"The work will teach you how to do it." – "Le travail va vous apprendre à le faire." 09-23-18 ….. I am temporarily on hiatus, attending to matters of health and well being. I will return as soon as possible.
see you down the rabbit hole.
namaste! madison taylor
Private Writings: Chapter #42 — Time After Time
Tuesday 1st July 2008
Friday is going to be exciting, Brief Sacrifice premieres. You are bringing your family. I can’t wait to meet them, your husband Alex and especially your daughter, Rainer. I have such a special surprise for her. You gave me the idea when you mentioned Rainer was very into the actor who plays Carter McLeod. The huge reveal will all happen at Scottie’s party at our place. Jamie Stansfield, Carter McLeod’s alter ego, told me personally, she wants to meet Rainer. Jamie and I chat often and I have been teller her about your daughter. Admittingly, you don’t discuss her, you let minor bites about your family and you like to mention Rainer. You are proud of her. Not all children get to have such amazing moms who support their daughter’s vision. She only knows great things about Rainer.
From what I’ve said you have deduced Jamie and I are friends. I know we don’t often get into that aspect of my life often in our therapy, unless there is some confusion. When someone trusted is making a move on Scottie. That’s a necessary discussion. Then she is gone from my life. Jamie never worries me. Everyone loves her in our industry.
I met Jamie a few years before we cast “Brief Sacrifice.” Her generosity, kindness, and total support, makes our friendship seem easy. I love she is a lesbian but with me it wouldn’t matter. It’s just nice to know we exist. Annie, it’s not public knowledge, only meant between friends. She isn’t hiding. She is out, but it’s a personal out, not for strangers. It’s her right to keep who she loves intimately. Her private life stays private. I’m sharing this with you because I trust you and in trust.
When I first met Jamie, what a crush I had on her. Not the usual attraction response, responded to her. She glows with true beauty. She possesses you. It’s in her essence. No one, straight or lesbian, can resist her magnetism. Not meant to be a cliché. Her energy flows with warmth. It’s also why the rest of the world love Jamie Stansfield. She really is special. I always wonder, that if we weren’t involved with someone else, would we have a chance. I resist the pursuit. Resisting her now. We are both honorable women. Never hurt real love.
The meet will take place after the viewing of the film, and back at the Chateau. I know, pretentious. Scottie told me at times I get pretentious. I just don’t see it. Focus. Your black limo will follow our black Mercedes. Scottie doesn’t do limos. We should be the first to arrive. Leave everyone else at the theatre to do their publicity shots and interviews. Behind the scene crew will arrive early, I hope. We’ll make it back before anyone but the caterers.
It will give Rainer and Alex time to feel comfortable in our home. You came over once, so you are familiar with it. It won’t be awkward I hope. I know it’s different and breaks most rules. But we are in the world of imagination. Inventing time. Places to hide from the many famous actors who are always there. Some fun people you liked on the screen, you will like in person, too. They are afterall only human. Some do have large egos, but they don’t play well with other people. Avoid them. They are invited, because it is done. Some day they may not want to work with you, if you avoid them now. Schmoozing is essential in the film business. It’s okay, it only bites off a piece of your soul, a little at a time.
Rainer will have the best time ever. This is my way of giving back for all you’ve done, especially for me. You know you make me feel better inside. You make me feel loved. I need your hugging so badly at the end of our sessions. If they stopped, I’d physically shrink. With the one exception, my night in Paris, walking at night in the soft, warm rain, with Scottie. It metaphysically elevated us into love making of the existential kind. Did it happen in reality or in our minds? If it happened in our minds, does that mean it was real? Imagination creates many levels of truth and fantasy mingling together. How does one sort out what to believe and how to tell fantasy apart from truth?
