F. P. Dorchak

Speculative Fiction Author

fpdorchak

My Ronin/Samurai Life

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Samurai 1890
Samurai 1890 (Photo credit: kamikasineo)

In 1997, I went for a future life progression. I thought I ‘d try something new, something different, considering you usually only hear about regressions—at least for myself, I had never heard of a progression—checking out for possible future lives. What happened next took me totally by surprise. One could say (as I did during the whole experience…) I was making it all up…but, it’s still a fascinating tale, and one I’ve incorporated into my supernatural murder mystery I’m considering publishing through Amazon’s CreateSpace.

Note (November 20, 2013): I have since released the above “consideration” as The Uninvited. It’s available both as an e-book and a paperback! This event has been incorporated into the novel.

Well, you decide. Below is the largely unedited (I kept it as I originally wrote it) account of my possible ronin existence (“Karen” was the hypnotherapist):

April 28, 1997

Note (5:57 p.m.):  Had my session with Karen just now (4-5:30 p.m.)–and she tricked me!  Well, it was very interesting.  She allowed me to go where I wanted, or needed, to go and I did my normal meditation thing of shapes and colors, and saw the image of a “lying down” oriental structure.  So we went with that.  Now, I didn’t always “see” anything, but more felt things.  I had visual images without the images, is the only way to describe it, though sometimes I did see images.  And I got the session on tape.  Apparently, and this is news to me, I do have a life in Oriental culture, as much as I’ve not been interested in it now (well, that may change…).  Remember that as I describe lots of this stuff, its not like I’m actually there, like I am, writing this, it was more of images and feelings.  Visual-but-nonvisual senses.  The entire time, I felt like I was making it up.  Here’s what I got:  we started off with this person, a warrior-philosopher, enjoying a sunrise.  He (me!) stood on a cliff that overlooked/had a view to Mount Fuji (?!), on a coastline.  It was a beautiful sunrise, and I felt so at one with myself and life.  Felt calm and powerful.  The age of 33 came to mind, but when she asked me what year, I was totally unconcerned (the year was a nonissue to me; I was there to do something, and that’s all), though later 1715 or so came to mind.  1700?  1735?  I had told her I don’t care what year it is, that it doesn’t matter to me.  I wore a heavy, stiff (kinda felt the stiffness) overgarment over white undergarments.  Karen asked for more details but I told her it didn’t really matter to me.  The color was something like red or brown–or a combination of the two.  On the upper portions of the garment was a gold swath of some width–a sash?–across the upper shoulders, and the entire outfit was ornate, the gold embroidered.  Wore sandals of leather–and/or wood?  Had my sword.  My hair was black, and ponytailed in some fashion–two ponytails?  Didn’t feel like it was too long, but shoulder length or so.  I’m powerful and confident, a good fighter, but don’t like the fighting.  It’s a means to an end.  I’m really a philosopher-teacher.  I became a warrior out of “necessity.”  I felt I had much to teach (but also to learn) and had I publicly came out with my views I would have been killed.  So I became a warrior and took to solitude and travel.  I was very good at being a warrior.  The name that came to mind immediately was something like:  Kioshu/Kiashu/Kiushu?  I seem to lean toward the first spelling though.  In looking up in the dictionary, I find that there’s an island in SW Japan called Kyushu, or Kiushu.  So am I picking up on a name or the island?  I feel it’s actually the name I had gotten, because when Karen asked for my name that was the immediate thing that came to my mind, I mean I didn’t even have time to doubt or think “gee, now I have to come up with a name!”.  Fucking incredible.  I consider myself journeying–that wherever I am I’m just visiting–philosophically as well as physically–journeying through life, and this is but a stop for me.  I seem to live alone, in a low, squat, meager dwelling of light-brown wood.  Behind the dwelling (where I stand) are colorful flowers and vegetation against the building.  There’s a dirt/stone? path leading back to the house.  Karen asked if I ate breakfast, and I got something about fish and vegetables–carrots?  And something like “rice wine” to drink.  As I stand with my back to the cliff, and face the house, off to my right is an incline into the lush and heavily vegetated mountains, which I find so beautiful.  There is no real path.  In the distance are high mountains with low cloud cover.  I love it here.  I take to this incline and walk, with only the clothes on me and my sword, and maybe a small pouch to my left front.  Money?  I feel it is my mission in life to help those that seek me out–but also for me to learn.  I just go off in journey and take what comes or is attracted.  I’m very knowledgeable and intelligent (Karen brought this up; she said I seem to be intelligent in this personality).  Eventually, I come to an ancient temple hidden along this path (and feel this is one of the reason I’ve come to live here; it’s extremely secluded and hidden).  The temple is tall, but narrow.  Abandoned.  I stand before it and smile.  Amused.  I think:  good effort [for children].  I understand why the temple was built.  I feel that those that had built this, as do all peoples, make the best attempts at understanding life, so, though however misguided, it is the intent toward understanding and bettering life that counts.  I do not agree with the belief systems of the time and area, and feel it is my chosen “task” to help others understand, and that my being a warrior is a “necessary compromise” to further my purposes.  I continue on.  Along this path I had images of conflict and battle, but did not engage in any.  I am a teacher, to teach whoever’ll listen and needs help–I teach whatever they come to learn–it’s different with each person.  I also learn.  Karen asked what lesson did/do I learn in Kioshu’s life, and I said there was more than one, but a sanctity of life was one.  That, as I stated, “agreements” to kill had been made so my “greater good” could come across.  I also mentioned something about liking the feel of physical objects, like my sword–not in using it to kill, but in its inherent feel, its use in practice.  There’s just a certain feel of steel and sword.  I draw a metaphor between the sword and life:  that life and the sword are double-edged.  It is the intent of the wielder that makes life–or the sword–what it is.

