Arcanepath.net

Black then white are all I see in my infancy.
Red and yellow then came to be,
reaching out to me, lets me see.
As below so above and beyond I imagine,
drawn beyond the lines of reason.
Push the envelope. Watch it bend.

Over thinking, over analyzing,
separates the body from the mind.
Withering my intuition, missing opportunities and I must
feed my will to feel my moment drawing way outside the lines.

Black then white are all I see in my infancy.
Red and yellow then came to be,
reaching out to me, lets me see.
There is so much more and it beckons me to look though to these,
infinite possibilities.
As below so above and beyond I imagine,
drawn outside the lines of reason.
Push the envelope. Watch it bend.

Over thinking, over analyzing,
separates the body from the mind.
Withering my intuition, leaving opportunities behind.


Feed my will to feel this moment, urging me to cross the line.
Reaching out to embrace the random.
Reaching out to embrace whatever may come.

I embrace my desire to...
I embrace my desire to...
feel the rhythm,
to feel connected enough to step aside and weep like a widow,
to feel inspired,
to fathom the power,
to witness the beauty,
to bathe in the fountain,
to swing on the spiral,
to swing on the spiral,
to swing on the spiral of our divinity and still be a human.

With my feet upon the ground,
I lose myself between the sounds and open wide to suck it in.
I feel it move across my skin.
I'm reaching up and reaching out.
I'm reaching for the random or whatever will bewilder me,
whatever will bewilder me.

And following our will and wind,
we may just go where no one's been.
We'll ride the spiral to the end and may just go where no one's been.
Spiral out. Keep going.
Spiral out. Keep going.
Spiral out. Keep going.
Spiral out. Keep going.

Lateralus: Tool: 2001

Parallel VI Minus 14 - June 19th, I-95, Pennsylvania, 2013.

Divergence Point: None, Parallel to Homeline in 2013.
Current Affairs: World Wide Economic Recession, tension within the Middle Eastern States.

Dust motes floated within the bright beams of sunlight as a cool breeze wafted across his face, he felt refreshed, rested and free from the grimy burden that he soaked up in dark places.
Vincent Podmore sat upon a rustic bench to his left was the Liberty Diner, a good old fashion chrome roofed affair complete with curved ceiling.
Ahead of him was the splendid Delaware River and behind him Interstate 95.

Having only arrived a few days previously his visions hadn’t reached a level of intensity, sometimes they didn’t however the norm was that the longer he spend upon a world the stronger they became.
This of course was usually advantageous as he would learn all manner of secrets and signs of the fates, still it was good to have a clear head, lungs full of fresh air and the opportunity to whittle another wooden figurine.

Of course he’d have to get on with his case, arriving at P14s Lost Keys and Co he’d found a request for help, a beautifully crafted letter requesting that he help to prove the ancestry of a Miss Louise Joplin, something about a contested estate not his usual cup of tea, in fact it sounded positively normal.
The flattering phrase that he had a reputation of uncovering the past had piqued his interest and if he admitted it his ego, he looked down at the anglers below him on the riverbank and sighed.

Momentarily he saw a mist upon the river, rowing boats loaded with red coat British Soldiers, the puff of musket smoke, history playing itself out before him, his sight returned to the present the summer sun boiling away the phantom fog.

He returned to his carving, slowly and satisfyingly peeling away thin layers of wood, turning an otherwise featureless strip into a shape.
He looked up watching a trio of Wood Ducks squabble racing across the surface of the river, much to the chagrin of the anglers who hadn’t a hope of a bite with all the ruckus, Vincent chuckled to himself in delight as the three mighty ducks were promptly sent packing by a single Moorhen.

Sometimes it was good to take in the World, whichever one you happened to be on, to stop and draw breath, watch the reeds besides the river bend gently in the breeze, the trickle of the water and cheerfulness of a family having fed and watered in the diner setting out once again on their summer journey.

Maybe in a day or so he would start to look for the Lost Keys in this world, whatever those keys were.

