You know Sherlock? As if in the BBC, that handsome devil Benesnick Cumberbotch? Well if you know Sherlock, you know about his mind palace. The place where he stores all his memories, his knowing, his genius; which he frequently flaunts.
(I’m sorry but princess Sherlock was too good not to share)
I too have a mind palace. Mine is very…wooden. Like a giant library with tumbling books, renegade papers, creaking floorboards and corridor upon corridor of wood panel walls. It’s a mess to be perfectly honest.
My mind palace, or should I say, mind library, also has a lot of doors. Some of them lead to rabbit holes, various rooms, reenactments of my life and others lead to nothing but a wall; rendering them totally pointless.
But there is one particular door that stands out. It’s a foreboding door. That door no one wants to open because the sounds coming from within spook them.
My door is red and wooden and very heavy. From behind it there is raging fire, blood and a lot of questionable noises. I never elected to open it because, quite frankly, I didn’t fancy the extra hassle.
Well it turns out the occupants behind the red door, have been unleashed. I know when but that’s a story for another day.
Now the door is swinging on its hinges as and when it damn well pleases and stuff slips out. I can’t close it now. It appears to be a cursed door. Once opened it cannot be closed until empty.
It is very black behind there. Distorted faces snarl and hiss, fangs gnashing, red eyes prying; all very demon like. Demons, zombies, I use the two interchangeably.
(Remember this guy from the nightmare before christmas?)
Today, in therapy, I stood in front of my door. I dealt with one of the escapees and you know what, it wasn’t that bad. I survived and I came to realise something very profound about the demonic forces behind the door.
They’re not really demons at all. They are fragments of me; some of them shards of others. They are neither friends nor foes. Much like myself they are the neglected and silenced children nobody wanted. Essentially, when they came into creation for what ever reason, I shut them in this room and never nurtured them again. They were starved, denied light, piled into that place without any love. They are the Genies and we all know what came of her.
On reflection, I feel quite bad. I mean, consider this, if something is denied love and light, how can if grow and fly away? If it’s never allowed to have its voice, how will it learn to speak? It won’t; it will grunt and snarl and make primitive of itself.
Give a caveman a match and he will make a fire. Give him a knife and he will draw blood. No wonder there’s all fire, blood and rage behind the big red door.
Like I said some have escaped their bonds. Now they just run up and down the corridor, the grooves of my brain, screaming like mad men trying to find the exit. They have no authority or know how and being the keeper of this mind library, it is my job to bring order to the chaos. A job I am FINALLY ready to clock in on.
Today I brought order and direction to two of them. I have heard their truth, acknowledged and filed the complaints and shown them the exit from their hell. There’s still a bloody long queue so this won’t be a nice nine til five but I jailed them and being the only staff member working at the mind library/hell it’s my job to sign their release forms. I do so with love and forgiveness.
Crowley’s new improved hell; Supernatural, season 6, episode 20!