Karen then has me jump ahead in time to the next point of significant interest in my life.  I am now 35.  I am in the middle of battling two bandits/warriors.  I seem to be protecting peasants in the field behind me.  I have conflicting emotions (and actually felt this as I talked to Karen; felt emotion well up within me):  I feel emotional about helping the peasants, feel love for them–but also for those I will have to kill.  I am frustrated that these men are doing what they are doing–don’t they understand they need not do this?  There is no need for anger and greed!  There is a third man behind them, on a (large?) horse, with a bow and arrow–he seems to also be dressed like me.  He watches us.  I also feel anger against these warriors, and with an utter sense of confidence and cockiness, feel, fine, if you’re gonna fuck with me, then you’re gonna die, and I kill them (during this fight, there was a bright, intense “splotch” that brought me out of the trance, and I opened my eyes, but Karen had me go back under.  I found the images were still there, and continued:).  Before I killed the attackers, there was never any doubt I’d win–me dying never entered my mind.  But as I stand there, I look to the horseman, and he looks back.  I sense that he wants to fire at me–but for some reason… doesn’t.  He says nothing.  All he does is calmly turn his horse away, and walk the beast away from us without turning to look back.  I am greatly saddened.  These people–including those I have killed (for a short time, anyway)–will only see the exterior actions and not realize that I have not really killed any one.  Will not understand the philosophical ramifications.  I want to tell the peasants what has really gone on here, but am frustrated because I know they will not understand–and I am a teacher, dammit, it’s my job, my passion, to teach.  I grow weary with the killing, but still choose to continue my way because I feel I still have things to do before I “go.”  Don’t know why I choose not to fight–except that “greater good” argument.

As I wondered if I made it all up or it was real, one thing kept nagging at me:  it emotionally and intuitively feels like me.

Sept 3, 1999

Note (10:30 p.m.):  Just had a weird thing happen.  Was watching a couple-year-old rerun of Sightings, and they were talking about a Japanese lake monster called Ishii, in Lake Akida (couldn’t find this spelling, also from the TV, but found “Ikeda,” and it does talk about a lake monster…), on the island of Kyushu, which is about 1000 miles from Tokyo.  They showed this scene, from above the lake, on a cliff, and in the distance was a mountain (Fuji?)–and it looked exactly like what I’d seen in my warrior vision.  I may look into this a little more!  Reference April 28, 1997 dream entry, “Note” for 5:57 p.m.

