Dear Me, You seem to have forgotten yourself. Love you.
an excerpt

(.............) Dark; or perhaps void. That is the first thing I remember. All around. Yet I also sensed something too. there was something of a song on the edge of my aware ness. I couldn't tell you how far it extended because I'm unsure of how one gauges messure in the void.

At first I was uncertain were this void began and where I ended. Then I wondered if perhaps I was the void. I never did come to a satisfactory conclusion on that.

The moment came that my curiosity moved in in such a way as to shatter the void with a sirens scream of blinding light. This light to gave me the sense of being all around. It was the opposite of the void for all appearances, cluttered and glaring as it was with a multitude of things. and yet I still had that sense of a song at the edge of my awareness. It seemed that this cacophany too was as much who I was as the void had seemed to be.

The light eased or I grew into it, whichever may be the case. and I saw what was about me. It was a massive realm bordered in lines and planes of white and a most astonishing reticulation of browns.

Of course at the time these things had no names to me. It almost saddens me to call them by such now. The loss of the value of the visions I behld when restricted by terms such as white and brown is lamentable but required. For my journey is my journey; not yours but there is something in it of value. Something in the telling which may bring benfit to you on your journey. And so these word shall sefice to tell the story.

As the riot of colors settled on my senses for the moment I noted the song on the edge of my senses again. It in it's own way was a rauchus chorus of mismatched voices. An unfiltered multitude of wonders waiting to be beheld.

Once again the void enclosed me. Then once again the light. I became aware that I chose which I could bring to the fore. And so I blinked once more.

So it was I descovered the power of will. A discovery that to this day leads me into no end of adventure, and still leaves me awed.

As I basked in the greatest discoveries of all time for an eterinty, the song returned to me. Or perhaps I returned to the song. It is sometimes hard to realise which parts of us belong to the other.

So again my curiousity did of all things a curious thing. It again shattered what was before me. This time instead of the void it shattered the song. I found it in peices now, easier to grasp then the whole. That was the impression at least.

One part was a sweet sense of echoing movement. Another a circular flow punctuated by thumping swishes. These aspect are still with me and remain ever so, I have but to listen for the song of my breath and the rythm of my heart to come back to them. Much like returning to the void that first time. The power of will can reunite me.

Other songs awaited me so that I had scarcely picked up the first two before others overwhelmed them.

The song at the edge of my being told me of some thing moving, much as the air and breathing had. But where was this edge of being the song spoke of. My curiousity agiain made smaller morsels of the meal before me. It begged me use my sight to look for the edge of being. And so again weilding will before me on the great quest, I caused a shift in the world of light.

Planes of white and patterns of brown spun wildly and settled into their new places. When my vision settled it found before it a wide undulating expanse of color and texture. Then the plain shifted and the song sang of these movements.

Again I used my will. The motion stopped and the son slowed. I moved but a part of that plain and felt it through the others parts of it. I played at this for yet more eons gradually becoming aware of the effect of will on motion.

Soon enough these motions brough forth a strange thing from beneath the plain. Only later did I know to call it an arm. I was awed at the new song from it. A heavy, dense gnawing. It was the feel of that which I so casually breathed in an out. The cold open air.

I layed my arm down upon the plane and felt it's touch from bothe the arm and the plaine. Soon other limbs emerged from the edge of the plain and then it was cast off in it's entirety. and I felt something new. A new song not from the edges of being but the center. A longing and a loss. For I could no longer feel that vast plain anymore. I could see it but it's aspect of the song was gone.

Again my curiosity beseached me to look further into my world and seek what more existed. My will again moved me forward, and with a thrust I hurled myself into the precipus. Even that was a wonder to me. The sense of being bereft of a solid surface whirling and weightless. To then have it all returned tenfold again upon my landing.

With my will driving me ever on I found first my feet and then my balance, eons later I found my feet to be a marvel of bring about my will and satisfying my curiosity. I found more flat surfaces and carves all about me and so many of them moved when I willed them with my limbs. They made sounds and carried scents. A list of marvelous songs upon my senses.

And for a time my being was consumed by the creative act of discovery.