On this evening, you are off duty. The Doctor gets to have excitement and fun. I want you to feel relaxed and enjoy every moment. Rainer, I want her to have miles of tales to tell her friends. Alex, I don’t know what he will want from the evening. His identity is mostly unknown to me. I know he is an aspiring and accomplished artist. Painting on a canvas meets his desires. He has exhibitions, you’ve told me, in this country and Europe, Alex needs to hook up with Jonathan Sharp, my Parisian friend and artist extraordinaire. Best connections in the world. Alex must meet Jonathan. I think they could become great friends. Jonathan could really help Alex. A beautiful friendship could develop. I am stupid. Where is my brain? This should have occurred to me before now?
Too self-obsessed at times, I forget how to act in the real world with real people. The connections your family can make. Be prepared to be impressed. No, not with me, but with yourselves. Be prepared to be rocked. Scottie’s parties are infamous and the best in the business. Everyone shows up eventually. So many connections are made. I am going to contact Jonathan and invite him. No, guarantee he will be able to make it. But wouldn’t it be cool if he did and Alex and Jonathan connected. How great would that be? My best friend becoming friends with your husband. Hope that is not too complicated? Jonathan is gay but involved. I will have to wait for a particular moment after I get to know Alex. My concern is that Alex will like me first and Scottie, also.
Before you see “Brief Sacrifice” at the premiere. No spoilers. Let’s start where we left off. James, our psychic Savannah cat and his two brothers Jax and Jasper, together, but with the unique mind of James, they are solving the secret to the brief case and close to deciphering how to open the “silver box.” The “Silver Box” was created by Nikola Tesla. Within the box holds a secret which when opened, the object that contains the secret will be revealed.
Shall we open the box? James is determined to break the barriers that seal the “Silver Box” so smoothly tight with absolutely no seams in sight.
James makes particular sounds with his voice. With each distinct vocalization, a quiet sound came from the Silver Box.” James continues with a new vocal. The quiet sound increases in volume with each different sound coming from James unusual vocal cords. The last sound, no one predicted what is about to happen. The Silver Box transforms into a doctor’s desk from the early 20th century. It had a folding down front which covered over the desk. With it opened, appeared many seeable compartments and some very secret compartments.
Everyone stared. Each thinking something different. James was acting quite satisfied by the desk. Carter was pleased with the answer to the secret. Or part of the secret. What next. Carter started opening the small drawers in the back area of the desk’s flat surface. The writer’s choice of using words to express feelings, thoughts, fantasies, dreams, ideas, the events of the day.
James jumped up onto the desk. He placed his paw one of the drawer’s handles. It was a struggle but James was determined to reveal what was hidden within this specific drawer. He didn’t know what would appear but he knew it would be important.
Carter pulled the drawer out further. Looked inside. Something was there. She reached in and pulled out an iPhone by Apple. “This model hadn’t been created yet. I know Apple and this is not on the market. The technology is all wrong. Let me check for any texts or voicemail.” Carter touched the word menu. Chose messages. A list of several texts appeared.
One by one, she opened each text. All were signed Nikola Tesla. The first message made little sense. “I have discovered a way to travel through time. They think I am mad every time I create something new. I am thought of as a Wizard rather than an inventor. I just want to make these images I get in my mind. One appears, I try to understand and create it. Others wait to be given attention. When I am able I build everything I think of. It has been such a struggle. Someone who I thought was a genius, Thomas Edison, turns out to be a cheat and a bully and wants money not the advancement of inventions. “
“I have written on each piece of paper, instructions on how to create the ultimate Utopia where all will heal and all will have food and shelter. No more hunger. If you follow my instructions carefully, what I have given you to create will take you through out time to find where I have hidden all the documents you will need to create Utopia. Whatever happens, never let any of what you will find be given to the wrong people. You do not want the rich or the governments of the world to touch anything I am giving to you today. You must be brave. You must find others to help you. If my friend created the Friends of Nikola Tesla, there should be many people all over the world who are in place to help you actualize my dream culture, society and unified world. With what I have hidden, you have all the tools to carry out the dream for all the world.”
There is so much more but you must wait until you are settled into your seat at the Premiere. I am hoping the film turns out to be what I envisioned it to be. This is Scottie’s venue. I’m writing the future while Scottie is building our life and structures.