May 23, 2001

I noticed many months ago, while doing research and talking with a martial arts instructor that he had the term “Kyoshi” before his name.  I wonder if that’s what I picked up on, in terms of a “name”….

January 18, 2006

As I wrote out an e-mail to a friend of mine about my meeting with another hypnotherapist, “Sydney,” (January 17, 2006, 11 a.m. to noon), it occurred to me that when I went in for that life progression session with Karen, and got the past life regression, instead, it might also give more fuel for me that this is my last physical incarnation, hence there was nothing in the future for me!  And yesterday I thought that perhaps all my 3D-motion issues might actually stem from my perceived WWII crash-and-burn life.  Sydney asked what I thought might have been my previous life, and I told her I’d had thoughts that I might have lived and died during WWII, as a bomber aircrew member, perhaps a tail gunner.  Additionally, I told her I’d had images of being pulled apart by horses in some “court,” which I’d been thinking might be related to this or another Japanese life death, when it also dawned on me that perhaps…it might have been a Mongolian life.  Ever since researching Genghis Khan’s life, I’ve found pictures of the area of upper Mongolia very comforting and familiar.  And that particular death does seem more in keeping with that life. Perhaps my soul really does like elements of drama, given my perceived lives and their deaths….

So…had I made this all up? Was it a past life that I’d been ignoring that had finally leaked through into my consciousness? All I can tell you is that it all seemed pretty damned real at the time.

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Shifting Gears

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Clutched? Shift!
Clutched? Shift! (Photo: RambergMediaImages.com)

Grind me a pound, will ya?

I feel…like a huge weight has been lifted from me.

Yesterday, I had a long talk with my agent about this SF-y action/adventure I’d been working on the past year, because the editor who came to me with the proposition (a first) turned it down—and (perhaps) rightly so.

Science fiction is really not my thing. I’ve written only one science fiction-y manuscript (actually a conspiracy theory with elements of science fiction…), and it’s a stand-alone, based in part on my early life, which I wrapped around aliens, government conspiracies, and gave new meaning to the term “extended family.”

NOTE: no, I have had no (zero-zilch-nada-nichts) personal extraterrestrial alien interaction at all.

That I know of.

Okay, back to this rejection thing. As much as the editor loved the ENERGY of my writing, the plot, he did not.

And I’m okay with that. I had issues with it, too.

But I tried, the past year, in doing something different, something outside “my box”…and I realized it’s simply not my thing. With an exception to follow, science fiction is not for me [to write]. I love writing about normal people experiencing weird shit. It’s that simple. Hey, it’s not like that stuff’s sold, either (though am considering other options)…but it’s what I love penning (penciling? keying?). In fact, I even try to be a little literary about it, my stories, whether or not I succeed still remains to be seen…but I try. Exception still to follow….

Not going to get into all the gory details—there really aren’t any—the whole series idea simply didn’t work, that’s all. We didn’t see eye-to-eye. That’s okay. And this whole time I worked on the project I felt…well…I felt conflicted…working on it (11 months on the thing as a whole, 8 months on the first draft). I just don’t do science fiction. And I don’t really do action/adventure, per se, though elements do surface in my material (but, at the same time—here’s the exception—I really do want to write an X-Files-like story…someday…so I might resurrect elements of this work later…). I do supernatural and paranormal. Everyday people. Mashing the two together. Somehow…I have to make that work better—correction, make that more salable. Or go indie publishing, which I’m still really considering for a couple works of mine. And, like my agent and I talked, it’s best I figured this out now, rather than forcing myself to continue plodding along at something I don’t really like doing or get stuck in some other project with less of an escape, if that be possible. It’s good to try new things every so often, even if they don’t pan out, because you always learn from everything you do. I truly believe that nothing in life is wasted, even if you can’t figure out what’s happening at the time or the why behind it….

