I beamed The Musician into LEA11 and uncovered an avatar sitting at the lip of what I’ve been calling Ear Canyon, completely unofficial name mind you.
Well, it is an amazing view from this vantage point fer sure.
The Musician looks over in the direction of the visitor, just out of sight to his right.
He’s positioned in front of his own access to the same curvilinear bridge or road she sits before, the end as opposed to the beginning.
Shying away, he travels in the opposite direction, down a passageway cut from the ledge…
… to meet up with the mouth of yet another canyon. Holey camoley!
The Musician is somewhat relieved to find that the gorge merely leads around to meet up with the one exiting Ear Canyon. He has enough remaining to explore in this sim (!). He then spots the woman on the ledge again. End meets beginning.
Seeing the ledge path end at the entrance to the canyon, he decides to head downward and take in another cubic room, a black one in this case.
What he found within through remote viewing chilled him. A monster!
And barracaded inside sometime in the past. Good!
He dares to touch the dreaded, tentacled thing and recieves the following note:
“If you are fearful of some event in the future
and all reasonable efforts to calm your fear have failed,
try worrying about it as intensely,
lengthily and specifically as possible.
The exhausting experience of worry, which is a kind of preliving of events
may well diffuse your anxiety when the event actually occurs.”
Robert Grudin, Time and The Art of Living.
So the monster represents fear, perhaps temporarily intensified in order to ultimately diffuse and render harmless.
For some reason, I think of the Oogie Boogie man of Tim Burton’s “Nightmare Before Christmas,” whom protagonist Jack Skellington unraveled like a ball of string at the end of the movie to save Santa Claus and Christmas itself.
Next up for The Musician is another black box, but with more innocuous looking, rotating geodesic spheres within of various sizes, all named “nerves”. The Musician finds they have physical form, but can’t succeed in pushing one into the hole in the center of the room. Perhaps all for the best.
Directly above this is a white cube, half underwater and half above. The Musician finds a pose ball within, allowing him to float in the water, looking upward through the roof hole toward the heavens.
He views his next destination through a window: another north-south room combo tied together by suspension cables.
Walking over, The Musician glances toward the singular room containing the imprisoned monster. Hope those poles hold up!
The lower room of the two in this case contains nothing.
But the upper one has another of those rotating geodesic forms in it, more a composite this time, and larger, almost filling the entire room with its presence.
It seems to represent information itself. Or perhaps thoughts. Thoughts that rotate all the time whether we are aware of them or not. Thoughts that lead to good and bad consequences both. Just thoughts.
He clicks on it and receives a duplicate message to the one attached to the monster next door. The object itself is called “Anonymous Anxiety”.
The two underwater objects are connected.