I am sending this off in an email so you get this one before everything happens. I am smiling and excited.
So, until I see you, I will end with my favorite quote from the film “Brief Sacrifice.
“Time can be folded and joined with all elements in all places as the one ultimate moment when time is all at once. In this place everything happens on a continual loop following into a continuum of time forever into infinity. In the “Silver Box,” there is contained the ability to draw time into itself and create the perfect infinite moment.”
For you, I will end this letter in “the moment between seconds.”
Private Writings: Chapter #7 — We Chose Life
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
First Posting 03.19.13
Posted Weekly Early Tuesday Morning
Chapter #7 Posted 30th April 2013
WARNING: ADULT LANGUAGE AND CONTENT.
NOT SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN.
ALL CHARACTERS ARE FICTITIOUS.
ANYONE RESEMBLING ANYONE LIVING OR DEAD
IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.
Private Writings: Chapter #7 — We Chose Life
Tuesday, November 13th, 2007
I must bring this to your immediate attention. Last week, when I wrote to you in our usual letter, I included a poem. It was a raw and painful poem to write. I would really like to discuss some of it with you in this letter. I hope you don’t mind. It has been making me feel rather vulnerable, even though I haven’t sent you the letter yet. Someday, any day, might be when I do get brave enough and really write these letters with the direct expectation of mailing them to you or handing them to you in person. The second way would make me feel more assured that you received the letters personally and no one else touched them or might accidentally open them. I don’t think anyone at the counseling center would ever do something like that intentionally. But these are very private letters meant for your eyes only. Just thinking about discussing the poem I wrote is making me feel rather anxious. In fact, I feel like I am starting to have a panic attack. Let me take a Klonopin before we continue. After that I will post the poem and the paragraph that followed it. I want to discuss that along with the poem. I’ll be right back.
Here I am, back really quickly. It will only take about 15 minutes for the med to take effect. Well, here goes, this is the poem once again appearing in one of my letters I am writing to only you. If I ever give these letters to you, I must have your word that you will never ever show these to anyone else. No one must know what I am telling you. These have to be our secret. If you only knew how I feel inside.
How do I really feel about you Annie? Right now, I have no idea. Too afraid to go inside to find out what I truly feel. The whole of the world confounds me. It just makes me feel depressed. It just feels that I can’t hold onto the people I love. They just tend to die. It’s not like they’re even old. When you die in your twenties, I would call that dying “Forever Young.” Too many die FY. You’re not going to do that, are you Annie?
What do you think of my poem? If you read it now, how would you decipher it? I’ll play both of us. You go first, or should I? Let me pull out the first three lines. The writer, the lover, the thinker: isn’t something missing? Whose feeling anything? The lover is just sexual. You can do that without any feelings at all. The writer is mental but could be emotional with the words they are expressing. But I don’t think so. It’s cerebral. The thinker, existential separation anxiety filled with analytical theorizing until infinity gets exhausted.
Someone is missing. Someone who connects in a soulful way with people or animals. Who is that? Lets think about it. Send out feelings to find out who they are? You think a spiritualist. I thought I was one of those people. I believe in the spirit, the soul, the astral body, the separation from the physical. The soul is just carrying the weight of the body while its heart beats and air fills its lungs and the grey matter still is able to function to make the physical tissues of the body perform.
I was thinking tonight about Heaven Annie. As I made it up the stairs to bed and my cat always raced up the stairs before me. We play that game every night. I make believe I’m going to beat him tonight. It’s always the challenge. There’s no way in Hell that I can ever beat him. But he loves the game. You want to know his name? He goes by many. He has such a magnificent personality. We call him Sparky because he sparks like fireworks. It’s not his official name. That one is proper. We named him Higgins after the character in the great Broadway play Pygmalion. He responds to anything but Higgins and he rather prefers being called Sparky.