‘Are you troubled by strange noises in the night? Do you experience feelings of dread in your basement or attic? Have you or your family actually seen a spook, specter or ghost? If the answer is yes, then don't wait another minute. Just pick up the phone and call the professionals -- Ghostbusters.’

'We’re ready to believe you!'

Vince was watching his favourite film on his laptop whilst lying on a four poster bed in the Clarence House Motel of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.

He grinned at the irony of what the film portrayed, and selected a scanned copy of the letter from Louise Joplin in another window and pressed print.

He paused the film as a small wireless printer on the bedside table whirred into life, and he reached over and dragged the pages from it.

The room was quite a cosy affair, with an old civil war theme to it. Paraphernalia of the Yankee’s victory at Gettysburg in 1863 tastefully adorned the walls, and Vince had stared for hours on end at the old sepia reproduced photos and absorbed the memories of the pain, fear and the glory that was won that day. Obviously the effects on his psyche were not as strong as the originals would generate, and probably that was just as well he had mused to himself, with his closeness to the actual event the power of those memories could have severely disorientated him at the very least. To enter those memories required a lot of preparation and control or it was likely he could sustain brain damage or become irrecoverably stuck in the memory time itself.

He brought himself back to the present, and with the copy of the letter in his hand he promptly slid it into a shredder that he had placed by the printer. The shredder greedily and noisily did its job, and once the motor had stopped running he opened it and picked up the pieces of the letter and scrunched it into a tight ball.

With a flourish he threw the paper ball up into the air, it impacted with the ceiling with a strange heavy thump and broke open with an audible crack, almost like an egg. The room was suddenly filled with the little squares of paper that fell like snow to the floor.

Seer of 16 As he looks to the ceiling to see what letters remain stuck on it. From this he hopes to find any other meanings to the letter (if any).

Podmore wrote:Seer of 16 As he looks to the ceiling to see what letters remain stuck on it. From this he hopes to find any other meanings to the letter.

Concentrating upon the pattern Vincent began to form the word or in actuality words portrayed by the random letters stuck to the aged artex swirls.

"Monitor and Vengence" he muttered to himself, before the paper squares surrendered to Newtons law and drifted peacefully to the carpet.

'Monitor and Vengeance. Was this portent referring to the ironclads of the Civil War?' He mused as he recalled what the letter from Miss Joplin has requested.

Pulling up the online search engine of this convergence point on his laptop, which was amusingly called 'Gargle', he tapped in the names.

What else did the letter detail regarding the contested estate? And did he get any other 'readings' off it?

Research of 15 for the Gargle search

Ocean Shift Realm – Eclipse Time Minus three hours forty three minutes.
You say that love will capture me
But not unless you give it free
We're sailing on the seven seas
Sister ray is on tv
The light of love that shines so bright
That the f.b.i won't sleep tonight

Because I'm so in awe of you
That I don't know what to do
And I'm sailing on the seven seas so blue
Sailing On The Seven Seas - Omd

Stepping beyond the silver mirror the trio were suddenly greeted by a sudden increase of tens of degrees in temperature, despite the apparently hostile surroundings, a welcome change from the frigid hulk they’d previously been stranded upon.

They stood in a early twentieth century ships cabin, the sea beyond the portholes was calm and blue, the vessel rocked gently.
Vincent looked around taking in the old sepia portraits of fishermen upon the wood panelled walls, the linen padded seats, nautical ornaments such as aged lanterns swinging from old rope nets.
The thing that piqued his curiosity was the absence of ghosts or spirits of any kind, he could also sense strange dimensional energies, energies that were short lived.

Taking a seat Terry Standing mentally noted that this would all be included in his report, however he kept this to himself cautious of present company.

Agent Black for his part remained characteristically silent, he stood looking out across the forecastle.

The leader of the black clad figures, entered the room, smiled and nodded in acknowledgement.
A slender man in his later years, although his age was masked by his bushy grey beard, his cheeks ache scared and his eyes hidden behind dark glasses.
His clothing visible now was rugged winter gear, a big padded ski jacket and black fatigues.
“We have half an hour until your gate will be ready, so comrades a drink tea, coffee or perhaps some starka?”