A TRAP for a THOUGHT-FORM
a novel in the series
"PLAYING ANOTHER REALITY"
Chapter 18. JOYFUL BOOK
“Wow, ‘The Joyful Book’! Can true books be joyful?” the Guardian asked, stirring the sugar in his cup and looking at the poster on the door.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Well… How can writers give birth to something worthy if they write with or from joy? It is Death that inspires the true Creator, only Death creates real masterpieces!”
“And what about Love?” I asked, looking at the Guardian without any judgment.
“There is only sex, sometimes intelligently disguised as love! But sex is the same as food, something completely mundane, boring, meaningless, fleeting, transient. The only real thing in the world is Death, Alice! Death conquers all and always!” the Guardian abruptly stopped stirring the sugar and put the teaspoon back in his saucer, then he added gloatingly, “And yes, by the way! Death has ALREADY defeated you!”
“Tell me, honestly, what do you fear more: Death or Love?”
The Guardian frowned and clenched his fingers into a fist, but the Cat came up to us.
“And what did I say?” the Guardian suddenly spoke directly to the Cat, almost shouting. “What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that???”
The Cat even had no time to answer his trademark “Meow?!”, since the Guardian immediately jumped up from the table and instantly disappeared.
***
I introduced to the guests the charming Kikimora, “The Joyful Book” author. Unlike many others, she wasn’t afraid of placing right on the first page a thankful dedication to the beloved person who had inspired her to write poetry…
However, the words of the Guardian sounded like a funeral chime in my mind, “And yes, by the way! Death has ALREADY defeated you!”
“Do we really exist?” I pondered. “Always or during a certain interval? Can our love — which, of course, is not sex — defeat Death? Is it possible to carry it to the Other Reality, where Ray is now, and where I will be in 22 nights? Or will we forever remain in the ‘here and now’, as a fragment of the record that can be re-played any time at will and re-lived in circles on gloomy winter evenings, while the Blizzard is conjuring outside the windows?”
“How do you like the Blizzard? Did you manage to lie in the snow yesterday?” Roman’s voice rang out in me.
“Yes!!! Believe or not, that church exists!!! Then, me and you exist as well!!!”
“Did you find it yourself or with the help of the King of Swords?”
“I held his hand, but he… didn’t see my church! Even when I fell into the snow right there, in the churchyard…” I felt uneasy, realizing such strangeness.
“Is something WRONG there, too? Isn’t it?”
I nodded, there was no logical explanation for another glitch in the Matrix.
During the break, as usual, I sat down at Roman’s table, we drank coffee and silently exchanged thoughts. I wanted to ask what he thought about Love, but I was afraid of what the answer could be, and how that story would end. No, no, no! It was better to leave it as it was…
Yes, of course, our 40 nights at the Mansion — not even nights, but breaks! — were nothing compared to real novels, and in general we looked like kids in a kindergarten. I had time just to talk about glitches in the Matrix, to feel the warmth of his soul and a strong male shoulder next to me “here and now”. And that was all, because outside the Mansion, behind the wall of the conjuring Blizzard, there was a huge and completely different world, where we didn’t exist together…
“It’s time for you, Alice, to write a fairy tale about the Blizzard!” Roman said silently.
“A romance with Roman…” I thought involuntarily, and he leaned very close to me, running his hand through my hair.
“Include our magic practice in the plot!” Roman continued his thought. “So your book will help people become true magicians and create their own reality… By the way, when shall we start creating it? Are we going to make wishes and launch them into Heaven? Have you already thought what are you going to wish?”
I wanted to hug Roman and never let him go into the shamanic Blizzard outside the window, or rather, into the world that the Blizzard had conjured so that we were not there. I wanted to find the Portal to get through it into that version of the scenario where, eventually, Spring would come and the Sun would shine, where there would be no more glitches in the Matrix, and we would exist together.
The Guardian rang the bell. Roman leaned back in his chair and said aloud,
“So, Master?”
