“Words got you the wound, and will make you well again.”
– Jim Morrison
I began keeping a journal in 1987. I was eighteen years old.
That first journal was essentially a dream journal, though officially it was a journal detailing my experiments with Astral Projection.
My friend Jeff, who was living in Maine at the time, he and I were researching the Astral plane, and through the technique of projection, we were endeavoring to meet one another in that dimension.
We both practiced the same techniques and agreed on certain, specific, visual and spatial cues, and recorded our experiences.
Though I tried, we never synched up.
My efforts resulted in my having a series of extremely vivid and controlled dreams.
The journals I kept concerned those dreams.
I never read someone else’s diary or private writing.
Growing up, watching TV, I saw several shows that outlined the privacy rules for diaries. I can recall episodes of The Brady Bunch, and Little House on the Prairie, which suggested it was a violation to look into someone else’s private world.
I understood that words were powerful.
When I was a teenager, and a political activist I made speeches and rallied people for our causes.
I understood the power of persuasion. I understood how to make people feel included our how to isolate them with words, to use my words to build them, or cut them.
Words both have the power both to harm and to heal.
Words are tricky, they deceive, create illusions.
Words foster our dependencies, they are crutches.
Words are the foundation of identity.
“Words dissemble, words be quick, words resemble walking sticks. Watch them, they will grow, watch them waiver so. I’ll always be a word man, better than a bird man.” Jim Morrison Said.
He was a word man, a writer. As I intended to be.