Updated: Apr 16
A long time ago, I wrote a paper answering a psychology question.
" How would you describe your own mind?"
My journey through this was a fascinating one, however I'll spare you the details and get to the point.
At the time I wrote this, I was on a major self-awareness high heavily using Buddhist meditation practices along with my little friends from rotten logs if you know what I mean.
So, I dove right into this question to increase my understanding of my own psyche and core being.
As I rewrote this today though (handwritten, I almost couldn't read my own writing it has been so long) I inserted hyperlinks which I did not have at the time to expand on some things.
I remember vividly writing this behind a stack of books in a massive library built in the 18th century. I think I was somewhere in my mid 20s at the time.
I was still a dumbass then, but I was starting to get things figured out. Only took me another decade to get there.
I am expressing my thoughts through my "Third Eye" where I am able to visualize what I am thinking and feeling.
" How would you describe your own mind?"
I see a very large house on top of a hill surrounded by tall grass waving in a wind that I cannot feel.
It has no outside windows and is built of stone, not stone blocks, but thousands of different colored round(ish) stones of all different sizes, blues, dark greens, greys and blacks like river stone and just two oil lamps on either side of the single grey door with a ridiculously large shiny brass lock right in the middle of it.
No door handles.
My mind never appears during the day, it is always illuminated by brilliant stars at night.
I always take note of a galaxy spread across the sky that is not the Milky Way, but I am uncertain of its meaning at this time.
My attention returns to the house, and I find myself standing at the oil-lamp-lit door, where the lock simply opens upon my presence.
I am standing in a wide hallway with carpet because my feet don't make a sound, but somewhere I can hear more than one clock ticking.
I have never located them.
On each side of this hallway are gray doors with no handles surrounded by dark wood I know is black walnut polished to almost a lacquer finish and I can never resist running my hand over it admiring the grain, which is always different.
There are no stairs because I can only assume that I do not need them, or was this simply an oversight during construction, or intentional?
Despite having the same wood and the same finish, the grain patterns are always different, and I always make note of it.
I always contemplate later if this is a manifestation of my love of woodworking or is there a deeper meaning. I suspect that the latter would be more likely, I just have to find it.
Even though I already know what I'm going to see, the number 1 in shiny brass always catches my eye and I know.
There are thousands of hallways with 999 handleless gray doors and one black door in each, all numbered 1, each with a chest inside with a thousand handleless drawers, all numbered 1.
Why, mental security measures?
As of yet I am unclear of what significance this number system or lack of one has, it will reveal itself somewhere during the journey, everything does eventually.
If I spend too much time pondering this while searching though, it begins to interfere with my serenity (I get frustrated), interrupting my meditation.
I am not moving; I am being moved by my mind. By thinking of a memory, for example, the door appears (always numbered 1) and opens by itself.
Each drawer I need opens with a dry, quiet scraping sound, and all its contents are displayed before me like a giant scroll with moving images instead of words. I must physically enter each room, but the drawer I need always slides open for me with this dry, quiet scraping sound, automatically.
What is the significance of this, why must I walk into the room yet must only think to go through hallways and to doors?
As this question arises in my mind, a scrap of paper appears out of thin air and flies away into the darkness where even over the quiet ticking of the clocks, I hear a drawer open and close.
There is only one difference between the last door at the end of the hallways.
The last door is black and behind each of them resides an aspect of my character.
My emotion is symbolized by a black door for example, and behind it is a chest that holds drawers for each emotion I have felt.
Love, hate, sorrow and joy are all here, tucked away until I need them.
Another door holds my logic and reason, another my realism, yet another my savagery and brutality, (My Lizard Brain)
It has always been this way, it wasn't built by me, I just learned, and got much better at managing it.
The time of my life before I stopped fighting it was anything but controlled, especially my emotions.
My arrogance prevented me from listening, so it was chaos.
As soon as it happened, however, chaos was gone, peace replaced it (in my mind) and I started working with my mind instead of against it.
All things have their place, and all things are in their place.
New hallways appear with new doors as my life progresses on its journey but there are many places in my mind that I still cannot access.
I want to know what is in there, but then again,
maybe I don't.