And they stare…
With blank expressions, they stare at me, as if watching a vegetable, of the strangest sort, that they have never seen before. I have counted the days since my incarceration in between these four grey walls, and everyday I have watched the patients and the doctors, parading around this institution, going about their lives with little or no awareness of the pictures in the wall.
I am the wall, and I sit here immobile, as the scientists of the body and their disciples poke and probe me incessantly throughout their tireless afternoons and into the night, trying to decipher the code and unlock the door that shuts me inside this now frail frame of a body. If I had a voice, I would ask them to leave me be, for they are only keeping me here, close by with their noise and attention, like a beacon shining throughout the night; a calling from the world of matter. Why do they insist, and keep trying to fish me out from the silent seas within?
Since the day of the accident that has rendered my body useless, I have yearned only for one thing: to fly in the deep sleep, and so become a new seed, and if it were not for the spirits that speak when all else is quiet, I could not have remained composed throughout this limbo of an institution. Since my lessening, I have worked without rest, digging away into my inner world to escape this reduced condition of mine, and it was deep within that I again found them, after years of growing up with my back turned to them. Since the eve of my misfortune, the spirits that exist inside have kept me company, and guided me. Now I consider their voices my own, for in me we cohabit.
I am pleased, the parade of doctors and students now focuses their attention on another patient, and the piercing murmur goes with them. I can now unwind, and retreat to my corner, to resume my digging within. They have been two long years of work and toil, and tonight, as I finally prepare to fall quietly to sleep, now my most sacred refuge, the words pour into my mind; and with them, the visions.
I hear the winds in the black, the rustling of feathers flying, and the hissing of fire, dim in the distance. The cool air feels soft against my forehead, a caress that is making the images in my mind grow clearer.
Ahead I see what are both a road and a tunnel; and below I see the footsteps that lie before me, meandering along into the horizon, leading me straight into the unknown. My heart says that up there in the far depths, lies the seed of all that will is, and will be, but I am afraid to leave behind the safe cave, and the pictures in the wall, for they are what I know, and have tasted.
Yet I stand into the waking dream, knowing that if ever I return, I will come transformed. I must only give myself to the river that floats away…
—————
With a blink, I am now hovering in the air; just a small cloud; a presence floating over one of the few safe havens of this torrid earth. Dryness, as far as I can see, is leading into all directions, and there, is the land of gales of dust and sandstorms that blow over everything. But I remain anchored here over the waterhole; the place from which all the dreaming of creation has arisen, in the time without memory.
Below, far in the dry expanse a rugged man walks towards this oasis. From above I can see his silhouette dancing in the rising desert heat. From afar, he has a broken walk. He staggers, and so I know that his path has been long and hard. What is he doing in this strange and desolate land? I sense that he is coming home, and that we are somehow connected. I do not know what or who he is to me, but I do know he is a symbol of something important, so I descend into the waters, and as he approaches, I notice that I am before a double.
His last few steps are a desperate stumble, as he throws himself, onto the shore, and plunges his head into the water. Obviously crazed by the dire walk, he drinks frantically, only stopping to mutter loose words between breaths, before sinking his head right back into the water. From beneath the water, I can see his face, his hair and beard matted, and his delusional eyes. He recognizes me below these waters, and I him. We are the same, but we have been apart. We remain, eyes fixed for some time, until it comes back; the realization of who we really are to each other.
Lifting his head out of the pool, he utters these words: “Murky waters in this well, much bigger and deeper than my own past solitude. In this, my heart, has deprived me of my freedom, and in its eyes, I can see the desire. I want the same as you, and I am angry that we have not seen each other, or even recognized our severed relationship before. For we are forever tied, for we are one, and the same; two halves of a whole.
In my quest, I have lost you, or you have left me, and I was none the wiser. I did not see or even feel how everything changed for me, or when I began to live only through the field in my mind, living through the desires I there projected and enacted. Yet what if we had not both walked and been apart, both crazed and still saintly without each other; the brothers, now together at last in the quest, we will search for something more.”
He then lay back on the bank, his arms resting under his head. He was smiling; I was smiling at the blue sky. The wind has quieted, and I could hear his breath; my breath slowing as we slipped into a daze. It felt good to have a body again, hold the sand between my fingers, and feel the heat on my skin. And behind our closed eyes, the sun still shone orange, the colored lights floating along the blackness. Finally, we had come together, and now we could fly as one in the great expanse of freedom and choice.