Task No. 18. MAGIC DRAWING
…The Magician is a true artist, because it is possible to create worlds not only with words, but also with colors. Visualization of a verbal image intensifies a thought-form many times over, since the power of sound is complemented by the energy of color. As a wise man said, one picture is worth 1,000 words…
The task is to draw your own world, your happy ‘Self’ in a Happy Universe. Determine the parameters and attributes of your happiness and imagine that you are already happy. Feel your emotions and give them color and shape. It can be an abstract finger painting that conveys a state of mind. Or the image of objects that surround you in your ideal world. The accuracy of the image is not required, since magical pictures need neither interpretations nor comments.
On the reverse side of the drawing, write 10 words that correspond to your happy ‘Self’ and later call them up from memory and project the picture you have drawn onto the inner screen.
Put the drawing in a prominent place, where most often during the day you can cast your magical look at it, feeding it with energy. Write each of the 10 words on separate pieces of paper and place them, for example, in your wallet, on the fridge, and so on — where they will periodically catch your eye and evoke the image of your Happy Universe, until one day it becomes your reality.
***
I came home and turned on my laptop. To unravel the glitches in the Matrix, it was easier to write them down. Besides, yes, I really wanted a fairy tale, which I could re-read later, wrapped in a blanket, hugging the Moon Cat, by the fireplace, with a cup of coffee, to the mantras of the Blizzard conjuring outside the windows.
“Alice djan… Are you creating something?” appeared a message on my phone.
“Wanderer! My God! I forgot I had sent him to the Guardian’s secret rooms!”
“Yes, I’m writing a short novel!”
“About that Dungeon?”
“Maybe! Did you manage to get into the Backstage?”
“Yes, sorry for taking so long… Instead of describing in words, I decided to sketch what I had seen. True, not everything, just some items that might help you.”
“And what is there?” I asked with a sinking heart.
“In one of the rooms, there are a lot of manuscripts, drawings and paintings. I would say, two different handwritings. On some of them, there is a girl who, excuse me, looks like you. At least, as on the photos you posted on social networks, and as I remember you. As for the paintings, I will send you photos of my sketches now, see for yourself!”
And the Wanderer sent me… MY OWN paintings! The Girl and the Cat — in transparent white, painted as ghosts, against the blue-black background of Eternity — were wandering in Cosmos, over the planet they had left long ago… Yes! Absolutely true! These were MY PAINTINGS!!!
“But they are still at home! Here, in this room! I promised to donate them to the museum only on the 40th night in the Mansion!!!”
I left the Wanderer unanswered, rushing to the closet — yes, I hadn’t lost my mind — the paintings were still there! And I returned to our conversation.
“Thank you, Wanderer! Your copies really helped me a lot… What about the drawings with a girl who looks like me?”
“They are sketches in simple pencil. There are too many of them, believe me, there was neither sense in copying, nor the time. Every gesture, every look, every pose of the girl is outlined in those drawings. It’s like preparing animation for cartoons, that’s how they used to make them, drawing by hand every degree of every movement of the character.”
I couldn’t believe my ears.
“And the manuscripts? Are these the Guardian’s stories?”
“Quite possible. Are you interested in something specific?”
“I would like to read them all. But you can neither take them with you, nor even rewrite them. Listen, Wanderer! Sorry, it’s really very important. I would like to know what his story ‘The Gloves’ is about.”
“I think your magical abilities allow you to penetrate secret rooms yourself as well as to find any stories even not yet spilled out on paper. However, according to my own experience, I am convinced that magical abilities can be blocked by fear. I will try to find that story, if it is so important to you.”
“And in the second room?”
“There’s a doll…”
“Voodoo???” I gasped.
“No, no, calm down! As a shaman, I can assure you, it has nothing to do with Voodoo! The second room is the Doll’s room. The Doll is unusual and very beautiful! She is about 155—160 centimeters tall…”
“158!” I exclaimed in horror.
“Maybe. And she is quite a copy of you, too.”