Inner Legacy

by Douglas Stuart

  These are just three of the many quotes I came across, they seemed to jump out of the pages at me and I confess I had little understanding of them but dwelt upon them long and hard until I grasped something of what they were driving at. The more I dwelt upon these subjects the less aware I became of my winter prison or the strangeness of my captivity and my invisible host. I don't think it is my place here to share with you how they came to be understood in my meditations on my inner life but simply to say that they served to open doors in mind that led me onwards in a journey of self discovery.

  Time passed.

  One day I awoke and there was no familiar smell in the cabin. No food on the stove, no fire in the hearth. No fresh wood supply. No snow at the windows. No table set. And I felt as though I had woken from a long slumber. I made my way to the door and found that it opened with great ease and I was greeted by a warmth I had forgotten. I took my leave of the cabin that day and wandered out in to the forest, seeing it with fresh eyes. I was no longer running and was able to walk quietly and slowly and see the world as I had never seen it before. I did not look back for a long time and when I did the cabin was no longer in sight.

  I came across a path by a stream and I walked along it.

  The Next Step

  I reached the end of these notes from the book and wanted more, I craved it. I felt I was learning more about my Grandfather. I wasn't sure exactly what I had found or how it fitted in with his diary but I had no doubt in mind that they were connected and having read this piece about the forest and the cabin I was sure there must be more. I began a careful search of all the books I had inherited.

  I took each book down in turn from its place and dusted it and then checked each page to see if there were more notes hidden. I had covered about two hundred books when I needed to stop and not only sneeze dust out of my system but also to go and seek out sustenance and coffee.

  Sitting at the kitchen table I pondered the task ahead of me. I had at least ten thousand books from my Grandfather, a lifetime of reading and collecting, worse some were mixed up with my own extensive library and every room in my house had books. It was going to be a long haul and I thrust aside all ideas that this might be a wild goose chase and that this one document was all I was going to find. Was there a better way to tackle this I wondered? The story of the cabin had been found in a Fairy Story Book and one published by The Folio Society. Should I in a first sweep check only his Fairy Story Books or just Folio Society issues? In the end I decided to try the Folio Society editions, eliminate them and then Fairy Story Books and work on through hardbacks. I decided to leave all paperbacks alone as they were unlikely to be of any use at all as hiding places for these tiny manuscripts. My Grandfather had little regard for paperbacks and was wont throw them straight out after reading. Books for him were things of beauty in themselves, treasures to be handled with care.

  I went to bed that night tolerably happy that I had a working plan in place that might reduce the level of my workload and dusting.

  After breakfast the next morning I faced up to my task. My excitement and craving had diminished over night as I realised what lay ahead of me, I knew too that as I started I would get distracted by the books themselves and start enjoying them as objects and dipping in and out of the text. There were few things that bothered me except for the tedious and repetitive and even the excitement that I felt at the prospect of finding more documents was not quite enough to get me started.

  I prevaricated and footered about at various tasks until it was time for lunch. Determined by now to break this shying away from the task I set myself a three hour limit of searching that afternoon. I managed to do this but failed to turn up anything of value. I found odd fragments containing no more than a sentence or two in three of the books but nothing worth anything. I sighed heavily when I laid the last book down and went for coffee and bringing it back to my study I sank into my chair beside the fire and watched the stories and pictures that flames and a free imagination produce.

  The search went on for several days without success and I was ready to give up hope that anything would be found. After all nothing in the previous manuscript had indicated any further writings. The only mention had been in the notebooks themselves where other experiences were mentioned but discarded as having no real bearing on the tale told. Having read the cabin and the forest manuscript I was less convinced that they were irrelevant. I couldn't given just one manuscript more meaning than was its due. Nor at this stage could I see where it would have fitted into the notebook story, nevertheless it was related and the experience described was a strange as anything in the coded books. All these thoughts piled in at once and I felt drawn to try another couple of book before I gave up for the day. I chose 'The Monk' by Lewis and took it out of its slip case and examined it with care.

  The sky was growing heavy and dark and rain was on its way. I switched on the table light to see better. Monk had yielded nothing. I was placing it back in its slip case when I noticed paper at the back. I found at last more from my Grandfather,in tiny script on airmail paper. I realised then that I had not checked the slip cases that were part of the hallmark of Folio Society books. I would it seemed to me be a simple case of starting again and going over those I had already searched.

  It probably took the best part of a month for me to search every nook and cranny of the bookcases. I still decided that the paperbacks should be left alone however. At the end of the month I had gathered together several more manuscripts from my Grandfather. I had no way of dating them. Had they been written after the coded notebooks? I thought not as he was too ill. I came to the conclusion they had been written down as experienced and possibly so had the contents of the notebooks. Perhaps, and of course I could only guess, he had chosen only the parts he wanted to make sure I got and coded them into his notebooks. I could speculate here as to how it all came about, but it would provide no real answer and nothing I have found since then has given me any answers to the many questions I still have. So I now lay before you the bits and pieces I have gathered from the books. I don't know what if any order they ought to be in. Some are only fragments, others longer pieces. I have done my best to place them in some kind of order but whether that is the order of events I cannot say.