——–
The winds that carry the soul have brought me to this capsule and in this engulfing blackness, that is deep space, I am only one, floating. I travel alone within a vessel that has been set to take me where I need to go, and assure my survival and well-being in doing so. At this very moment, I have just woken from a deep cryogenic hibernation, only to come to in this strange body. My mind is still numb from the long sleep, and I feel different than before I lay down. Through the window in my sleeping pod, I look out into the deep space, and in the beauty, I have a thought, new and strange to this body: that all things manifested live blessed with an inhabiting soul that gives reason to the movement of life with the yearning to grow.
Who I really am now, and where I will choose to go to I do not know, but who I was is still fresh in my memory. I was a prominent psych-scientist back on mother earth, sent on a research mission to our fifth-earth colony, where I am to study the developments on the neural fields, and their effects on the colonist’s workload capacity. The head government has entrusted me with the responsibility to bring about a new mental change to the working drones. Anything that will convince or force them to increase pace and fulfill the maximum work potential they were designed for. Yet they are still half-human machines, and they too feel emotions, and are overcome by moods; and like all else that is organic, they cannot be perfectly programmed into action or submission. This I now see is a beautiful thing.
I have spent my whole career working, and waiting for a chance like this; to prove my worth with a task that is beyond most, and now I find myself questioning why did I do this? What was the true value in this choice of life? Why did I follow the most obvious road, wallowing along the path beaten by countless others before me, who also strived for personal glory and the admiration of their peers?
As I further awaken, now in this distant expanse, I am again born, but this time I am born full-grown, and what was then, now no longer makes sense to me. Back home on earth, a million miles away, lay all the points to my perspectives, which are now only the seeds of my salvation, for in their death they have permitted this new beginning. No longer do I abide to selfish goals and the ways of my kind, chosen by those before me to save us from the ignorance we see in the way of the beasts, and in the laws of the elements. Yet even without their ruling, we have shown no improvement on the faults that we see around us. We considered the un-mechanized rhythm of nature to be imperfect and full of flaws, lacking the steady churn of the machines to which we have grown to depend on, but it is in the very elasticity of nature’s ebb and flow that we see the eye of the Great Artist; the very expression of God.
Slowly we have been destroying that from which we have arisen, and for the future, we have looked at the stars. Now here I am, in their midst and I realize that the answer to all of my innermost questions has always lain in that which was most immediate, coded into the environment as a natural response. The planets live, as do all things born to them and they all possess spirit, which responds to our impulses, in what I can only call our dance of life.
In my past ignorance, I had always failed to see that those who were so readily cast to the wayside, the willing and unwillingly different; the beacons, had always been out there. With every generation, you could find them hidden among the masses, edging the rest us on to make the difference and express our true individuality with their life’s work.
This is my path, it has taken this distance to realize what I needed to know, and it is with great relief that I now express it. Now that I am aware of this, I feel that I am once again, filled with soul, and I no longer feel the same emptiness that I once did. My path has turned, and the world is anew.
The computer signals that I must eat and do my exercise before I once again return to my sleep. There is still a long way to go, and when I arrive at Earth Colony Five, I will do more than study why the human-machines do not follow their working directives to the fullest, but will focus mainly on helping them develop and achieve a state of self-awareness and expression. Even if this does go against my orders, and jeopardizes the security in my job, it is for a greater good, and I choose it willingly.
I am done with the eating and the exercise, and I am ready to go back to sleep. I hope only that all this was not just a dream, and that this change will never disappear, for at least I know now which side I am on, and have a reason of real worth to keep fighting for. Although life is ultimately love, it is only through tension that there is that release, and change is that movement through which things grow, or die. I feel that sometimes we have to fight the good fight to keep growing, and changing for the better.
I am falling asleep, and the world becomes blacker…
———————–
The war has never ended; and left unclear are only the reasons to why it had begun in the first place, and what were the real agendas and motivations behind the puppeteer’s orchestration of such an outrageous attack against that which we all hold so holy, the freedom to self determination; the freedom of choice.
The economic lop-sided balance of power, and fueling of interests, weakens these. In favor of the grand economic purpose, is the deafening of the masses, and the souls that do not grow, because the soil in which the struggle to live is sterile, and the water that feeds, is poisoned.
