It is, I suppose, a mark of the oddness of my make-up that there are times when I’m so deep in my head and myself that it feels that the thread that connects me to the ostensible reality of the outer world is stretched so much that it nearly disappears.
In these times I will be walking around (most especially with my dog on my mountain) feeling more like an observer of the world than a participant in it.
Indeed sometimes when I’m walking, I’ll feel so detached that I’m not sure I’m still here really and wonder if I’ve passed into a spirit realm. When I think about how I am still here, I will think that maybe I’m not supposed to be in the world now. I imagine myself running quite by accident into a psychopomp who’s busily going about their duties and then stops dead (pun intended) out of shock, looks at their paperwork, looks back at me, again checks their papers and then says in a tone of bureaucratic incredulity and frustration “Wait?! What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here”! The scene continues with this imagined fetcher of the dead explaining that the paperwork shows I was slated for pick-up some years ago and, indeed, that I was gotten and routed to where I was supposed to go successfully. As they continue, talking mainly to themselves about how this is just terrible and how it screws up the integrity of the time stream, I realize that this explains that feeling of detachment at last because I am here but not really here.
Perhaps this is what happens when you spend time on your own with your dog on a foggy misty mountain in the winter. Especially when you’ve had Dante on the mind a lot lately (including it being the picture on your blog!).