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Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

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@alwaysheadoverheels
So, I’ve had a major breakthrough.
It’s interesting what helps with memory recall. This time, it was a video on YouTube. One that was meant to be a lark. It wasn’t for me, but I couldn’t pinpoint why.
Hours later it came to me.
Once again, I am left with questions and corpses to ask.
Yarn Types and Feelings:
Worsted: Nothing to see here. This is the archetype of yarniness and I am the archetype of knitting. Stable. Secure. Can pass off hobby as casual if need be.
Bulky: I am a WIZARD and I am making VAST amounts of cloth appear by MAGIC. You get a hat! And you get a hat! Everybody gets a hat! Also my scarf is now 18 ft long but that’s just…you know. For fun.
Baby/Sport: I am making littol things. Every stitch represents tender love. Yes I did listen only to horror podcasts while making this but what does that matter? There’s a lace flower but a baby’s existence is all about showing off what you can make, just because I’m not a parent doesn’t mean I can’t be part of that.
Sock/Fingering: Completely unhinged. Every project is the building of an obsession-washed edifice, that will never, ever, ever be done. Time ceases to exist. Worse podcasts must be found, worse movies must be found, because the most important parts of the brain must serve THE PATTERN.
Lace/Thread: [content locked until level 32]
Hi everyone. Miss you all.
I’ve been at the pace of a sloth when it comes to writing. It’s been a little over twenty nine months since the first major death and aftermath occurred. After, I was angry. So angry I tasted copper for months and my stomach roiled with bitter bile. I was contempt and calculated vengeance.
Then, the second one. I knew it was coming. Spent months traveling to wring every moment of joy I could for them. They deserved it. It was grueling, the worry, while we were at the happiest place on earth. I still wish they could have been made stable enough to pass in a tropical place. We almost made it.
The last one. It was sudden for me. It again reminded me of my anger, and why it was there. It both galvanized my resolve as a daughter and as a woman to always have my own destiny firmly in one hand-but to have my spouse’s firmly in the other. To trust others close to me with what I’m feeling.
I went through intensive outpatient therapy. Only ten sessions, but every one had some sort of breakthrough. I also learned I am terribly good at masking and just as good listening objectively. It was hard. It still will be hard when I finally find a trauma specialist to continue the work.
Finally, yes, I will continue to write. I need it. I love it. I need to undo the feeling of having to cut things out of my life that I find joy in. Music. Writing. Baking.
Twenty-twenty has been a year. I’m going to try and make the rest of it mine.
Love and Light to you all. I miss you all so very much. You are the best collection of atoms in this universe.
Bo
People who try to tell me things are ‘not that deep’ fundamentally misunderstand me, I am not a fish desperately in search of the ocean, I am a magpie that roves the canons, searching for shiny things to put in my nest. Whether or not it actually is given deep narrative weight by canon itself is of secondary importance to the fact that it has the potential to be interesting, and thus, I covet it.
Cold Knows You Not
The walls were the same. The exposed brick still moldered, slightly dusty in the open expanse, the flat broken only by the now bare windows once graced by heavy drapes. Victorian wall coverings, Edwardian furniture, and the constantly changing map that took up the whole west wall were a welcome sight. Books still covered every available space. Some in towers. Some in piles. All of them in some sort of order only known to their owner. The whole of the place hummed, laden with unused magic. It was understandable, it had been three years since he’d stepped foot in the shop left to him, let alone the flat itself; thoughts of the last time he’d been there turned the taste in his mouth tannic.
Tea. Warmth. Home. This had been his for a time.
On the counter sat a perfectly perfect cake, it’s creamy icing and sliced kumquat rounds cheerily beckoned on white clouds of sweetness from the pass through; tea set out for two at the small table that had housed more experiments than food. The overly floral teapot sat next to two very mismatched cups. He could almost hear the strain of a work mid-composition. Felt the instinct to call out that tea was on. With sweets. How hopeful a house elf must have been to pop in with this; a favourite of his.
The need to fortify himself with a cup of the wonderfully scented brew was almost visceral.
