It's coming isn't it?
Why do you think so?
You know I hate riddles, just tell me.
What do you think is coming?
Can't you just say yes or no? Why do you always ask me questions?
So I can be sure. You know. You can see it too, can't you?
What do you see?
I can't see it, I just feel it.
Yes, that is the difference between you and I, you feel and I see. So what do you see?
That's a question. I don't like questions.
Then why do you ask them?
Because I want answers and you have answers.
I only see what is before me. What do you feel?
But you have seen this before, haven't you?
Now who is answering in questions?
Can't you tell me what you see?
You see what I see. Why don't you tell me what you feel?
A distant rumble, even when it's quiet, there is a rumble. Tension. I feel tension, in my stomach, in my head, in my back, in my legs. Its everywhere I touch, on people and even things. It's a vibration. Does sound have a sensation? I feel sounds. Loud and quiet sounds. Cries. I feel cries. That's why I don't go out because my skin is always itchy, the cries touch me and I try to scratch them away. If I could stop feeling I could be calm. I feel hands and arms pulling at me, all the time. Even inside my mind, pulling and jerking. Sometimes I want to scream, "STOP touching me!" My core is being squeezed, a hand that squeezes and tightens, squeezes and tightens, and never ever stops. Things that I see are pulled in and they swirl in my gut and my chest and choke me until I squeeze them out in tears, salt water and mucus into a rag that I can throw away. Then I have a few seconds, sometimes minutes, of peace but these sensations and feelings always come back. Don't other people feel these things? Don't they want them to stop? The rumble ebbs and flows. I want to hide from it but it finds me, even in my bed at night. Sometimes it wakes me up, the quiet rumble wakes me up. Or I want to dig a hole and crawl inside it but then I would miss the sun. The sun nevers stays long enough, the darkness is longer and in the darkness is peace but also danger. I can never get away from the noise and the crashing and yelling and burning and bleeding and hurting. It's always there. Pain. It's always there waiting to grab me and crush me. It's a cliff that I'm at the edge of, I can fall off of, always.... just..... right.... there. I hug the bushes to keep away from the edge. I can hardly get a deep breath. Fear. I feel fear and it has a smell, a sensation too. My pulse races because I am afraid. I can't look at the faces, millions of hurting faces because I could be them and I want to take them in but I can't because there is not enough. Not enough room. Not enough food. Not enough money. Not enough water. Not enough air. Not enough. And they come at me because they hurt. Animals look at me for food. Children look at me for love. I feel their pain and hunger and I have no power, all the while the rumble keeps murmuring, marching, and growing and growing. I want to push it away, close my door and lock it out but it creeps in through the cracks. I feel stabs of pain in my fingers, on my legs, on my back, little pin picks randomly poke me. There is no safe place. Fear and pain are coming- that's the rumble and it is getting louder. Louder.
This is what you feel?
Yes.
There is the answer to your question. You already knew.
But I wanted you to tell me.
Does it make a difference if I tell you something you already know?
I just want to know if I'm right.
Everyone thinks they are right.
I don't want to be right.
Why not?
Because my being right is going to be very wrong.
That is what I see.
That it's going to be wrong.
Yes, it's going to be very wrong, you are right.
What's your name?
I have many names, one of them is yours.
You have my name?
Yes. And others.
If you see then why don't you fix it?
Seeing isn't a power, everyone sees. Action is power.
You see farther than I do.
True, I see in every direction. I see what you see. I see what you feel. As did your mother, and her mother, and her mother. I see what Lucy saw and her mother before her all the way back to Mother Africa.
What is your name?
Which one?
Why can't you give me a straight answer? All of them.
We don't have that much time, the rumble is getting louder.
You feel it too?
Yes, because I am next to you and I feel what you feel. I like the view here, don't you? We can see everything but see nothing.
Because the action is on the inside?
Yes, it's there but I don't have to see it.
And I don't have to feel it.
But we know it's there, don't we?
What's your name?
What do you think it is?
God?
Oh, no, my name is not god, or allah, or yaweh, or manito........ it is nothing. It is everything.
Is it Merlin?
It has been.
What is your name?
The past. History lessons go by many names.
You know I hate riddles.
Stories are as real as we are because they are told by real people.
I see.
Do you? I thought you felt.
I feel and now I see.
That is growth.
I can't do it alone.
You won't be alone, you aren't the only who feels.
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