What the Hell are we talking about? Is it about making it through with some enjoyment and to try to forget about all the nightmares? Or are we suppose to face the nightmares? The soul tells me that we have to or we won’t make it. I have too many. How about you? What are your bad dreams? What tried to fuck you up? Any bad people in your dreams? You seem pretty together but anyone can put a mask on. Why do you suppose we all try to hide from everyone? We are all human. Our feelings fall somewhere into the human category. Are we afraid people will think we are crazy or too weird?
Back to the poem, the next three lines are pretty explosive. Feeling the fool for not hearing, the silence for not screaming and feelings trying to blow the whole thing wide open but being stopped somehow. What stopped me? You probably would like to know that. A good reason, how about one of the abusers threatened to kill me right at the moment I told him if he didn’t stop I would go to the police. Wrong thing to say to a nasty, mean pedophile. He tried to kill me but he stopped at just making me feel he was going to crush my head into stones like Stonehenge. He pulled back but not until he told me he would not only kill me but my whole family. Those other people who also abused me. For some reason I felt I needed to protect them. I didn’t care if he killed me. My life was ruined. They all in combination destroyed who I am. They crushed my life. I am dead. My spirit has been stolen from me. It’s like in Peter Pan, they stole my shadow, my reflection. I don’t have one any longer. I am invisible. That’s why no one can see me. Why I never get noticed except when someone wants to hurt me or make me feel more pain so that I really do want to be invisible. I just wanted to die.
The only reason I stayed alive was I loved my grandmother. The funny thing about it all, my grandma, she had an accident shortly after this and went into the hospital. She never went home again. I saw her once at the hospital. I climbed into her hospital bed with her. Under the oxygen tent, we hugged. I held her so close. Her arms used her strength, as much as she could and held me close. Then it was time to go. I gave a bunch of kisses to say goodbye to her. I didn’t know I would never see her alive again.
She died in protest. They wanted her to become one of the forgotten. She wasn’t going to let them do that to her. She told them that it was something she would never do, going to a nursing home. She stopped her breathing and her heart from beating. She left me behind. I stopped living when she stopped, too.
“The feelings trying to explode…Where was the awareness?” I was clueless on what or who to, if anyone, to talk to. I never talked to anyone back then. Words were not my companion when spoken out loud. Not something I even knew how to do. Didn’t know how. Had no practice. What would have been the right words to say anyway? I didn’t know them to say or to even write down on paper. I am only learning now how to connect my words with feeling.
“We say ‘Welcome to the surface.’ It should have been Welcome to the circus. “Now what needs to be done?” We need to find someone new that we can really talk to. Someone who will listen and really hear what we are saying. Not judge us. Try to understand. And not constantly criticize us and try to put us down. Diminish who we are. That’s been done all our life except in college. For some reason I mattered when I was in college. I felt important and wanted. The same happened when I was part of the Women’s Center when I lived in Connecticut. It’s not so much I want to feel important. I just want to feel like I matter. Everyone I think needs to feel important in some way.
“Releasing the energy ensnared for decades amongst twisted webs…” I have been so blocked. My thoughts and feelings didn’t have an outlet. And I didn’t know how to say the words. I was made my own prisoner eventually, out of fear. Demons possessed me with fear. All the demons from all the years of abuse and made to feel like I was nothing, a nobody that had no worth or purpose.
“The voice is seeking freedom but holding onto multiple secrets.” We have a central voice but we also have multiple voices. With all the alters, we have to listen to all their voices and all the needs they tell us that they have. It’s hard to keep track or remember. It is really confusing inside our head sometimes. But we were working with a woman therapist who had her moments of quality therapy but she had her problems. I have an obsessive alter who was in love with her and obsessed with her. Let’s call it quite dependent. We were attached. We needed her. She was the first therapist that figured out what was going on inside our head. She figured out the DID. I have to admit when she told us we has other personalities, it really freaked us out. Kind of went into shock and some heavy denial. No way could that be possible. She said the psychiatrist agreed with her after he tested me.
