11th February, 2004
Fall
Wednesday, 6:31 pm in Storytime
The lock on the softwall turned out to be so simple that it surprised (and somewhat disgusted) me that I hadn’t figured it out earlier. Then again, that could have been said about a lot of things.
It was illusion. Like everything else here. The Haunt only exists when there is something to view it and, moreso, it only exists where there is something to view it. All else is raw potential – sometimes if you spin on the spot long and fast enough you can almost glimpse the depts of infinity, see the place rearranging itself for you.
But it’s more than that. Oh so much more. The parts of the Haunt exist only because we make them do so by believing they should. Someone makes a turn down a formerley unexplored coridor and what’s beyond is created solely by their expectations of what should be there. They return and tell others, thus the form of the corridor is cemented. Were two of us to explore the same corridor simultaneously without consultation we would find different things. If we spoke later, our minds would provide us with some kind of explanation (perhaps the time of day, a certain gesture) as to the change. Thus is the reality of this place further cemented.
We build it by being here.
After understanding this, the barrier of the softwall becomes elementary. It prevents our passage because we think it should. Thus, the only way through is to approach it with no illusions bar that of Falling.
My feet never touch the ground nowadays, and that is well. My eyes are closed, hands across my chest like a museum piece. The softwall is behind me, not so far. If I fell backwards now I would surely hit my head.
I fall backwards.
Just before I do, I fancy I can feel the sun.
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