Inner Legacy Read Free Page B

inwards.
    I examined the first proposition which was easier but more painful to believe than the second. I thought back to the last six months of my Grandfather's life. I went over every memory. Was there any sign of unusual behaviour? No matter how I looked at it I could recall none apart from the  writings of these notebooks, but perhaps that was sufficient indication?
    The second proposition seems preposterous to consider the notebooks as being true in any real sense of the word. Truth of course is a difficult concept to pin down. Even Pilate asked What is Truth? A reasonable enough question I had always thought. Perhaps truth was in fact the wrong word. Perhaps I was looking for reality rather that truth. But then what is reality, and can it ever be more than subjective in any meaningful sense?
    I pondered.
    I am no great thinker of course and as you read this you can fire holes through it all I am sure  my only concern is to share with you what was going on in my mind before I ask you to judge for yourself the contents of the notebooks.
    If they were a form of  truth or reality, subjective or not would they make better sense or would that raise more questions than answers again.
    I wandered home deep in thought and little wiser for my musings. While I made coffee I had time to reflect again. Should I start typing up my translation of the notebooks or not? Would it be better to read them all again and this time accept them as being true at a face value level, true that is or a description of some kind of reality beyond my knowledge.
     
    I took my coffee through to the study and sat in my armchair and pondered long into the evening.
     

The Diary Begins : Blackness
    I don't know if you have ever experienced the absence of light but it is a strange thing darkness that is total, darkness that will not go away, darkness your eyes cannot adjust to no matter how long you wait. It is like a presence, a towering all powerful  suffocating presence. As you panic it pushes into you seeming to close your lungs.
    Darkness can be total.
    And yet even when it is so and the panic subsides and your breathing returns to normal there are other senses that have not departed. It is possible to sense space to know whether you  are confined or in a larger area. There is the smell and taste of air and the odours that reach your nose. There are your ears and above all else perhaps you sense of touch and self being.
    In some ways the absence of light and the totality of darkness places you almost in another world. I cannot say if it is like blindness or not.
    I open my eyes to this darkness. I don't panic as I thought I might. I try to take stock of what I can make out.
    Largeness, dampness, foetid silence, total silence apart from breathing and noises I make. A shattering sense of unworthiness but that's on the inside, or is it? I mention it because I am uncertain, confused. I feel height and breadth. This is large. Is it a cave? That would explain the smells and the dampness, or is it simply underground?
    Awareness dawns slowly that although I am here yet I am not here and have no motivation. I am just a being - a being in stillness. Something must be expected and yet I can sense nothing inside our out that would suggest a movement forward physically or mentally.
    My fingers touch the familiar bedclothes, my head rests on the pillow. I am aware of that. I am in bed but not anywhere else I know. I close my eyes and open them again. Still darkness. And yet the darkness is more than a lack of light it is a tangible presence in my mind. It is a self defined state not defined by an absence of light. It is itself. Even although I feel myself to be enclosed within a large place there is no sense that light exists or has ever existed or ever will exist again. Everything I thought has been vacuumed out of my mind and reality no longer exists as I understood it.
    My ears ring with silence, faint hums and bells are all I imagine. I speak out loud to