Wonder after wonder was mine to behold, change after change was wrought through my will. Then I began to become curious again about where the edge of being resided. Where might I find my limits of curiousity and will that had lead me on so wonderous a series of eons.

Standing I faced the broad flat surface before me and questioned whether that was the edge of being. Placing a hand against it I pushed and it yeilded not. I turned and keeping my hand upon the wall walked. Around the room I progressed until I came to a new surface. This was unlike the others. It's color was that strange pattern of brown on brown. Again I put my hand out and pushed. Again all that I had known was shattered in a blinding white light. The songs that I had been among before now paled in the glorious chorus of wonders before me waiting to be beheld.

As I began to take back my hand from the door it rusted against something. Weilding my will in cause of my curiousity I pulled my eyes from the visions around me. I beheld a most wounderous thing. It was small in comparison to many things I had yet seen. It was part plane and partly curled peirced through the top by and angular black shape which it tore free of with barely a whisper of my will.

Upon it's surface in bold shapes was something of import. I know not how I could understand it when all the world was unknown to me. It said simply:

Dear Me, you seem to have forgotten yoruself. Love you.

I stood there puzzled as to how I knew it's meaning. Without either will or curiousity my world had beeen drastically changed.

I began to question how I came to be standing, and what part of me knew how. Just as I had to question how the message had been clear to me. What's more the message implied something more terrifying then hidden knowledge within me; it represented lost knowledge. Not knowledge of walking and reading but something far more fundimental. The knowledge of being. And with that came the scarrier thought of the fact that I did not know what I did not know.

With that fear in my heart, curiousity seemed far off and will seemed a pale shadow. I closed the door and crawled back to that colorful undulating plane, and closed my eyes. Seeking the comforts of that which had been so wonderous before.

The darkness held me for what seemed mere moments before it was no longer comforting. I sat up and pondered all that I knew and those thing that I might not know. As the memories of the time of my awakening repeated over and over again I came to realise the journey had not troubled me when I had beeen in that moment. The loss of what came before still worried me but I still had the curiousity and now it began to lead me to question what there is that I don’t know, who and what I am and what I have forgotten. Again I took up my will.

I would explore the world outside that door as I had explored the world inside it.

What wonders would I see, what songs lay yet unheard.
I took what I had known first, that wonderous colored plane and wrapped it about me before stepping out the door.

About me stood many wonderous beings. I knew them for being when I looked upon there vast towering bodies of brown decorated with green scraps not unlike the message.

The message. I returned inside for then again to the woods. Each being sang of ages upon the land. It rustled its limbs.

One of the many green pieces fluttered to the ground before me. I stooped and marveled at it translucent beauty it’s size was bigger then my hand. Grasping the leaf I turned to the tree.

“Thank you Friend.” I proclaimed.

Startled by my own voice I jumped. Then I laughed. Had I not stepped out that door again I should think I may never have found my voice, or for that matter the wonder of knowing I had words within me.

The trees gift had been many fold. What other gifts does this world hold for me?

I began to walk. I began to wonder again at where the edge of being was. I began to wonder if I had known it before.

All the while I marveled at the wood. The songs of light and were interspersed by singing shadows. I remembered the first song I ever heard. The song of void.

It truly was wonderous to feel the soft cool wet earth beneath my feet and the wind upon my face. I even marveled at the feel of light, as I walked from shadow into the emerald streams fallen through the leaves.

It was both eon and mere moments before I came upon a change in the ground. Where once was the soft wetness of brown leaves was now cold round hardness of stones layed down against each other.

They too had a song to the senses. It was also long and aincient, perhap as old or older as the trees. It was hard for one as young as I to know of the depths of time just yet.

