More Memories

As far back as I can remember, I had the sensation that I was living life on the outside looking in. It were as if I was watching my own life's experiences above from which where they were happening--at the same time. Dare I say it: It was like I having had a seat next to my 'Higher Power', realizing the: privilege, awesomeness, and peace at the same time. I could say 'the sensation' has changed over the years; however, I more want to convey that it has matured. Maybe it all comes down to finding a safe place away from the sorrows and pain--then and now.
Even then, I felt guided and more protected than others; however, that awareness didn't seem to quell all the fears. The best times were in exploration. Venturing out into the woods, the neighbors yards, and the closest paved and/or unpaved street--stretching the boundries on each adventure. (Sometimes with my brother, most times on my own) One time my brother and I ventured down to the main road, some three-hundred yards around the circle driveway, and desided to play chicken with the oncoming cars. We raced back and forth as many times as we could, before the car would hit us. I lost! Going the extra lap (I thought) would make me the hero not just the winner, and besides, I felt as though I was protected beyond everyones else's mortal boundries and limitations. A car came to a screeching halt, stopping in time to just hit and cut my knee. Of course, I ran to the house screaming bloody murder--blaming the driver. In speaking with my mother, the poor guy was a bundle of humbled-nerves. I too was knocked down a peg, and realized at a very young age that such recklessness and arrogant behavior was not going to tolerated--even from the 'Watchers".
I never felt much like a child--except at Christmas. Life was serious and scary, but at the same time it was a mystery I longed to solve. At 4 years old and the oldest of 4 (15 years later to be 5), I felt such an overwhelming responsibility to watch over my siblings--even beyond that of making-up for our lacking parents. What made it more difficult was that they did not always want my help. My 2 sisters were in diapers, and one morning I remember my mother screaming at my father. I was standing at the bottom of the stairs (one with a long banister that we loved to slide down at the speed of sound), and I listened to them argue while they were in my sisters' room. My mother screamed at my father, " The babies' diapers are frozen!" Immediately I became freightened and concerned for my neglected siblings. Not long afterwards feeling anger and distain for both my parents--mostly my dad. He admitted closing their door in the middle of the night, because they were crying too much. It was the middle of winter,in 1959, and heat was purposly scarce. All I could imagine was that the 2 girls were nothing more than frozen dolls. I was never so glad to hear them cry; however, the joy and relief were short-lived.

Links to a Variety of My Creative Expressions

Poetry-
http://www.poetry.com/Publications/search.asp?First=James&Last=McQuilkin
Short Stories-
http://www.mysticaluniverse.com/unexplained/un2/un3/un3.html#Star12
http://www.mysticaluniverse.com/unexplained/un2/un3/un4/un4.html#nde2
Photography and Graphics
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2019452&id=1469361988&saved#/album.php?aid=2019452&id=1469361988
http://www.jpgmag.com/people/JamesHarmon
Music-

Dreams

I don't know how others can differenciate and justify to themselves what seperates their dreams from other memories or experiences. For me at least, the line between all these types of concepts becomes more blurred because of how I perceive (or'd think I'd perceive)how others might see or react to what I would have/have had to convey as such. When I was 5 our family moved to a town in NJ called Denville. By then, there were 6 of us (15 years later 7). (Two boys and two girls--I being the oldest.) No sooner that we moved-in, I had had my first official nightmare. I dreamt I was being chased by a skeleton through this new dwelling (actually an apartment above a car-parts store called J-Rods). I remember running through all the rooms to only end up finally finding a hiding-spot under a radiator in the bathroom. The skeleton was reaching under to snatch me, and I remember seeing that scary, cartoon-like face--bearing an evil, sharp-toothed grin. Of course, I woke-up screaming, and my Mom came in to comfort me. I scared the "you-know-what' out of my little brother, too. My father came in soon afterwards. He had a more 'hard-ass' approach to matters, and when I got done sobbingly-explaining my nightmare my father had had the great idea that I should 'face my fear' and go the bathroom--to get a dose of reality. In a way I had little choice, being I had had to take a 'wicked pee' and possibly puke. We all went to the bathroom (my brother, the curious-troublemaker, followed) and all bend down at once to give a look. (Nothing but balls of dust) I reluctantly used the john, which (just my luck) was next to the bowl. I tried not to dangle my feet in front of the radiator, for fear of being pulled-into the opening of hell. It made sense to me, because it: had had no cover, rocked and jumped when the steam screamed out, and was burning-hot to the touch. (We already knew this because, during the winter, we would stick our rear ends close to it to get warmed-up only to inevitably get too close (or would be pushed against it while we all were scrambling for the closest position) and bet burned. The combination of the memory of the nightmare and the events afterwards with my family solidified in my mind then (and now) that I indeed had had a dream. It's as vivid in my 55-year-old head as it was 50 years ago. However, there were other dreams before that that I wasn't then (and even now) sure about as far as the same certainty of my first nightmare. Repressed, those memories didn't surface until later, and the synchronicity of my life started to reveal itself.

Poetry Month's Every Day

Held in captivity,

and rightfully so.

The demon I gave power-

was alcohol.

I surrendered the key,

remained in my cell.

Haven nor Heaven,

just a place under hell.