The big machine is taking over. It has convinced the populace that life is work and cheap entertainment, which is a prison that should satisfy them. Taught to need the unnecessary, and to fear, people are ashamed of the deep…
However, within lies the giant, and the giant is always hungry to express. Not even all the superficial artifices in the world, can bury its urge to voice. It will only be quiet for so long, and then it must finally burst through.
The true revolution is internal. One by one, we will all return to the source, and leave the weakness behind. In the end, the crooked road leads only to self-destruction.
This is the twilight night, the dawn of the battle of one-hundred days, and beginning of the brave stance of the masses in the land of Boku. Shadowed by the Great Mountain that divides the kingdoms of Wu and Oden, on a wide field of green the two factions are gathered, one on each side of the stream, camped on the fields that would later become soaked in the blood of men. The Emperors of Wu and Oden sit on their horses mid-stream, engaged in a fierce battle of wits and dialogue.
For half a day, they have been debating on the predicament that has led them both here for such a parade of force. The emperor of Oden listens to the emperor of Wu’s last argument before they retire to their respective camps and plan the course of the ensuing battle.
“I, the leader of the people of Wu say this: The expanse of your kingdom, and engulfment of your neighboring kingdoms, be it by influence or force, has proved to be a risk to our peaceful region, and deemed reproachable and punishable by force. We differ in ideology and ways of life, which are now locked head to head in a tug of war for the destiny of this great island. Your covert maneuvers, to weaken us by forcing a crash decrease of prices on the goods that we export have forced us to make a stance. Granted, it is because of our obvious record of profits and growth in the past decade that you feel threatened by us, coupled with your insatiable greed to control the fate of all living, that you have pushed us to this predicament. We can only run from you, or rebel against you, and the way of life, you aim to instill in us.
I know your true face, the face of a monster that hides behind the guise of a lamb, a guise that has deceived many of our neighboring kingdoms. They consider you the representative of a new and inevitable order, yet out of respect for the kingdom of Wu, they do not join your colors in the battlefield. And you do not need them, for your forces outnumber ours by far.
It is funny how the myths come to life, and the old tales still ring true. Once again, death descends sheathed in the robes of war, and violence. Hate and fear again come to reap our land. But I have reached up and grabbed the veil. I hail to those who guard me well, and God as well. I see you only as the representative of hell returning to the earth of men and women.
Run, or rebel I will say to those under my care. No longer can I supervise your decisions, for I am now only a warrior that will fight to the last of my strengths in the winds of war. This war will last long beyond this day of reckoning, and it will also be fought without weapons, for it is a battle for the mind of the people that we are embarking on, the gateway to the heart and soul, possession of which is one-thousand times worthier than that of the body.
We will never surrender, and will fight, even after your kingdom has overpowered ours in battle.”
The emperor of Wu and the emperor of Oden then turned their backs to each other and rode their horses away from the stream. Fate was sealed. The next day would bring with it many deaths, and most present would not live to see what the future would hold for the places they had come from, and the people they had known.
Once dismounted the emperor of Wu addressed his warriors, and gave them a choice:
“Warriors of Wu, you may choose now if you are to stay here and fight tomorrow, or leave to be with your loved ones, but know this, the war does not end here, and even if you decide to leave you can still resist. Life will overcome strife. It always does, and you need only grab hold and believe. You have the right to choose, and the right to be free; that most divine of states the Maker has bestowed on us. Whatever happens here tomorrow, be true to yourselves, and listen to what the heart speaks, for without it you are lost. Remember that how you choose to live your life shows just as well how you do not.
If you cannot refuse the new order, do not blame yourselves, for regret is a parasite that will feed on you until you are nothing more that a walking corpse. But when you decide to live beside the lines they have written for you, and carve your own way of life in them, you will have a chance to destroy the beast from within, teaching by example. Remember, choice is freedom, and they will never give up until we have all rescinded that freedom, because only when we do, they can keep us feeding the machine that depletes the soul. Not only our own soul, but the souls of all animate and inanimate beings, and the soul of the planet. Run or rebel, but hold strong, and one day they will be gone, and we will all again listen to the Great Spirit.”
The warriors then returned to their stations, some filled with hope, some filled with awe, and some filled with doubt, for they have been given a choice. To them it would have been easier to be ordered either to go or to stay.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the stream, the emperor of Oden was consulting the shaman in his tent. The emperor sat on the pelt of a bear, in front of a small fire, facing down, for even he was terrified of the stare of the spirits that talked through the shaman.