Following the songs of the stone I walked with them under the singing trees for a ways. The stone song beneath me was deep and strong it carried with it echos of the song the mornings air had sung against my emerging hand, some short eons earlier. The gnawing was more powerful and there seemed to be an ever moving current that coarsed through it.
I called back into my mind for that moment when the vibrant filled light had burst from the void and the realasation that both were part of me. Therefore I realized that I was intimately bound with the trees and the light and the shadows that filtered between them. I was also connected to the individual stones at my feet and the entire expanse as well.
That thought seemed to soothe that uneasy spot that had nestled near my center since I had found that note.
Who were you? It had asked
Now the road among the trees answered. Not with any combinations of words, weak symbols as they are, but with the song of connection. A subtle yet powerful answer. One whose meaning can be instantly felt yet I have spent all the time since then exploring the depths of it.
I walked in wonder a ways more enjoying my companions, the trees, the stones, the light and shadow. Then I came upon something so marvelous, that I lost track of the uneasy spot at the center of my being all together. For off to the side of the cobbled road, beneath a family of trees lay a huddled figure.
I laughed by way of greeting, and the figure shifted. I gave him peace for I myself remember the joy and wonder that coming from the void could afford. I would not wish to intrude of this ones waking from the void.
So I sat quietly in the middle of my stone river, wrapped in my warm and colorful plain. Marveling at this glorious being.
He shifted his weight against the nearest tree, a gently leaning birch as I recall. He then reached out an earth stained hand to rattle several objects about him. They sang loudly and brightly as he pushed them into the sunny patch at the edge of the road.
They were crystal clear stones that grew narrow upon one side and they seemed to have air trapped inside. What wonder had I found? Air holding stones and an earthy man draped in earth planes, that flowed and rippled as he moved.
I laughed again by way of thank you. He moved sharply at the song of my laughter. One shadowed and wonderful earthy colored eye opened. It was as the shattering of the void, or the broaching of the doorway, only ten thousandfold. A glorious song like none I had seen before obscured all other things around. It looked at me as I looked at him. Then it was we who were looking at ourselves.
He laughed at me, as I sat there on my river of stones, draped in my colorful plain. The laugh caused him to wince.
“If you’ve had enough to be here like that, then I don’t suppose you’ve got any left to spare a man down on his luck?” He grumbled through the matt of hair upon his face. It was quite wonderous, sprouting twigs and leaves as if it was a tiny reflection of the forest around us.
I just continued to stare at him. He was puzzling and my curiousity had return for the prospect of new wonders.
“I didn’t think so. Alright friend perhaps we could find a drink together.” He grunted and closed his eyes as he got to his feet. The spell was broken and I realize for the first moment that the mans right side seemed to be simply loose drapeing of earth stained cloth over empty air. Again I was filled with awe.
I also felt something else, a longing, a curiousity not like what I’d felt before. I wanted to know what it was like to have a hand made of wind. Could you feel shadows with it or did it feel something altogether different? Could a hand that was not there feel inside the void?
He was not me and so it was not my wind arm to weild but I was now connected to him and he to me. Perhaps this connection might let me in on the the wonders this man wielded.
The man was on his feet and made no move to pick up the strange and wonderful clear stones full of air at his feet. What a truly wonderous moment I had happened on. An earthy man with a small forest for hair and an arm of wind in possession of wind filled crystal rocks.
He saw my stare and said “Theres nothing in them, they’re just empty bottles now. Garbage.”
“Bottles.” I said the word. Feeling it on my tounge I couldn’t help but think ‘what a strange and inadequate word for such wonders’.
“You want them ther’re yours. But Like I said they’re garbage, who in their right mind would want an empty bottle.” He paused as got up and went over to the place he had pushed the bottles into the sun. “You’re touched, aren’t you?” He asked with a start.
I was indeed touched. Such a bountiful gift, these bottles.
“Forgive me, I mean no disrespect. Where I come from our holy people are what most consider touched.”
It is good to be touched by being wholly a person I thought. But does that then mean that it is possible for one to not be wholley a person? I turned to the man and asked. “Are you not a person wholey?”
“No, no. I was once a soldier. I fought in many battles for many reasons, some I regret and some I do not. Now I am no longer a soldier and truthfully not a person anymore either. For when I was injured in battle the wound cut me free of bothe a limb and myself. I am no longer who I once was, and I’ve forgotten myself entirely.”
