My sugar is bound to be very high today . . . you do know that I had three bananas? That's a fascinating ability, really, as I never thought I could put down three, or would put down three, in one day. Ah, well . . . the fact is immaterial. I realized a significant fact about myself yesterday, and the situation was not completely free of constraint, and some natural pain of course. I was engaging in a weight-heavy work out in which I felt extremely out of my element, and I remember standing in the most oft visited work out room, with weights. I was holding them and they were ruling over me. I did not know where I should put down the dense twenty-five pound dumbbells and when. Men with enormous arms that were practically splitting their t-shirts, wearing cold faces that never allowed their attached eyes to look in your direction unless the situation was dire, intently focused upon their own needs, pervaded. Before me, behind me, to the right, the left, swinging up their weights and lifting them over their heads as though there was no tomorrow on the horizon, and multi-billion mechanic-arm- leg . . . weight championship, must be met, today. I looked sorrowfully down at my dumbbells.
It became a frenetic circumstance. I didn't know if I should place them in front of me where the thick barreled-chested man was, huffing almost sickly, or gently place it- should I place it loudly- should I attempt to demonstrate myself as they were doing? I despised every minute of that terrible, sweat-filled, dank room, filled with testosterone and huffs and blows that nearly sickened me. However, then I realized that I often smelled like chlorine, and I started to think about the notion that many of my café members regularly got a whiff of me, perhaps, when I sat there and typed- ha! The thought merely made me laugh. I stared in the mirror at my intently focused facial muscles- and lifted- one. Ahhhhh. That felt good. Okay, now I needed to concentrate, and I needed to figure out a way to get these weights rolling.
I had always known that there was a way to block out my thoughts without actually being focused on it. I had an instinct about the power of Occlumency. J.K. Rowling was not speaking about the topic through the lips of Severus Snape with an elegance that was derived from the sweet-drivel of friendly nothings. No, her voice was definitely taken from real life topics, so I knew that there must be something in the idea that was not composed only of her imagination, and I was determined to find that! I found that I really was. Recently I had read through a few fanfictions on the Fanfiction.Net site, for Harry Potter stories, and I'd noted an interested aspect that consistently made an appearance. However, it had remain untold that one might actually find the need to express a blank, white expanse of driveling space, or an object as part of those shields. I'd thought those notions for laughs, really, not decisively a tool in present life, but minor thoughts that fluttered. And yet I grasped that fluttering as my own curtain.
I wanted more than anything to allow myself to feel nothing and to experiment with the theory of Occlumency. Was it really possible to block out one's thoughts completely? I have had so many ideas about this topic recently, that it was quite imprudent for me to say that the power of Occlumency truly lived within the realms of a false existence, and swirling and torrid- these ideas came! I wrote about Occlumency in my stories, and madly jotted down whatever ideas came to me during my lessons at school. Such made common appearances in my stories, and character interactions were flushed gay with the idea of living in a purely gray area in which thoughts could be twined into a fog at will, become absolutely nothing, pure and constant and recurrent. My characters did not seem to want to think, they seemed to be laden by the overbearing notion that thoughts could be obliterated, and I really wanted to be one with them. I wanted to invoke that gray sheet of fog unto myself, and solely believe in that one thing- fog, mist, whatever might recur, whatever you want to call it- but found that I could not reach this capacity. I did not technically believe in it, after all, although I had- oh!- so many ideas, to the point where the theme constantly recurred in my Harry Potter characters.
It wasn't until last night that I realized the thought was more tangible then I'd been led to believe. Apparently the art of Occlumency was actually relevant, because as I stood within that crazy, that borderline frenetic swish of weights and bulky tendencies, I realized that I could in fact block out that imagery, and those awful smells. My mind wandered, and then- it stopped. I was no longer thinking of anything, and, at the most intense moment of my work out, when I thought that I would surely break from the pain and the conscious horror of the circumstances that were flying by me with their nefarious and egotistical (I should say) huffs, my thoughts halted. I came to a revelation, in that I realized that the idea of living within one, single solitary thought, actually composed the ability to turn thoughts of- and so my mind went stagnant. I no longer had to think or feel anything. I knew that I had attained the power of Occlumency.
My characters are filled with life, on a and within a variety of different aspects. However, they are purely focused, an intent upon one particular prospect, because they are always moving towards higher thought processes. I do believe in the power of Occlumency, and I believe that it is one of the highest forms of thought that one can attain, purely designed for those that are forced to recreate the present life or segment of live in which they live currently, in order to ward off unwanted experiences. When the horror accumulates to an untamed, primitive and terrible ideology, one so thick that you do not want to be in what you mindfully perceive as the circumstance- turn it off- and escape, into the elegance of subtlety . . .
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