  Fragments and Manuscripts

  Wandering in the wood was an amazing experience. Walking by the stream was like walking beside a bright silver stream, the world was fresh in every way, sounds were crystal clear. I felt reborn, I could almost float along with joy.

  ***

  Darkness crept into my vision. Not the falling of night but beyond the edge of the wood stood darkness as though the world ended at that point and there was nothingness ahead. I hesitated only briefly before entering the darkness, it was not threatening in any way. It curled around me like a fog and I walked on.

  ***

  Running. I am running down a corridor. I am not being chased. I am trying to find my way out. I don't know why I must find my way out but I must. No matter how hard I try I cannot find the way. I know the way out I just can't find it. Every door I try leads nowhere. I climb stairs, still no way out. I enter lifts and press the correct buttons and move from floor to floor and still there is no exit. I try to ask people I pass who either mumble and point vaguely or ignore me and my panic as though I wasn't there. It started off feeling like an office block but now it has the clinical smell and appearance of a vast hospital. It seems to be vast. There are signs to exits that lead nowhere. Although vast it begins to feel claustrophobic as I struggle, growing ever more frustrated to find my out. I see groups of people heading towards exits and I try and follow but always something stops me, a person collars me and berates me or misunderstands me. It swirls in confusion. I try to stop the people leaving, calling them back to safety, no matter what I try and do they still flood out. I call out 'all will be well if you just stay' but they mutter dissatisfaction with me and all that I stand for and they flood out the doors which I now have no desire
to reach. I am still in panic trying to stop them. I have reversed my confusion as some point and all my energy is given over to trying to hold together the organisation of the place and to stop the mass exodus, I am failing and I feel a failure. I feel loss. No matter what I say or do I am being judged and found wanting by everyone, I am being deserted and no matter what I do I cannot either exit with them or stop them exiting. I regret everything and yet fail to truly understand what is happening. I blame myself for not being well enough organised even though I have done my best and little problems and failures are not only human but beyond my control.

  I end up standing still watching them leave, pleading with them not to go. But like rats jumping from a sinking ship they leave. Their faces are contorted with judgement and spite and they talk amongst themselves and I hear myself vilified. I can see them exiting now by a swing door. I know it leads to the waiting area where the doors open and they can flood out into the light.

  I cry. I am frightened by my failure. I blame myself. I can't do anything right. I can't stop them. My worst nightmare is coming true before my eyes, I am being abandoned by everyone and left alone. Isolated. Yet nightmarish and painful though it is to hear my pleas fall on deaf ears, I will not follow them. Beyond where I am now is light. A light that promises all and delivers nothing. I will not go there. Although the path I am on emotionally is tearing me apart I have only done what I was told. I have tried my best. I have failed and that brings tidal waves of emotional pain to deal with and below that I sink till I can no longer function. I want comfort. I want the safety that ought to be mine in a mother and child relationship but it doesn't come. I feel unsafe and insecure and bleed emotions over the floor so that they spread around me like a growing pool of blood as though I have opened my veins. Those still close enough to see me, to whom I looked for support, look at me askance and I know the support and help I sought from them will not be forthcoming,they have not seen my real need and are blind to the help they could offer. They too judge and find me wanting. I just want to be loved. I want to feel safe. I struggle and whimper and feel engulfed by this tidal wave of failure. Intellectually I know none of this matters as it has all the hallmarks of a dreamscape but even that realisation still does nothing to help for I am living out my deepest anxieties about the very nature of life itself as I experience it. So dreamscape or not it is very real and clouds everything. I know there is unconditional love waiting in the wings but I can't really accept it as a given reality and so I spurn it feeling the giver will also judge and find me wanting and I will be lost and pain filled for ever.

  The scene keeps repeating. They leave, I plead for them to be patient and wait. They turn a deaf ear. Those around who I thought were with me abandon me also. I am at the last alone. An island. Lost. Waves crash over me and I am drowning. I reach out for help, my hand reaching out of the water hoping for someone to grasp it and pull me to safety. No one comes.

  I sink into my metaphorical water and drown in the depths of despair. There is no way out after all. I have to go alone.

  ***

  At last I find a door. A solid old fashioned dark stained heavy door, built to last with a small round gold coloured handle. It feels warm and safe as I approach the door. I open it and with a huge sigh of pleasure enter the room. I close the door behind and look at the room. Standing on the little landing I see laid before me the place of dreams. Walking down the three steps to the floor of the room I notice and gasp with pleasure at the thick red Persian rug that welcomes my feet and wraps itself around me like a long lost friend. Overstuffed armchairs, heavy patterned wallpaper, an oil lamp with a green shade and highly banked coal fire and aroma of cigar and pipe smoke. A floor to ceiling cabinet divided into drawers and cupboards with the top given over to a glass covered bookcase. The one window is heavily shaded with curtains and has no view outside that is visible. Only a dim light penetrates thick net curtains. Below the little landing stands a circular drinks cabinet. I pour myself a sweet sherry. I am home.