That was the big secret. We thought realizing we were Gay was enough of a shock but being MPD was more difficult. Coming out of that closet was worst. It took us a while before we could tell Scottie and we had been together for a long time at that point. Almost 15 years. When I found the courage to tell her, her reaction was: “Oh, I already knew.” I asked her why she didn’t tell me. “Because you needed to figure that out yourself.” Of course, she was right. It wasn’t easy. Like I usually do, I bought or borrowed every book I could find on the subject of MPD. I learned it all. Enough to get a degree.
There is so much more to discuss in this poem. I packed it with a great deal of exposure of my past. I need a break. I may try to answer more of the points in this letter or carry it over to the next letter.
It’s a list of some of the confusion that smashed into our life. It started when we were really little and didn’t stop. The abuse continued when we were adults. No was the word that meant nothing to anyone who wanted something from us. Our body betrayed us. We couldn’t stop anyone from forcing us. Some didn’t even realize they were forcing us but they were. If we shut down inside we became frozen. We couldn’t stop what was happening. This started when we were little and continued into our adult relationships. It was all on some degree of force. We weren’t there in our bodies. We left or went deep inside or floated on the ceiling until it was over.
It wasn’t consensual. It was a form of rape and abuse. We wanted love but not sex. We didn’t want to be sexually aroused because it would always end with us disappearing and our bodies would shut down. It was like turning the keys off in a car. The engine would stop running and so would we. Eventually we created an outside person, a human robot, who faked our life like a computer. She would accumulate data. And learned the expected behavior and that would be hos she would perform. We were safe inside while she was out there living a fake life as a fake person. A puppet represented us. She hid in plain sight. No one would find us with the puppet self having a controlled pattern of behavior, always asking questions to improve her performance do she wouldn’t be detected.
Our hiding place was discovered by this woman therapist. She saw through the facade. She was tricky and scary to us. She got to close. We started to care too much. She opened up the rawness in us. She made us need people. Specifically, she made us need her too desperately. We felt so close to her. But more like the fox in Le Petite Prince by Antoine de St. Exupery. She tamed part of our wildness. She made us want to be loved by her. Being loved and wanting to love in return puts such a control on you. I began to develop an overwhelming need for her. It was driving me mad. Everything started falling apart. My life felt out of control.
Our hiding place was revealed. There was no place to go except into madness and wanting to commit suicide. Suicide has always been a part of our life. It is a part of our breathing. It is always an alternative to the divine madness. We can escape that way any time we chose. But it is not an answer we can choose. Not with all that we are responsible for. Our life needs us to be in it. Everything has changed. We are learning to begin to live. We have found a purpose. It is delicate and sometimes difficult to balance but we are giving our new life all that we are able to give it. We know and are learning what we are able to do. We are able to write. We are able to be creative. Our artistic nature is starting to blossom. We are letting it be free. It likes that. It feels like are trusted to let the muse guide us. She always seems to be when we need her. We don’t push it. We let it be a natural flow. We like, no we love where we are now. It does have its difficulties with the mentally creative activities that bombard our brain. But we work hard on that more with our doc then with Mr. Xxx. He is about as helpful as a dead skeleton. His sense of warmth and communication I’d to tell stories that do not at all relate to what I am feeling or going through. He doesn’t help me at all except to give me reasons to escape my life. He lets me run away. I know I have my weaknesses but I need to find my life before I die or I kill myself because I can’t live with the confusion any longer or the depressions or rage.
I want to say that I am here and I want to stay alive. We want to be here. We choose life.
We fought through them trying to destroy us. They didn’t succeed. We are still alive. No matter how many battles. No matter how many nights we have to fight to make it alive til morning gets here. Therapy, knowing my psychoanalyst is there is so reassuring. It means at least one person is out there in our Universe that knows we are alive. That we exist. Being alive is a higher grade than just existing. The artist that lives inside of us makes it all matter. Otherwise, nothing else matters. If I didn’t have my art, my animals, the women I love and the men who are decent that I love. A good home and family who I love and who love me. The special people who know who they are. They are part of what make this life I live matter. But that involves some major time tripping. I am having visions of a future in my life, but I must be patient and wait for that time to happen. It is a good sign that I make it to that future. Others do not.