As he poured, a half chuckle left his throat even as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes making them burn. Out of habit, he poured the second cup and added one sugar, one milk, then turned to hand it off to hands that were no longer there. But then, there were. Long, pale fingers balancing the saucer, then the cup. Murmurs of thanks whispered in the semi-stale air. He closed his eyes and sank into the feeling of life in Baker Street, if only for a moment. That moment. Before the wizarding world had crashed headlong into the muggle one. Before they were called by his damn brother. Before Sherlock’s wand had been broken. Before he’d had to watch him go where he could not follow.
Harry had told him once, after, what it was like. With the stone. How it had been with his wand, before. How he had watched, lost, and moved forward. How he understood exactly how John felt, the need, and offered a way for him to move forward as well.
They are always with us, the veil, it’s thin. I’ve seen it with my own two eyes, John-
“They say you miss the ones that touched you deepest most. How wrong they were.” The warmth of the silky baritone washed over him. “You are buried with them, their memory, until you wake one morning and you aren’t. Do you remember telling me that?” He opened his eyes to find Sherlock in front of him, close enough to touch. “You were wrong. It never stopped.”
Tea soaked his shoes as the cup fell to shatter on the ancient wood floor. “Sherlock- I- where?”
He grabbed at him, expected to meet nothing with his fingers, the other mismatched cup forgotten somewhere as Sherlock allowed himself to be pulled in.
“I had no idea you’d be so affected.” Long arms surrounded him, pressed him close to the rhythmic thrum he’d memorised years before. “I knew you’d, mourn, miss me possibly, but what you have done-” Warm, live, lips pressed to his cheek, his brow. “Hit Wizard, John.”
“You were gone, just like Fred, just like Lavender, only later. Still a loss to the war- How, Sherlock, how?”
“The simplest answer is almost always true- a boggart. Timed just so. Oh, my injuries were grievous, and my wand lost, but you lived. That’s what mattered.”
He held him closer, pulled at the shorn curls, what was there of them at least, and kissed him.
At Baker Street, in that moment, all was well.
Everyone in your world can teleport within 10 feet of the person they love the most. Your best friend wonders how you always seem to be there just when they need you.
State Farm puts out a series of joking commercials. The punch line being that of all the people in your insurance agent’s life, you’re the one they care about most- you’re the person they can teleport to.
It’s bold of them to joke about something so controversial. After all, who your ‘port is can make or break a relationship. Study after study has been done on the ‘port between parent and child and psychiatrists are always analyzing your ‘port history.
The commercials are tacky, too. They make fun of the power inherent in a person’s greatest love. That’s what a ‘port is, after all, your love for someone being strong enough to take you to wherever they are. All in all State Farm’s “good neighbor” commercials leave people shaking their heads and laughing uncomfortably.
Caitlyn’s not laughing when a man brings a gun to her school.
Her class is on the yard and there’s no warning- he’s just there, with a gun, and her kids are frozen.
Mickey’s too close too close and not moving and the man is turning the gun towards him. Mickey’s only 8 and he drives her nuts most days. He cries and screams and he runs away and he makes things up and he loves his mom and his sister and he cried when Caitlyn got stitches and she loves him she loves him she loves him.
She feels a moment of disorientation and suddenly she’s between the man and the boy.
She doesn’t hesitate, just wraps herself around Mickey. Then she closes her eyes and reaches inside herself for the first-easiest-always, thinks I love you I love you I love you and feels the shift of the ‘port.
And her eyes land on Zeke, who is jerking to his feet in shock, and she feels a huge wave of relief. Zeke’s been her ‘port since they were months old and her aunt got up one morning to find two babies in the crib instead of one. These days they usually plan their visits and Caitlyn’s never brought a kid before, so Zeke has questions in his eyes.
Before he can voice any, she’s pushing Mickey towards him and gasping out “I have to go back-”
And she’s thinking of the next closest kid, Jasper, one of her rough and tumble boys, he’s so big, 8 years old and almost as tall as her, Jazz is learning to control his temper and his energy but there’s a sweetness to him that comes out at the oddest moments. It’s easy to declare I love I love I love and then she’s grabbing Jazz and sending herself back to Zeke’s shelter.
He’s a little more prepared this time, reaching out to steady her and guide Jazz away while she turns her thoughts and heart to the next kid.
