A loverly day, sunny, windy and chilly, my favourite. I have now watched all the original Dr Who's, films, cartoons and Red Nose Day skits included, and have just started the New Dr Who, series I. I had decided that I wouldn't like it, but in fact it is, well, bloody good. So much better than the last four or five seasons of the original. A bit creepily PC, but it was done by the BBC so Politicaly Correct bullshit is only to be expected. I suppose we should count ourselves lucky that the Doctor hasn't been re-created as a gay, disabled female mixed-race Muslim holocaust survivor!
Made some money today (ask me no questions), visited a friends new kittens (sweeet! little things) and just eaten a bowl of chicken tikka, so all is well with the world.
What to think about today? Ah yes, the title. Today's subject is The Internal Conductor. As I think about what I will write it becomes clearer and more important (did you hear about the black man who wore a business suit to his vascectomy? He decided that if he was going to be impotent he was going to dress impotent!) and so deserves the extra capitalisation.
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STOP PRESS TEXT RECEIVED WHILE TYPING THIS IMPORTANT BREAKING NEWS
Starting on November 9 we have 49 days of prayer, for the secret children, children around the world who are persecuted for their Christian faith, the vast majority being in real, constant physical danger and the vast majority being, obviously, in Islamic-Satanic nations. Full details from the St Barnabas Trust, on-line contact at: www.opendoorsuk.org/secret children
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Right, back to where-ever I was. OK, The Internal Conductor (can't be bothered typing it every time, and will start to look silly as I capitalise it more and more, so from now on it is TIC, ok? 100% capitalisation and don't look too daft). Who is he? It is a he, not a she. So far, so good, nice and clear. I know he is a he, as he is me. The main me. Probably not the real me, but certainly not the other who is me. Not that either of them are singular either, and now it starts to get weird. I know what I mean but, unfortunately, the English language is not suited to these kind of descriptions or discussions and falls far short of being accurate, being a language much more suited to shouting defiance at the monkeys in the next tree (thank you Mr Pratchett for that one, thank you, thank you, thank you).
Basics. I exist. I am here. I have a personality, even if not a person. I am one, even if fracture into many reflections in different situations, depending upon who is looking at me and from what angle. In this I am not unique (even though I am unique), but jus ordinary bolt-standard.
Basics. I have a lodger(s). There are many rooms in my mansion and most of them are occuppied. Even the empty ones are occuppied and not always by me. The lodgers, being temporary, and being the type that don't pay rent, nor have any intention of paying (not lodgers then. Squatters?), do not respect the property as I would wish. Some are down-right anti-social and have probably only obtained residency through some council-led initiative to put a roof over the heads of the hard-to-house and those with 'special needs'.
Basics. I have a guest(s). A most welcome one(s). Desired, polite, hard-working and wanted. He/she/it/they (see just how poor English is in the spiritual world? Nothing like enough pro-nouns. We need a few more, like nigat and frikle or tis. A new dictionary is required!) even do odd-jobs about the house and keep the unruly ones in line - sometimes. And never play their music too loud.
Complicated. The bad lodgers/squatters are a good thing. They give perspective. The give an understanding of all that is, or could be, as well as what shouldn't be and what can't be. They give intellect, speed, decision, they give what emotions there are in my mansion. They give colour. The Devil has all the best tunes, but most of them cannot be danced to.
Complicated. The welcome guests contribute little. Without them the squatters would run riot and take over and this would be bad. The welcome guests are a necessary evil, even though they are the antithesis to evil, as they provide little of relevance for this existence, only serving as a foretaste of the next, and more important, one. But they are listened too, when it is possible to seperate the two.
Complicated. I am each of the squatters and guests. At various times. Sometimes I wear their mask. Sometimes they wear me. Sometimes I am them. Sometimes they are me. Sometimes they are each other and I am not (bloody English again! Put an electrode into my brain and you'll see it all, clear as daylight. Or, possibly, don't. I won't let you and if you do, you might not like what you see). In the future I need to be a welcome guest. If I am not, I am nothing, but I will only know when I (or, at least, this body) is dead. Bit of a bummer, huh? But the welcome guests provide no emotion as such, or at least none that I can feel. The squatters do, and to become a welcome guest I need the full range of emotions, but to concentrate on love. This I do not have. More, although the squatters provide emotion, they provide only a selective sample - rage, hate, fear, boredom (is that an emotion), despair, laughter, courage, despising, greed, idleness, anger, contempt and content-ishness. OK, I'm not sure which are emotions, I think that is the lot from them, but love, caring, respect, mourning, loss are certainly not included. The ones that are needed. Without love (at least) there is no chance of achieving Welcome Guest status, and without that status, but with emotion and squatters, descent to squatter status is all that is available - and this during life.
Complicated. I am in here as well, and I can direct things. In part at least. I have will, I have direction, I sometimes even have control. I do not want to lose the squatters, they are part of who I am (and even demons have been converted, and most began as angels) and do not number what I am. So long as I do not lose control I am fine. I want to know the welcome guests, and why they do not always fix the plumbing when the toilet starts to leak, but sometimes not only fix it, but replace it with a new environmentally-friendly model, clean the floor and re-grout the tiling at the same time. When there is a wail of sound, or a wall of emotion, or a violent aroma of colours, I conduct the symphony of chaos to bring something better out of it - or at least I try. I am TIC (remember who TIC is? No? Read again, starting at line six).
VERY COMPLICATED. I am TIC. But, in all honesty, I do not know who I am, nor if TIC is me, or a fragment from a broken mirror. Or me in a mask. I spend so much time being someone else, in order to please yet another 'someone else' (normally an extrenal someone) that I am never sure if I am me, or if I have gone and me has taken over. And that is before I a submerged in the sea of others in here.
But there are three possible outcomes. I (if I am I) do not know which one will out in the end.
But I could find the emotion(s) that are missing, those that do not exist within me at the moment, and use them as I currently use ritual and form, and die as a welcome guest. best possible result is to die as a Saint. Likely? Hardly. But points are awarded for effort, and a seat on the outer circle will do me just fine and dandy.
Or I could submerge, die while I still breath, allow me to become not-me, I to become not-I, to rest and feel no more, to simply cease to be. To lose all communication, all that makes me unique, all struggle and all possibility of ascent, in order to prevent any chance of a fall. To cease to be at all, in any sense. In other words, to live as most people do, as nothing, as chemical reactions to stimmuli from those greater than they.
Or, worse than that, I could party with the squatters, tell TIC to lay down his baton and pick up the beat, join the party, forget about maintaing the old homestead and live for the moment - and soon, live for damaging other mansions. To become a squatter. In every sense. Spirituals, moraly, intelectualy and physicaly. To drop all pretence and to accept my fate, whatever it is. To enjoy myself, as 'myself' would be all there was, even when transformed into something hideious. And this would be so simple and, in the short-term (ie the span of a single lifetime) so enjoyable. So much me. So many I. Possessed - and loving it!
OK, my head is starting to hurt now, and I know what I mean. Anyone else looking at this is probably a wee bit confused by now, but, as I said, English is not up to the debate. So don't blame me, blame Chaucer and Shekespeare - it's all their fault!
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