Nevertheless, somewhere deep down inside myself, the motion had been made that I should quit the job summarily to take up a wholly different path of creativity. But I was too shaken, perhaps scared, to consider such a fundamental change of direction.
The telepathic question continued to insinuate itself over a period of days, but I eventually found I could dismiss its atonal, persistent drone as an annoyance. If the voice had changed tone or tack, if it had recommended a specific alternative as to what I should be doing, perhaps I would have listened and found the courage to take the advice. But, with no such guidance offered, I simply carried on as I had before.
Part of me was able to function well enough to continue staging and drawing Red Nails and Cimmeria, but a significant other portion was still reeling in confusion and denial of my fantastic experiences with precognition and the Endless Waves of Time. My sense of reality may have been undermined, but still, I refused to admit to anything that I couldn’t see and hear, and touch with my hands. I was wrestling with the inner conflict between “knowing what I know” and a vexing need to deny everything totally.
In retrospect, I understand that this was the first of many equivocations leading me away from what might have been my real — or at least a different — self. This was the ground breaking, that, over time, created the divide between my outward persona and my inner state.
I was determined to maintain the normalcy of my life. Young, healthy, and talented. I was gloriously in love, and my future shone brightly before me. I did not want any part of my life to change unless it were for the better, which, at the time, I imagined was inevitable. I refused to accept that I, of all people, should be confronted by some unworldly, mystical bullshit that might screw things up. I wanted whatever it was to go away and leave me the hell alone.
This egocentric willfulness was the very temperament that made me incapable of completing the course (if completable it was) of the Endless Waves. This, and primal fear of anything unknown that could threaten what I believed to be my reality.
But the deed was done. There was no turning back. After a quarter of a century of nothing less than spiritual agony, I concede that my resistance was always futile.