Vision Quest Awakened Dormant Functions Kinda
A certain amount of preconceived romantic ideals are inherently bound to any lifestyle. Think of Atlas, that iconic figure steadily holding the Earth eternally. Romantic picture, but it had to really hurt his feet after a bit.
I myself, really fancy the romanticism behind living primal, I really want to go off the grid, so to speak. I do. Living primal has so many ways not related to the blueprint and all are very appealing to me. The silence of off the grid draws me in like a moth to flame. The low to no stress and self reliance calls to me. To not hear the hums and beeps of all the things that drive my regular routines, is bliss. Others go and do it, hunt to eat, some even make the weapons. As for me, when a storm takes the power out, as it does here this time of year, I secretly wish for it to never to come back on.
In those brief sessions, without the modern day shields of news alerts and 60 watt illumination, my ship and its sensors are offline and I’m flying blind. Coasting downhill with no brakes in the dark, the only clue to keep you rooted in the modern day may be the tick of an old clock. Among that lack of control and the storm driven chaos outside, a fear silently creeps into the front of my mind as I peer into the darkness outside. This is how it was just a few centuries back, once the sun was down you only had that immediate visceral grip on your surroundings. As the blackness reaches it darkest your eyes adjust through some ancient mechanic and you get a bit more control back and that extra bit of sensory perception adds comfort. A lightning strike gives you a bit of range and as fast takes it away. In that moment as my sight adjusts I am reminded of the past and for a second how it could be for an ancient cousin to have existed. I am also reminded that my dog hasn’t missed a step and can find all his things without bumping into anything.
Once the sight is acclimated the lack of background noise becomes very apparent. Deafening silence. I’ve heard it. In it you hear a bush scrape your wall outside driving your attention in that direction. You also hear your heart beating. The most primal of clocks, thumping away, steady, proof you are real and finite. You even hear the little wind made by breathing. Another piece of magic, truly amazing, interpreting all that by sound. Actively using primal gifts, those innate functions, I choose to let them stay magical.
With that magic, I can see 2 feet in front of my face, I can hear my wife and know exactly where she is, I can hear the rustle of the dog as he goes about his routine unabated by our defenselessness. I can gauge the intensity of the rain outside and even tell by the pressure if the wind is getting higher. I truly have all I need to make it, hardwired in, out of the box.
A buzz and loud hum and a fast flicker breaks the silence and jars my mind off the path it had wandered down. The magic is not defeated, only pushed back into my sentient recesses in the same manner of light punishing shadows. It’s there, not so much lurking, as I see it, but guarding, waiting for another chance to save me. I also wait for the modern world to fail again, even if briefly, to have my senses, ancient and numbed, turned back on for sharpening.