july 2020

You are contacted by another being.

It communicates by possessing you.

It seems it is attempting to find a way to talk to you.

It is a dizzying sensation. You feel faint.

You manage to grab something to eat, you are hungry. You stumble, with a pillow it seems, there tucked into your right arm, around the kitchen counter and into the study.

It is dark in here. You move to sit on the dark couch, Right Arm puts the pillow on the couch first, then takes the food. Meanwhile you manage to avoid the black cat, he seems grateful with a soft welcoming meow, but you can’t respond.

On to the possession then. Whatever it is, wherever it’s from, it doesn’t seem to possess any notion of patience.

You feel your nerves tingle briefly, a scanning feeling beginning at the back of your head and traveling down the spine, branching out and away through the arms, hands, torso, fingers, hips, crotch, legs, toes. It missed your brain, it seems.

Then the visions begin.

They are symbols. Many of them. They seem to race out towards you, hordes of them, very faint, very small, against a pulsing tie-dye backdrop. They shift suddenly, to an array of symbols, scrolling roughly left to right, at a rather crooked angle.

They are hieroglyphics.

No, it immediately responds to this thought by inserting a mouse cursor, four-leaf clover, an emoji of a 🏠, then it is too much, the rainbow backdrop pulses stronger, overwhelming, like it’s urgently delighted that you can understand it.

They are hieroglyphics, which means you need a Rosetta Stone or something, to figure out -

NO, it pulses once, briefly, angrily. The symbols continue, repetitive iconography, emoji strings playing on heart strings, trying to make you understand.

You send it a picture of her. You imagine her, brown hair straight wavy fair face little smile white teeth in her ridiculously bright bold red sweater and matching pants. She is sitting on a stool for some reason (she never does that), against a living green wall background. You imagine her sharply, completely, easily, and push forth your image through the symbology.

Everything changes again.

This is turning into quite the trial. Right Arm manages to stuff food in your mouth and you chew. Tastes like chocolate and peanut butter. Good old Right Arm.

Now the images return, more starkly this time, more defined and larger but still a little fuzzy, like prints from photographs developed by a novice. An aesthetic choice rather than a lack of skill.

An aesthetic choice. These are things it likes.

I LIKE JUMPING I LIKE DRAWING I LIKE CLIMBING I LIKE DANCING WHO AM I

Oh wow. That was unexpected.

I LIKE SINGING I LIKE SWEET GOOD I LIKE MY YELLOW BIKE

It’s your daughter.

I LIKE ACTING ON STAGE I LIKE PLAYING IN A BAND I LIKE PLANTING SEEDS

That’s not familiar to you. She’s only three, no way unless…

• an image of the two of them, mother daughter, in bright red clothing, hands in the soils moist from a strong rain - that was today, wasn’t it -

PLANT THE SEED

…unless she’s from the future.

I LOVE YOU

This is too much, really. You struggle to disengage, and find no resistance, but a sensation does wash over and through your body, the departing warmth of an embrace.

You are in the study again. The couch supports your weight, the pillow supports your back. You feel tears welling in your left eye. Right Arm feeds you.

Your body begins to twitch lightly, sequentially, like each nerve bundle is going through it’s own wakeup routine. You discover a warm feeling on your thighs, the cat has moved to your lap. Your back hurts. Your bladder is full. The cat is dozing hard, but he’s awake. He’s counting on your caring instinct not to move him and get up. You live up to his expectations.

The sensation of communicating with another sentient being was strong. Your memories are fresh and vivid. It could have been a powerful subconscious message, a dream, but mysteries of origin aside it was powerful enough to pay attention, like a slap to the face.

Plant the seed.

More than routines, lessons, chores, more than just getting by. It takes more time, more effort, more persistence, to plant a seed and help it grow.

Your grip on the memories begins to fade, they are slippery little creatures, fuzzing in and out of existence like an old television struggling with a weak signal. You manage to retain the essence of the experience; you can still order them in time, that’s a plus. Your visual memory of the experience fades, but with concentrated effort you retain it and commit it to writing.