And she’s gone and grabbing Topher, her sweet boy who listens and cares and tries, and they’re back to Zeke.
And she’s gone and grabbing Zornitsa, her scampy little comedian, and back to Zeke.
And she’s gone and grabbing Ariel and Kaho and Clarissa, her gymnast trio with their fierceness and their determination, and back to Zeke.
This time she thinks to shrug her backpack off and gasp out “There’s a list- in the emergency folder-”
And then she’s gone again.
When she reaches for Heidi, her zippy little miss who won’t touch fruit and loves worms and has grown so much, that she lands inside. She pulls Heidi and Adela into her arms and shifts back to Zeke.
Her kids are away from the man with the gun and she feels shaky. She takes a couple breaths, bracing her hands on her thighs. Then she thinks of passion-dedication-exasperation, guide and guidee, and wraps that all around her I love I love I love.
The next moment she’s in a closet turned office made all the smaller by the crush of people in it. She looks up at her boss as several kids stifle startled yelps and Colin looks back with wide eyes under his tangled mop of curls.
“What-” he starts to ask.
“Third grade was on the yard, there wasn’t time to get indoors, but I think I got them all safe,” Caitlyn tells him.
“How?” he asks.
“Like this,” she says, voice tinged with hysterical laughter.
She wraps her arms around Carmela, Elizaveta, Winona, and Joanna and reaches for Zeke. She drops the girls off and goes back to Colin, who goggles.
“I know you need to stay on site, but I thought you should know that I’m evacuating our kids,” Caitlyn tells him.
Colin shakes off his astonishment and squares his lanky shoulders.
“Can you get to kinder?” he asks, eyes lighting up.
“Yes,” Caitlyn says, “with Nancy there that will be easy.”
“Get them all out,” Colin says, “and tell Nancy to start listing who is safe, have her message me.”
“Will do,” she says with a nod. She grabs the three remaining kids and takes them to Zeke.
She thinks of Nancy then, they have different classes this year but they’re still brain mates, still the team, and it’s easy to wrap finishing each others sentences and communicating without words around her I love I love I love.
Nancy startles when she appears, and several of the babies scream. Team Kinder moves into action, hushing and calming. Nancy just waits, meeting Caitlyn’s eyes.
“Colin sent me, I’m evacuating you guys,” Caitlyn explains. “I can take as many as I can hold at a time. How do you want to do this?”
Nancy nods once.
“Start with Mr. Mason and Bashir and Rafael,” Nancy says. “I’ll have the next group ready when you get back.
Caitlyn nods and grabs them.
Things go pretty smoothly after that. Nancy sends kinder off a group at a time and then quickly takes control of the chaotic crowd that Caitlyn has already saved.
Caitlyn moves on grade by grade, finding her way to the colleagues she is so so grateful to work with.
By the time the cops secure the man with the gun, the school is empty, everyone 150 miles away.
When they ask later how she did it she looks right at them.
“Love is love,” she says, “there’s no such thing as more or less,” she shakes her head slightly, “it’s not quantifiable, there’s no scale that can measure it, love is.”
Wow
@shazrolane
“I need to be silent for a while. Worlds are forming in my heart.”
— Meister Eckhart, tr. by Daniel Ladinsky, from “Expands His Being,”
–Margaret Atwood
In the middle of everything, a silver lining…
I’ve been accepted and will be heading up a district in SoCal for their educational program for high school and middle schools named NAMIcampus. They also have college/university curriculum!
It’s humbling. I’m hopeful.
If there are any of you who have gone through the program, I would love to hear from you. I want to learn from your experiences, the good and the bad.
Also: Updates this weekend, finally, for the new series I’ve been wanting to start rolling out since September. Be ready for some delicious sweetness and some comforting fluff.
Love and Light
Hello everyone,
For those waiting on the first episode of Another Writer Down podcast and video series, it’s coming.
It should have posted today in fact. Instead, it will be uploaded next Saturday, October 6th.
I am sorry for the delay, I am currently out of state due to my birth-father’s passing. Understandably it’s been a rough week. Out of everyone, he understood me best, and loved me always. He will be deeply missed. Thank you for your patience and see you next week.
Love and Light, Bo