It is a longer way to finding my memories than I thought, but I do have a Guide.
Realms exist, it has been proven, in which the pain of existence melts away supposing a simple Path is followed . This Way is written in the heart, my Guide reminded me in that sharp rebuke which finally jolted me out of my sleep. I have no reason to disbelieve this and every reason to believe it. Because I have been to realms of torture and my aim is not to return to these at any cost.
So in searching for and sifting through my memories my aim is to clean the dross off them. Old bones may render this hard work. I know though that others have done this because I have seen them in the marketplace - they can be distinguished by their attitude, the care with which they barter, buy and sell. I want this. I have been weeping too long for what I have lost through my own ill-considered actions.
In my mind I hold a clear vision of the place I lived those many years ago; the trees I planted which blossomed fulsomely in Spring, the abundant gardens, the birds which chattered in the morning; I remember also the clouds shining bright in the full moon and my beautiful son whom I cherished in my arms by its light - certainly I constructed a place of great beauty.
I had been given many gifts by Chance; filled with dreams of fame I built my palace brick by brick and became famous overnight for my parties. There were plates brimming with food carried by servants and plenty of wine, of which I became, unfortunately, too fond.
It was at one of these events I met the Investigator who was to be a large part of my life. Chatting me up, he promised me that he would find my husband and hope filled my heart for a while, mixed with dread, of course, concerning what might have happened to him.
My husband had been a soldier and after the war a commission was established for the purpose of finding Truth and Reconciliation, and it was the Investigator's job to uncover crimes and bring the perpetrators to justice. We never found him and perhaps that was a blessing as of the soldiers who did return, many were not whole. And I did not want to not face the certainty that the boy I had loved was dead.
It is coming back to me, all of it, in bits and pieces; the story of the dogs who raised me, the Shopkeeper, my descent into the Abyss, the Old Man... the aliens came later; I have not written about them yet, but I will.
I am hungry and the sun is hot. But I must keep walking lest I fall asleep again. I must not let my body die, not yet, until I have found my memories and worked on them. I cannot spend my coin, which is virtual anyway - the gardener at the boarding house explained this to me as he shook his head at my naivety and bade me share his bread.
No, I must keep my coin in my hair to keep my hope alive. I am grateful at this point to be alone. I am not in the mood for interrogation.
Blessings anyway, to anyone who finds my footprint in the sand and smiles at my nonsense.