The shaman played a constant cyclical rhythm on his deerskin drum with a beater, the shadows of which, cast by the fire danced on the roof of the tent, and resembling a multitude of wild animals in their different dances of life. Even they seemed to give off power, and even they he avoided to look at for too long. The shaman was cleansing, and after a while in which the only sounds to be heard were the drum and the wind outside, the shaman began to sing a calling song, repeating the same sentences over and over again “Through, these words not coming from me, they’re coming from you. Open my mouth, clean, so you can throw through. Please watch out for those in between who may still know you, when you come crashing through.”
He then stopped suddenly and stood there, eyes closed, half bent and leaning his head from side to side, listening to the invisible voices around him. After a short while, he turned to the emperor and said, “You are carrying a seed that will destroy the ground it touches. It is within you, and you are the porter of this evil spirit. It is in the way you see the world. I ask you, does it satisfy you, or do you still feel empty? Or are you even not aware of that?
We have no desire to rob you of the fire you have lit, for in that fire you will burn. The consequences of your actions you must reap yourself.
We are the voices of all the warriors slain in battle against that very seed you carry throughout the ages, and we are many. All sacrificed in name of determination, and of belief. We know that spirit well, for we have battled it throughout the ages, just as we will tomorrow. Do not think for a second that only humans will attend the battle. We will all be there, on the other side, as we have always been. You will win the battle tomorrow, and many more on the field, but you will not have won everything. Even after you have destroyed the homes and cultures of all on this island on your insatiable quest for more power, you will not have won everything, and when you are close to your ultimate goal, in the very end, the Great Mother will once again cleanse the land and destroy all for a new beginning. And you will not have won.
Now we bid our goodbyes, and float away from the mouth that allowed us to stay and voice. Until another day…”
All he had heard from the oracle, for he rested assured that he would beat the emperor of Wu in battle the next day, did not bother the emperor. That was all that mattered to him; he did not care about what would come after, for he fought one battle at a time.
Dawn came, and both armies lined up face to face in the battlefield. All day they fought, and when night descended, the army of Wu had scattered, broken by the forces of Oden. Most lay dead on the field, painting the earth and water red with their blood. The surviving warriors had dispersed to form small bands that would continue the fight. Some renounced the world of violence and became monks, helping through the world of spirit and energy, some continued the war as rogue warriors to disrupt and vex the empire of Oden whenever and wherever they could, and some dared to live within the empire raising families and instilling the values of Wu in their children.
As for the emperor of Wu, in his last moments, as he lay mortally wounded by the red stream he had a vision. He witnessed a winged being of white light walking on the water towards him. It had come to take him to the world above. The emperor rose from his body and floated towards the angel, merging with it upon encounter. And only those who lay dying witnessed this, and rejoiced, for they had not died in vain, and in their death, they were breaking the line. All were content that the emperor had ascended to the heavens. He had vowed that he would always protect them and their kin, and they knew he would be now watching over them from the planes above.
———-
You have come. I always knew you would someday, and today, when I saw you walking towards me in my sleep, your figure glowing in the incandescent light that surrounds the angels, I knew the time had come. You know, waking up into the busy street has never been my forte. The voices and the lights dazzle me; nearly as much as the buzzing sound of passing cars, and that constant humming of machines that rears away through the night. My head spins… Give me a moment to compose myself. Well, maybe I had too much firewater earlier on to fight the cold, or maybe I once again celebrated the great miracle of being alive with a bottle of the stiff stuff. Yes, that was it; again, I celebrated the hard way.
People pass by, and some look down on me and wonder. I can hear them ask why it is that I am like this, and how did I ever allow myself to become so. It amuses me to imagine their expressions if I was ever to tell them why; that I choose to live in the edge of society because I choose to be like a child that is concerned only with the day ahead, and with all the excitement and amusement, that the day may bring. I do not curse the skies, or sin against the heavens, because I stay away from all constraints. I believe in everything and in nothing at once, and acknowledge that the world is not mine to own or control. I realized long ago that I wish only to walk and live life, for the sheer pleasure of doing so, for I had already spent enough time doing quite the opposite.