But, he loved my energy!

I can bring a piece of paper alive, and I appreciate that from this editor-who’s-been-around. We get so few compliments on our work, so it was nice to receive this one.

My agent and I talked about other possibilities, I threw a couple ideas out—one of which I was working on directly before this project—and she liked them. Actually kinda liked the one I’d already started (120 pages in). And this one could even become a series—don’t know if I’ll go there, but I’m certainly going to put some thought toward it. But over the night and this early morning I also thought about maybe again looking into the Amazon CreateSpace route for one manuscript in particular, my supernatural whydunnit murder mystery. Stay tuned for possible developments.

But, oh, do I feel so much better! I appreciate all the help a handful of writer friends lent in creating this project, but it just didn’t feel right to me. Sometimes, I feel like I’m already in overdrive and am running out of gears…but I always have to go back to why I write in the first place (downshifting…). For the enjoyment, the imagination, the creativity. I’ve been doing this since I was six. I hope to keep doing it.

So, sure, I’ll grind a pound for ya—or ten. Want some cheese with that?

Shifting….

This Culture of Celebrity

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English: Same as :Image:Perdigon with fiddle.j...
Image:Perdigon with fiddle.jpg, but reversed. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Is this good? Is it bad?

Juan Martinez…posing with the public outside the court room in which he’s prosecuting Jodi Arias…

Covert operatives writing books…

Punks and the uncouth having hit shows…

Pushing the limits of baring as much skin as possible and body grinding each other and creating “dance porn” all under the guise of “art” and dancing with stars…

And writers having to be social media gods and goddesses (and do such all-creating deities really require gender differentiation?).

This need for publicity. This need to be famous.

Perhaps oversimplified, but I find it funny how so many seek to be famous. To be famous strips away your privacy. Turns you into a public figure, ripe to be vilified, held up to public display and scrutiny—and not usually in a good way.

I frequently think back to the “old days,” and by “old” I don’t just mean before smartphones, but back in, say, medieval times. Did both knights and peasants dream about creating hit songs and getting a “contract” with the king or queen’s courts? Did they deify court jesters and troubadours, wishing they could be like them and get troubadour groupies?

Now, arguably, one could say, “Hey, writer! What-the-hell back atya!”

Yeah, you could. But I say that, personally, I’d be great with publishing my work and not having my face anywhere on the cover. Not having to make TV appearances or tweet my zit-poppin’ and ass-wipin’ (though, okay, I love a one-liner or two, so Twitter is kinda cool like that…).

Writing blog posts?

That’s writing. Communicating. It’s an extension of the art form—for me. I know others out there post for their own reasons, but for me, I do it for the love of writing, it’s immediate, and I don’t have to wait for anyone to approve or disapprove it, buy it, or edit the heck out of it. I love writing. Period.

Advancements in life can be a good thing, I’m far from prudish, but have to admit I can remember being unleashed from any form of contact and being alone up in the woods, behind my house. Clearing brush, climbing trees, or just walking through the acres and acres of unspoiled forest and listening to nature. Can remember the concept of not having any of this hyper-connection. Granted, it’s a small world, there’s lots of good that comes with advancements, but what also comes along with it all is increased stress, little rest, and, yes, a kind of “fame among friends,” kinda thing (“Oh, I’m important enough to be getting a text! Must answer now….”).

Is it a good thing—a bad thing? A necessary evil of our time?

And why do so many long for it? To be famous? Why the hell—and do you really understand the long-term ramifications? Are you so disaffected with your life you feel the only way out is to have everyone in the world poke their noses into yours? Is there some other reason? Sure, some are born to entertain, no problem there, and I’m not talking about righting wrongs, setting records straight, I’m talking about just wanting pure, unadulterated fame…in and of itself, doesn’t matter in what or why. What is this all-pervading need I’m seeing?

That’s all I got. Thanks for stopping by.