And now for something completely different! I am going to publish my novel Light chapter by chapter here on 22c+. I'll also put up a book icon on the home page, and that will include links to all the chapters, as they go up. There should be one or two chapters a week.
Light is a semi-autobiographical allegory. Many of the things written in Light actually happened. But some didn't. Some “events” in the novel occurred in my life within psychic space, not real space-time. If you want to work out which parts are true and which parts are fictional, use this rule of thumb: If the event is considered paranormal, it probably happened. ;-)
You’ll find many of the themes in Light mirroring those in my other more “‘serious” writings: exploring the frontiers of mind and intelligence, psychic and spiritual experience, the nature of society and education etc.
Light is the story of Greg Marks, who has several profound experiences which completely alter his sense of who he is and what he is capable of doing. He discovers that beyond the door of the physical world lies a powerful intelligence; a great light. As his “abilities” develop, he comes to realise that there are those who would prefer he remain quiet…
Please enjoy, and feel free to leave feedback, including critical feedback!
Chapter 1: Ruminations
There was a time when I wasn’t that bright. Seriously. Not like today. It wasn’t just that I didn’t know what I know now. I couldn’t do the things I can do now. Couldn’t know what I know now. In fact I couldn’t even imagine most of it. If someone had come up to me and told me that they could do what I can do now, I would have called the nurses on them.
The changes came slowly. Then when I started to understand what was happening, I worked out how to tweak it. That’s when the trouble began. People don’t like it when you show them up. And they get shit scared when they know you can see right through them, see that they are fake. That their world is fake. Then, when your very existence threatens the system, they want to eliminate the threat. That’s how I ended up dead a few times.
How can I begin? It’s when he sits down and actually starts tapping on the keyboard that a writer realises he has a decision to make. The choice is about depth. How deep should he go in revealing himself?
Yeah, that’s a bit sexist. A writer can be female. I know that. So if you are a woman, go ahead and sue me. I am a dead man anyway.
Let’s face it, we all wear masks. All of us. How much do we really let others know about our inner lives? How many secrets do we hide? Even from ourselves?
How much about someone do you really want to know? How deep do you want to go? If you stuck a camera in someone’s eye that could record everything he said and did, how interested would you be in seeing what the camera reveals? What if that little device could also record the thoughts of that guy? Would that turn you on?
Or would you turn it off?
Now, what if we take that idea right down, deeper than you have gone within your own mind. Imagine that you are able to peer right into the guy’s soul, into the dark country within him that even he has never dared venture?
There’s more. Maybe that tiny little hidden camera can record not only the sights, words, sounds, conscious thoughts and subconscious machinations of our unsuspecting friend’s mind, but then also reveal the very hearts and souls of all those other people around him.
I am the man who discovered the camera. I just didn't realise that it would cut right into the heart of the universe itself, and flay wide and broad the secrets of the cosmos. All those secrets.
I had to learn how to turn it off. If only I could forget.
Think about it. If all were revealed, would you stay, or would you take flight?
Before you call me mad, I have a story to tell.
OK, so there is no camera. What I learned doesn't require a machine.
I tell this story now because my own time here is limited, and what I discovered is something that should be told.
Must be told.
I said I’m going deep. I’m going to tell you everything. Well, almost everything.
Maybe there is no right time for something like this, and in revealing almost all I will likely be putting an end to my own existence in this world. I have already paid dearly, and all that I once knew and loved has been taken from me. But I was a different person then.
I got into a bad habit of dying too often. That was the problem.