I rejoiced loudly, jumping and hooting quite merrily a bottle tucked under each arm and one in my hand. He looked as though at first it pained him to hear my pleasure, but soon he began to smile and shake his head. He recongnised that this is part of my expressing myself as being wholey a person.
“You and I, we are together in this.” I proclaimed. I reached out the hand that had no bottle in it, and opened the fingers to reveal a small slip of paper.
“I cannot read. I was a soldier, not a scholar.” He replied matter of factly.
“Dear me, you seem to have forgotten yourself. Love you.” I read to him.
“It seems so simple and yet it begs you to think on it further. This is your writing?” He asked.
“Yes.” I stated. For while I had not seen it until it was written, It had come to be through means of this being at another time. “When I was another person. I have forgotten that person now.”
“I would like to forget myself.” He said with an expression that seemed to contradict that statement.
For in those eyes was the song of a person free of some shackles, as I had been the moment I was free of the house I had woken in. walking outside of the shock and fear I had found myself in after that fateful discovery of the note. His eyes said more about remembering who he was and less about forgetting.
“You may join me on my path. It is wide enough for us both. Perhaps along the way you will find that which you seek.” I invited him to remember himself while we walked down the road.
I couldn’t help but wonder if it was his trying to remember himself or me trying to remember who I once was that was hopeful for, or if perhaps they where the same thing. Such as I had wondered at the light and void. Perhaps it was it’s own thing, not his or mine and as such was part of the cacophony of the light and therefore a part of being.
He seemed to think for a moment and weakly started walking on the stones along the direct I had been headed before. I saw more leaves in the hair on the back of his head. I smile and took the leaf the tree had given me, form the founds of my colorful plain and tucked it into my hair.
We walk for a time in the woods along our path. Neither speaking. I began to see the edges of the man before me soften as if something were shaking loose. I had just begun to wonder if it was that he was waking futher into the world or perhaps the act of agreeing to follow this path had helped him find a part of himself again. Then again as so many things that had come before I had to ask whether they were infact separate things. Then it seemed as if without warning the world had changed. Before the two of us appeared for all the world to be a threshold. Trees arching over the road cast the last bit of shadow before the world opened up into a rolling plain of golden hair that decended down into new and wonderous realm of stone piled structures with wood here and there amongst them. Small figures moved amongst the structures.
Then Looking over at my companion I realized that he viewed the threshold differently then I. He seemed to have written on his face a farmiliar expression. I recognize within myself the feeling of that unease the note had left me with, it mirrored that which was written on his face.
I should not have wondered that his doorway and my own back at the start of my trek should both be momentus occasions on our separate journies. Though we traveled together and shared some of ourselves we could not take steps for one another. He turned and looked at me for a moment. His eyes lingered for a time on my newly acquired aire filled bottles. His eyes hardened and he turned back to his doorway and walked through. I stood pondering those hardening eyes and wondered if I myself looked like that when I stepped through my doorway. Was that the look of bringing ones will to bear.
I felt something new breathe itself in with the air. It was a ring sonorous song, not for myself but for my companion. It fluttered in my chest like something caught. So I let it free.
With voulumous laughter I ran out into the sunshine. The stones of the road beneath my feet sang of sunlight and heat, of many things to come and many that had come to pass. My new friend watch me as I again hopped and hooted. He at first did not seem to notice why I did it by soon he abandoned the puzzle and tipped his head back, laughter bounded down from from the rolling white boulders above where had sent it.
I put feet to ground with ever quickening pace and created a blast of wind before me in everywhich way I turned. It was a glorious flight, and it was ever the more glorious because it was joined by my companion.
When at last we came to a turn in the road and a slow rising mound of golden grasses, I stopped and turned my back to them only to fall heavily down upon them and stare up at the tumbling white boulders of the clouds. My companion fell beside me with a heavy earth vibrating impact and breathed heavily for a while.
I listened to the sound of his breath ease, and then seemingly melt into the gentle breeze about us. Glorious was the day, so many songs to be found among the grasses and the wind. So many that perhaps I can be forgiven for missing the song of loss that pulsed over the hill we lay upon.

