This one needs some paragraphs of back story...a 2008 SarahBowie blog post discussed my theory that I might be from another planet (I called it Mars for convenience), since no earthly clothes fit me properly. My friend Natalia validated the story by making a revision, saying that my planet was likely Venus, not Mars, because men are from Mars and they don't share women's clothing issues.
Many months later, my dad amazed me with the story he sent me to type for his blog:
After typing the story, I asked my dad to clarify whether the pipe was sucking him up - what was the mechanism for his movement from bed? He said no, he was crawling into the pipe, he wanted to go inside. Typical curious boy, and intrigued by the light in the pipe.
I have always been fascinated by the fact(s) that not only did my parents know each other as children, but they were also (distant) cousins. And if that doesn't explain my unusual qualities, my parents being possibly probed by possible space aliens should complete the explanation.
While combating fear of flying on the way to Hawaii at Christmas, I experimented with a variation on out-of-body visualization...my version was, I'm not from here, I'm just visiting - I'm from another planet. I was trying to convince myself that the turbulence and boredom and claustrophobia I was experiencing on the flight over the Pacific were insignificant in the context of my broader Earth journey - everything was transitory.
Last week I amplified the "not from here" concept with some lines (wine-fueled, I admit) in my journal:
(Let's title this, "On My Planet")
On my planet I hold a high position, but not the topmost one - that would cut too much into my reflection and productivity. [By this I meant my own idea of productivity, which might mean thinking, napping, whatever.] Cookie-cutter looks are not important - I appear strong, serene, powerful, creative? artistic? pragmatic yet artistic? People have a hard time describing my aura? Actually my aura is consistent but has many dimensions, and people see/perceive different ones.
I know men on my planet, but they are not my constant company. My relationships are as committed as I require them to be - I stretch the circumstances to fit my needs - I experience no major loneliness/neediness and have plenty of solo space.
On my planet, shoes and hair stay clean - they don't get marred, itchy, lank...you're not bogged down with attending to personal hygiene. [Clearly, I was losing my lofty tone...] You just wash the in-between body parts and move forward - keep going. Food doesn't bloat and bodies don't puff.
Anxiety distracting from what one wants to do doesn't happen on my planet - How not? Why not? [Not surprisingly, I got bogged down with these questions.]
Next, my journal segued to some happy thoughts about the upcoming trip to Hawaii, then came back to this:
Your body is not disgusting, it's the genetic legacy of wonderful people - cousins [parents] - seeded by aliens, but gifted just the same.
My cousin Amy came up with a great suggestion about cleanliness on my planet - she said the newest science for cleaning, noninvasive style [and/or for lazy people who on some days find bathing/showering too much trouble], is ultraviolet rays. I said, "I love the purple aspect of that!, and I will use a purple font when I type the word "ultraviolet" on my blog."
Later I thought of naming the actual planet Violet. Of course that's not its real name, but in my earthly prison I have only a dim memory of my life in that vastly superior place, and can't be expected to remember the name - not that the name would be in English, anyway.
Cousin Amy said OK, Violet is a good name for a planet, but actually lavender is a better smell. I said I agreed but that Lavender was not a good planet name.
Maybe after ultraviolet cleansing on the planet Violet, beings are scented with a faint essence of lavender. That would be a perfect world.
- ► 2010 (38)
- ▼ 2009 (27)