More Memories

MacNaughtens was a huge 2-family house that was somewhat similar to a plantation-like dwelling--complete with a full-sized, screened-in porch in the front. The property in front of the house (going all the way down to the street) was a huge circle of grass--with a driveway all around it. We had 2 neighbors--one on the left side and one in the back. That was it. Everything else was woods, and unless one walked back a ways one would never had have discovered the golf course on the left and a factory on the right. My brother and I were free to roam, and for a 2 and 3 year old, we covered a lot of ground. (We 'were' a hand-full, and my mother had a baby in the house and another on the way). My brother was the adventurous one, and the first time he went into the back woods he went on his own. I was frightened for the both of us--him for going and me for not going along to protect my little brother. Three hours later he emerged from the woods, and I was glad for 3 things: He came back, I wouldn't get a beating, and that there was an outhouse next to our house--where that would be where I passed the time in private. When I asked him why he was gone for so long, he said he saw a golf course, a factory, and a big owl. (I saw that owl close-by days before, and it's eye's seemed to look right through me) At a later time I mustered the courage to go by myself, and the trip took about 30 minutes to complete; however, I didn't explore too much either. It was all too scary, and the last thing I wanted to see was that owl.

Memories

All of our 'dwellings' had nicknames--besides being identifiable by street and town. The first one was called 'Lumbordinos', and it was an aptartment within someone elses house--verified through photos and relatives' confirmations. The second house was called 'MacNaughtens' (located in Florham Park, NJ), and this is where I begin to have memories--starting somewhere between the ages of 2 and 3. I've always had a photographic memory, and have proved so on many occasions with parents, siblings, and other relatives. The standard reply is (and has almost always been),"You remember that?" I learned over time that not everyone wants to remember all things. (Your truth, my truth, and the truth--sort of thing) However, couple this with: technecolor-dreams, vivid imagination, early television, and lack of support from denying relatives...the air-of-uncertancy and doubt soon clouded and blurred the lines between my certaincy of that which distingquished reality from fantacy.

Questioning: Memories, Dreams, and Reality

I didn't think much about existential matters as a young child. My belief is that few children do. My first experiences, that I have had remembered, involve being between 2-3 years-old. The old saying is: There's your truth, there's my truth, and then there's 'the' truth. Is truth reality, or visa versa? It wasn't till I stated watching Twilight Zone and The Outer Limits that I began to peek out of my little world--Jimmy's World. (I'm still there, but my universe has 'slightly' expanded since; a world which I wasn't even really fully aware that I had created.) It has seemed, over the last 25 years (or more), that the more questions I've asked the less I had seemed to know. Life became even more confusing and even scarier.

Signs

Driving has become a full-time job--stress and all. Yes, the joy is in the journey; however, somehow at one point, I desided that the act of driving alone was not enough. I loved to blast Black Sabbath and drink-and-drive. Of course that led to eat and drive. When girls came into the picture...well, I juggled it all--and then some (Even on the motorcycle). More recently, the cell phone hasn't helped matters either. I remember years ago, driving to college, making a left turn at a light--on a busy 2-lane highway. I didn't see the cop ahead on the other side, but of course he saw me. When he stopped me, only yards from the turn, he went through the 'normal 'routine. Next, he asked me why I didn't see all the signs at the light that stated emphatically NOT to make a left. I said I didn't see them. His exact reply I don't recall, because of the paralizing fear, but the implication was that that was obvious to him, and that I couldn't be that stupid enough to purposely disregard the law in front of an officer. Then he made me walk back to the intersection, and count how many signs there were related to NOT making a left-turn. (I can still hear the laughter and car horns from the world around me.) When finished counting, I discovered that there were a total of 15 varities of the same message-of which none I saw. I went back to the cop, and told him how many I counted. He said if he could write me a ticket for being stupid he would. I received a warning with my 'crap-sandwhich'(of which I had an extra helping in my pants), and crawled to school in every right-lane I could find. How could I not see all those signs? It turns out, over the last 25 years I have had to come to realize that those weren't the only signs I had missed. Upon review, in more sober times, I've been able to recall many more that I missed, and more importantly have become more open and aware of signs that before I would have missed as well. Like it or not, it was time to connect-the-dots. JamesHarmon

Jimmy's World: A New Beginning

Jimmy's Worhttp://www.mysticaluniverse.com/unexplained/un2/un3/un4/un4.html#nde2ld: A New Beginning

A New Beginning

Change is never easy. I spent much of my life avoiding and/or hiding from IT! Sometimes I don't see it coming. Other times, I-get-the-ball-rolling myself. Most of the time I have reacted in the extremes--like fight or flight. Highs and lows are familiar stops off the 'Crazy Train' that I call my life's journey. I've always been afraid of the gray-matter--all the stops along the way between the extremes. (FEAR! F _ _ _ Everything and Run.) If I bother to stay it's anger that becomes my protector and 'drug-of-choice', from which I often O.D'd. The beginning of addressing such core defects within my character began 25 years ago. Although it was an abrupt start, the process since has been slow, tedious, and painful. This was not really the beginning, but one of 'those stops' along the way. I got off the train; however, it was still moving. As for the 'real beginning'...I'm not sure where it is exactly. More importantly, the healing process had begun and a new beginning was underway.