When I did notice it at last it came to me as a pulse of breathing, filled with water. I stood on my knees and looked over the rise down into a small spring where a young being created the sound. My heart pulsed with the sobs.
“why are you crying?” asked my companion.
Startled the young being jumped back wiping her eyes. “The water jug.” She pointed to the ground.
There lay a shape not unlike my wonderous new air filled stones. It too was large, perhaps bigger then my stones, and shiny. But where my stones where clear this was a dark rich blue a blue so rich it sang of the blue sky reflected in the blue water. It like my stones seemed designed to hold something. But it had apparently given up the task. On the ground around it where smaller pieces of the same color all about and the stone vessel lay heavily on one side that seemed incomplete.
“it is a most wonderous vessel.” I replied.
“I was bringing water back to the farm. Momma has been sick and I’m helping out. But now it’s broken and I can’t get water and…”
“Then you do not wish to keep this.” I said indicating the object in question.
“It’s broken, a water jug that can’t hold water is useless. I need to be able to carry water to the farm.” She seemed angry for some reason.
“Then Here. These would serve well your needs. If we can convince them to trade their air for water then you are welcome to put them to a perpose which would benefit others and all involved.” I said holding out two of my wonderous stones.
“You mean it. I can have one.” She asked.
“I should think two would easily carry the water you need. And might be easier for you to carry as well. Being a smaller being as you are. What kind of being are you might I ask.”
“I’m a young girl silly. But I’m almost a grown woman.” She said puffying up.
“Wonderous. She will grow up to be a woman, and get bigger in the process.” I wondered if I would get bigger too. “I too am a young person. We are in this together.” I proclaimed cheerfully.
“How can you be young? “ she asked.
To which I responded with the note.
“I can’t read. Father says farm girls needn’t know letters. He only knows numbers and he says that’s all he needs.”
“Dear me, You seem to have forgotten yourself. Love you.” I read.
“I’m very sorry sir I meant no disrespect. Thank you for your bottles. I will try very hard to love myself and if you think reading is important for that I will try to learn it from the local monk. Thank you sirs.”
She took my offerings and returned to the spring with them. I watched as she opened the tops of them and supmerged them. The air escaped with laughter at its freedom and water filled it’s place. Loving the idea greatly I decided to do that with my own.
“Interesting, that the same writing should mean something else entirely when given to a young girl. Yoet still offer profound meaning.” My companion whispered to himself. “Yet even this meaning seems to have bearing on my own path as well. I must ask the wise one if I can learn my letters as well.”
Finished with my trade of water for air I turned back to the new vessel on the ground. Now with but one stone of water I had freedom to carry the new vessel under the other arm. I picked up all the beautiful triangles and placed them inside the blue shell. Them placing it under my left arm and picking up the water filled stone in my right hand I walked to the peek of the rise again.
“where are you going friends?” asked the young girl.
“We are on a path, and seeking the edge of being.” I replied. Realising that this was the first time I had sated my cause out loud. Then I hastened to add “And perhaps to discover what we have lost and forget something too.”
“Then you are pilgrams? Maybe you could use a place to rest the night? I can ask father if he could offer you the barn in repayment of your kindness to me. If you can help out I’m sure you could earn a meal as well.” She offered us a wonderous bounty of gift if we would but come with her.
“What reason to say no is there?” My companion asked.
“I can think of none. For the path is there to return to and the edge of being is no less known for the wait.”
So we lifted our feet and followed the young girl forward toward the stone pile structures I had glimpsed from the woods.
The walk was pleasant, as the air was sweet and the sun was bright. The far skies were being covered in a rich dark velvet. Dark where the white boulderous clouds had been light. Rich and thick where the White boulderous clouds had been sparse and free. It was beautiful too and I wondered if it would grace us with it’s beauty soon.
We came upon the farm shortly and we waited at the doorway of the gate while the young girl ran in to speak with her Father. When he emerged from the Stone structure he was a wonder to see.
His frame was long and lean and his skin was thick and weathered his eye were the palest of blues and his clothes were awash in suty spatters and clinging bits of grass. He gave us both a look that seemed be counting us as if we were some of his numbers that he knew. The count seemed to fall in our favor and he spoke kindly too us both. Though his look at my companion lingered on the arm of air and again seemed to count in his numbers.
“Welcome pilgrams to my farmhouse. I understand you offered my daughter a kindness while you were on your journey?” His voice was dry and whispered a little as if he’d borrowed it from the winds among the grass.