  The door is locked from the inside and no one can enter. Here is my safe place. I built it myself over several weeks and months in a troublesome period and here I flee to escape the world. I sink into the well worn armchair. I am pleased to find it is fabric today and not a leather wing backed Chesterfield as is often the case. The room knows me well and provides for my needs. The sherry was a nice touch. I hadn't even thought of that and there instead of tea and cucumber sandwiches was the perfect scenario. Below the window is a round dark oak table covered with a heavy green cloth that clings well and ends in gold tassels. A few books are lying there inviting my attention and I wonder what the room has in store for me today. It seldom, now it has got to know me and taken on its own life, fails to meet my requirements and unspoken needs.

  Idly I pick up one of the books and slump into a chair sit down to read. It is a lovely old leather bound copy of Pride and Prejudice. Perfect.

  Before I reach the end of the familiar first page my head slumps forward and I fall into the safety of sleep and switch off from all that has driven me down to this room. I stand as I have been doing in the far corner of the room, beside the table and against a cupboard door and watch myself sleep. I was glad to see me coming in to the room, my visit was long overdue and it was good we could connect again. The sleeping one knows I am here we don't however acknowledge the paradox of my being able to see myself from the outside. We are one but while I sleep I am also watching myself. I need to stay on guard while I rest otherwise who knows what might assail me in this place of safety. Anything could, if strong enough, blow it all apart and expose me to the terrors outside. I know this and therefore have to remain alert at all times, coiled and restless and ready to run at a moment's notice. At present I have nowhere to run to. I thought in constructing this safe place that it would not only be hidden but also impenetrable. That sadly proved a false hope. I am not certain whether the walls have been breeched or whether in entering I have brought them in myself. I feel the room shift with a tremor of terror. I do not like this. What else can I build? Perhaps the sleeping part will dream a place of safety into existence and then we can build it and make it accessible. The last time we were forced to escape here we dreamed up a self sustaining cave hidden from the world but alas either our building technique was faulty or the idea was for there was no easy access in or out of the cave and we cowered in the back most of the time locked in a darkness of terror waiting for something to enter - we were also far too close to the noise and the shouts. It lasted about a month before we abandoned it all together. It is still there but unoccupied and I do not think we will return there except as a last resort.

  While I sleep and watch I can think of no place to build that will be secure and although I talk of we it is only to save confusion and I am one, one alone not two and not split. I am just the part that exists in us all that never goes to sleep but is always alert for sounds and things to cause alarm. Of course I long to be switched off and fall in to sleep and then we would be safe as we would be unaware of anything at all. As soon as I awake I will get some rest. Not much but more than I get when I am asleep.

  I sense danger. Perhaps not strictly true. I sense something sniffing outside the door. It wants me but I keep building these safe places where I can be alone without feeling under constant attack. Here I might escape the material world, here locked deep inside myself in my panic room. What I can't seem to escape from is the otherness that pursues me and wants to claim me. For just now I am able to hold it at bay. I don't know how long that will be the case. As long as it is a panic room for the outside world I think I will be safe [but?] when it becomes a place to run to from the other then I fear I will not be able to resist very long. It calls my name although I can give it no name I know it wants me.

  On the seat I see myself shifting and waking and I am back with myself and enjoying the toasting fire. I stretch and yawn. I am safe.

  I can and do spend a long time locked away in my room. Occasionally I ta
ke forays out into the real world only to be hounded and chased down. Sometimes I can bear it, at other times I simply run for safety. As the days turn into months the peace in the room is shattered as the door is constantly knocked. I fall asleep and am awoken by a knock. I say hounded but that is a phrase in my own mind. It is in reality a gentle but persistent running after me, never leaving me alone. The knocking on the door while it may seem in my mind a frightful hounding is in reality a gentle and if possible becoming and beguiling knock. A pleading to be let in. It has gained access everywhere else. I only have this one sanctuary left, the place where I exist. However I am growing weary, so weary. It is hard to keep up the fight. All I want is peace. But I don't want to give being me. That is what will happen of course, I will be changed if it has its way and I fear that change. I want to be me.

  Even in sleep during the night I toss and turn and break out in a sweat as it seems able to enter even into my dreams. It is a like a tap dripping. There is no escape. I feel I am going mad.

  Perhaps I should give in? I question myself. I fight the idea. It is a bad idea. I am going to be myself. I fight. Every defence I can muster is used. I am miserable. I hate this fighting. Maybe I should just submit to the inevitable. Would that be best? It would certainly be over, this stress filled existence where I have to fight day after day. I want peace.

  At last I decide to submit. Submission is what it is all about. I will do anything now for peace. I make my way to the door. I have little idea what to expect. I place my hand on the door knob and begin to turn ready to let in that which has haunted me for so long. I expect to be bowled over thrown to the ground and devoured. At the last minute my courage fails me and I stand back.