Of things I nowt about, there are plenty.
This session, we tried psychometry.
We struggled, it felt, for the longest time.
Of things I nowt about, and all that jazz…
I wrote the word castle. Not that I cast the word into the ether using my voice, you understand. Nervous. Lacking in confidence.
Castle. The word sat, forlornly, amongst a few other random collections of
Eventually, hating the silence, I asked my exercise partner a question.
“Do the words castle, castlellated, or even battlements mean anything to you?”
“Hmm, not really,” came the reply.
See, I am a scribe. I write, occasionally. My fiction interrupts the ongoing
narrative of ‘things I know nowt about.’
Faltering. Uncomfortable. Stalled. Our exercise, finally, not stilted but moribund, seemingly.
“I will draw something,” I joked, before considering, ‘of things I know nowt
about,’ are things to draw.
Seconds elapsed. Dragged up from the depths of nowhere, I drew a comedy cartoon ghost. All white sheet and roughly cut eye holes.
The lady opposite me smiled and spoke. Our silence broken by a childlike
drawing of a spectre.
“I still have the picture,” she said. “I will dig it out, let me write
that on my hand so I don’t forget to evidence this hit.”
Struggling no more, my partner for the session told of a time she had visited a castle with friends and family. That day, she continued, she had felt a presence and taken a photograph of a room soon vacated. That photograph, later viewed, detailed a veiled form.
Invisible. The matrix. Inviolate. Of things we know nowt about…
The implicate order, rarely, a busted flush.
And, a hit, my first, courtesy of the word castle, casually written, and a simple, wretched drawing of a wraith.