“Is it a kindness to give something to it’s purpose be it for someone else or for yourself?” I asked of the man.
“I don’t know what that means. I’m a simple man. I harvest enough vegatables and raise enough livestock to keep my family and feed company a few times a year.” He replied. “I don’t use fancy words and I don’t think big things. The closest to those thing to me is tending my orchards and working the wood I have to spare.”
“That sounds big to me indeed. You have given yourself to life and it’s growth and reaping. A high thing I cannot think of friend.” I smiled to this husband of the land and all it carried.
“I don’t know if we are friends,” he said “But we can share company for a time.”
“It is truly a most cherished gift you offer us sir.”
“It’s no gift. I spend my time working the area around me and if you are to spend time in my company you will have to do the same.”
He lead us around the house into the field in back where loose grasses lay shorn from the bristle like bases left upon the ground. A scythe was propped up against a tree.
“If you’ll help me pull these into bundle and haul them to the barn we might just finish before it all gets wet. Hurry now.”
And with those simple words he asked us to follow his lead. The task was deeply calming, as we bent to a froe moving an ocean of thin reeds one small bundle at a time. The pull of the muscles and the swinging rythme of our actions was a song of strength and connection between us. My companion seemed at first to struggle, where his hand of air seemed unable to help in the task. Yet even he settled into a steady rythme which I noticed pleased the farmer. As the teask neared it’s completetion I saw about me scarescley an arm load of the thick gras left about us where once a seeming ocean had once been. The moment struck me as aweing and marvelous in it’s demonstration of the power of persueing something one step at a time and losing yourself to the task. There was some deep meaning that sung true to me in that.
Before I could search it out any further there was a whisper from the wind. It spoke of water.
“Come I’ll get this last cart load into the barn and head into the cottage. It’s about to rain.” The farmer said, undoubtedly he understood the language of the wind. He who had the voice so like it.
“What of these last bits of grass?” I asked.
“We are done. They don’t matter. If you feel like spending the time, they are yours. But if you get wet in the rain it’s naught but your own fault.” He said heading to the barn with my companion behind the wagon.
I tipped my head back and felt the wind on my face. I bagan again to use the song and rythme the farmer had taught us to gather up my grasses building a small pile that gradually began to grow.
Not long into my renewed task a voice came in from around me and I stood up and tipped my head. Upon my face came first one then three then two more kisses from the winds. Wet touches that found me among the shorn grasses. The touches spread about me had voices to them. And the voices laughed and told stories of their travels, thousands of laughing whispering voices built to a growing roar that had hint of a great wave in it. And so I laughed with the voices and I danced with them upon the ground and I enjoyed my first rainstorm.
I saw the farmer speak to my companion as they stepped under the frame of the cottage door. My companion smiled and simply nodded. The farmer shook his head and went inside while my companion stayed watching as I began to share the farmers song and rythme to the rainfall. When atlast I had gathered as much of the grass as I could I turned toward the cottage wet and content I carried my soaked bundle with me under one arm I tucked my shell full of shard under the other and picked up my water filled crystal stone at the door. Turning I Laughed at the storm by way of thanks and goodnight.
It too laughed by way of thanks and goodnight. A mountain of a laugh, that shook the very earth and sky. So powerful and so pure was the laugh that within it was a flashing cacophony of light, so like that which had broken the void this morning so many eons ago.
I turned and happily walked suddenly into the cottage to sit by the fire. In the hearth.
Sitting on one side of the large room was the farmer at work with a piece of wood and a small sharp knife. I settled myself near the edge of the heart opposite my companion who seemed to be settling in to the quite. I watched as the farmer turned and storked the wooden piece in his hand. Marveling that with each carress of the blade the wood changed just a little, much as the grass ocean changed to a pile by like steps. The shape of would became lesser in size but greater in detail and purpose. Gifted was this wood shaper of a farmer.
Iset down my shell and my stone and picked up several strands of wet grass and quietly began to twist them together. Soon my hand began a rythme of their own much like the farmers strokes of his blade the knew what they were doing. I wondered about that as I looked around my surroundings. Was this again like the note I had known how to read without even knowing what reading was. Did some part of me remember these things and only these things or was there even more buried within.
I saw the wooden table and four chairs at the center of the room. They were intricately carved and beautifully crafted, but more interesting was the people at the table. For there was the young girl I had met and link my path with and beside her was a woman. A frail and weary looking woman.