Here in 2007 I have you Annie. I am focusing on that. Your presence is beginning to mean something more to me than I even understand at this moment. We will see where that takes us.
Until next time.
ATTENTION ANNIE: At this moment I am not trying to be a coward, but I feel if I hold back now or never send this to you, I am freeing myself up to write whatever without censorship. On some future date, if trust grows, I will release my letters to you. What I write in honesty, I will keep confidential. On my honour, no others shall see these pages.
Madison Tayler’s Fantasy of Annie Haskell’s Office as a Psychoanalyst.
Somewhere In Time – John Barry
By Madison Taylor
Give your soul an awakening
Listen quietly through the inspiring music
Enter the encouraging words
The ideas arise from their varied meanings
What is most on your mind
What is churning up your insides
Needing to be talked about
Preferably released from your mind
Where trapped are the feelings
That the thoughts are made of in the silence
Love is an all-consuming obsession
Filling the spaces in between
Every break of thought
To throw off the concentration
So many who feel love from inside their heart
They died or disappeared
Called away from their lives abruptly
You could say they had a calling
A calling not dealing with fairness
Or consideration for the pain
Created from their loss
Investing in vulnerability
Rips out the heart
Tears it like dogs with a pile
Of meaningless thrown away leftovers
The heart has been a left over piece of flesh
Good for a treat
For a hungry mouth
But for love an empty plate
Starving the hungry for tenderness and love
Wanting to be held in a warm hug
Being caressed with a slow gentleness
Giving time to be caught up to the touch
Of a lover who wants to feel safe and secure
Willing to wait until you’re where the love making is
To be part of what is happening
Slowing down when the touching starts moving too fast
Needing a caress slow making you feel
They realize you are there
And want to be there
Part of making the love work
You want to be part of it
Participating in all the feelings of touch
Reaching all the plateaus
Together with your partner
Knowing your partner is with you
Wants to be with you
While you arrive at the high together
Coming down together slowly after
Feeling the rippling through your bodies together
Melting bodies drifting into relaxation
Followed by the wonders of secure arms
Drifting off together into the dream of sleep
Contented that a wish has found a way at last
To be realized.
The labyrinth called “Wandering Wonderland.” It is where Madison, Scottie and their cats, Patrick, Mikey and Toker love to escape to
Madison’s “woods of imagination” where she takes long walks to reflect. It starts just past the labyrinth
QUOTATIONS from: Private Writings
The beginning always starts out with a dream.
It is all a dream
In our own nightmares”
— Madison Taylor
“For that fine madness still he did retain,
Which rightly should possess a poet’s brain.”
“Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?”
Christopher Marlowe for “Hero and Leander”
“A therapeutic relationship is often more psycho-emotionally intimate than a marriage, or a romantic attachment. I know things about my patients that they would never dream of revealing to their spouses or families. Why is that? One word — trust. If you do not have a connection with a therapist, you cannot trust them. If you do not have trust, you will not expose yourself, and if you do not expose your innermost being, what good is the therapy?” — unknown but ask any great therapist
“Men have called me mad, but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence…whether much that is glorious–whether all that is profound–does not spring from disease of thought…” — Edgar Allan Poe
QUOTATIONS on LIVING:
“There is an ecstasy that marks the summit of life, and beyond which life cannot rise. And such is the paradox of living, this ecstasy comes when one is most alive, and it comes as a complete forgetfulness that one is alive. This ecstasy, this forgetfulness of living, comes to the artist, caught up and out of himself in a sheet of flame…” — Jack London
“There are two kinds of people. One kind…they congealed into their final selves…you can expect no more surprises from them…the other kind keep moving, changing… They are fluid. They keep moving forward and making new trysts with life, and the motion of it keeps them young. In my opinion, they are the only people who are still alive…” ― Gail Godwin