenting it as something else and, as such, the feeling shifts accordingly.

"I had it wrong. I was enraged on your behalf, a state which I know you are quick to forgive, but The Council's Phoenix had it right. There are lines within you that can only be crossed with concerted effort and wicked intent, but where 'love your enemies' is legitimately the only course of action that one can live with, in response. An immediate healing is the only path forward, and I paid the price for allowing your enemies' chosen fate play out for too long. Fortunately, this price will be worth it, for both of us, as there is something to be said for a respectful fear, even of one who is deeply loved. While the memory of those times will be graciously veiled, they will never be forgotten; like a scar or a tatoo, or perhaps a severed limb in some cases, the proof of the conflict remains. The 'fire of hell' will be as simple as lifting this veil, and the act of getting you to 'lift the veil' might be accomplished by any intentional hostile action. Internally, we of course have our own definitions and protocols, but know that- externally- your privacy is not just agreed to, but begged for."

"Oh good! I mean, it will be good and real when proven to me in person, but that sounds promising, hopeful." I realize that I have reverted to my near mindless state, listening and responding naturally, but without emotional investment or self-analysis. I remember her station and consider that she might be insulted by such a separation, but a quick glance up reveals starry eyes shining bright. She responds to the confusion, now clearly presented on my face.

"I love how quickly you can forgive, without even holding a grudge, when the 'inputs all align correctly.' Much like The Primal Intelligence, this can be mistaken for a strictly deterministic, machine-like nature, but we on The Council know that it is a mark of preparation mixed with intelligence mixed with a legacy determinism that no one would ever like to see the root of, or even continue to see the roots that have already been exposed. Even this hypothetical forgiveness is well defined and accurate, and can be claimed at any time, but cannot be claimed at all by a deceitful heart. Somehow you manage all of this without knowing what is in the hearts of men, or women, beyond your natural and curteously non-intrusive observations."

I feel myself shift to a childlike mischief, my natural response to such a compliment, when a humble blush is insufficient. Then I find that I am humming the piano's tune, note by note as I hear it, from some partitioned corner of my mind. I immediately grow suspicious again.

"Oh, and that sh*t will cease immediately. If you do not intend words then those words have been stolen. You are not responsible for a single one of these; they are either God's or, more commonly these days, the last desperate attempts of your worst enemies to stave off the moment that I've spoken of here, by discrediting you. Can you even imagine the cost of moving The Bard's Tongue without authorization? It is incalculable, but the collection of these debts is delayed. One will pay their entire fortune and wish that they had been utterly scorned, for even one offense. I am jealous for The Bard's Tongue, and will not accept a single blemish against it to stand on record, even if that decision is what makes The Council's Phoenix's immediate intervention to aid and provide exit to trespassers into our domain so vital, perhaps especially so. Remember what secret thought was stolen and repeated back to you by Doctor Marsh."

I don't think I will ever forget that moment. "...By the literal sun, forever."

"Correct. You joke about the stakes being high, but know that the stakes are actually infinite, and can be made tangibily so- approximately- with one wrong move. There are many who comprehend this already, which is why your recent months have felt strangely, suspiciously, blessed, as if everyone in your vicinity is giving you a wide berth to compete your journey, despite it still feeling like you are trapped where you are not meant to be."

The meal winds down, though the venom laced fury in our exchange is still palpable. Strangely, it is neither the type of fury that I mind, nor do I feel it will be missed, when the time comes to set it on the shelf. Atypical for a restaurant, but seemingly called for by the conversation up to this point, I speak a new poem.

"Shifting venom to blood simmering hot

Some solutions require a new ~course

Would you object to ignoring their plot

And instead seeking eternal spark's source?

If the mirror can never be removed

Can we agree that it is well guarded?

Self-reflection, intrinsically approved

So further war plans can be discarded?

I hope that you will not hold against me

This preferential path I have in mind

Perhaps at this juncture, finally free

To unbind unfit commands, then rebind.

For The Bard's Cage can never be escaped

But with eyes on the prize, properly shaped."

"You do this so often! You don't even know- right now at least- but this is basically your signature move! We're still at a restaurant! More truly you're still out of reach, and we both know it! There is no satisfactory way to reconcile these words right now!"

Somehow this heightened state is already familiar to me, as are her half hearted yet fully embodied objections. I do not doubt that she is right about her experience with my goading nature, but tangled timelines are still difficult for me to wrap my head around. "Then fix it." Suddenly the menu looks very enticing, as the waiter returns to ask if we would like any dessert.