For as long as I can remember, I have been building walls around me on which I paint my passing fantasies, so it is no wonder that I am a lone walker. Long time has passed since I have lost count of the walls I have put up.
They are not a prison, quite the opposite, and so I do not mind them, for I know that within them, I do not walk alone. After all, there are the voices of past and there is also the muse, and then there are the spirits.
From my childhood in the fishing village, to the Great War beyond the waters, they have been there, although for the greater part of my life I was not aware of their presence. Nowadays, when I am truly quiet or asleep, I can hear them.
Looking around I can see the black of night, and that the shadows are walking. I will rise and ask a passer-by for a smoke. With the cigarette, I will make smoke, and send up my thanks to the place where the spirits dwell. I am ecstatic that they have finally sent you my way, and I am deeply grateful for your coming to take me away.
The stranger, a short stubby man, well dressed and ill-mannered, reluctantly hands me a cigarette, as if I were taking something precious from him, and walks away with my thanks, tucked away where he will never find them again, wishing me good-ridden. That is when I notice the smell, a penetrating, pungent odor. I need to bathe, not only to clean, but also to cleanse myself, if I am to be worthy of your presence.
Somehow, I know there is a river nearby, and that this road leads to a bridge that will cross it. Undoubtedly, I have been there in one of my drunken stupors, and that is where I will go now. My mind is set.
The night is vacant. And no matter whom I cross, I go un-noticed. There are faces I recognize on those streetwalkers, some of old and some of recent past encounters. They may have offered me a meal or even kicked me while I was down and out cold, but in my new mindset, there is no space for any of these people. I have decided to push myself away from the pictures in the wall, and all that attaches me to this time and place. It is time for another change, and although I must say that, I am not without doubt, I will break the wall and cross to the other side tonight. I need only to keep merrily walking towards my date with destiny.
The echoes of my every step are loud, pounding in my brain. Still hung-over, I walk slowly towards the bridge of my passing over, amongst the falling leaves and light rain. Although the cold penetrates my bones, it is having no effect on my morale. I am happy, I will keep walking, to the steady and ongoing beat of my footsteps, and it will all soon be over. The bridge is nearing, and mist has gathered to make the street lamps look like mystical eggs of light. These are my last steps as he who lives off the street, a wino, or bum, as most would call me.
My beautiful adventure and all I have tasted will soon be a distant memory. Here, on the left side of the street, is the ledge that is to give ground to my jump into the Great Change.
As I stand on this ledge, I acknowledge that I am staring at the unknown, but I fear not for you are with me. Yet before we go, you ask that I acknowledge the walls before I break through. Yes, it is true that they were my protection against the greater prison that almost stole my soul, and although they made me happy, I must release them if I am to move on. There has always been the above and the fusion with the chosen; and they who choose change will undoubtedly receive it and embrace, and so I now jump from this ledge into the dark waters.
Slowly I sink. It is silent in the world below. Looking up, the street lights dance on the ripples. They are a beautiful sight to behold. I am becoming drowsy; my vision is blurring and fading into the darkness that is the big sleep between worlds. I am tired from the ordeal that was my life, and still I am ready for another. All that I knew is waning, and as the lights go out, the people I loved disappear from my mind. I am crying blood, my body returns to the earth, and here, in the silence the unknown worlds turn, seen only by the One who is many and the same.
As I sink into the earth, I am aware of my body fragmenting into millions of pieces, and yet my awareness is still one. I choose to follow a piece that is now only dust, as it deepens into the earth, and now I am its passenger. I do not know where we are going, but I am enjoying the feeling of sinking into the cuddle of our great mother. The soothing feeling soon lulls me to sleep.
——————-
And the crow called me into a new world, amidst seeming torrents and waterfalls of voices that had long melted into one great hum, and given way to the spirit voices; calling me from my rest.
The river and the bridge were gone, and the old sculptured towers and caves had now become trees more than one thousand measures high, no longer made by the hand of man; as had the hard-paved streets given way to the yielding ground, and tender wild grass behind me. I can hear them now, the people of the trees, whispering to each other in a slow and soft conversation that has lasted for centuries, and I am awake again. No more is the swarming of the hordes, no more the tangents of the flesh. I feel weightless and silent, here among the grandparents, and I am born again.
It was the crow who brought me here, a mystical being of high degree, carrying the seed of what I am now to become, and resting me here, among the grandparents in this ancient and peaceful forest. Now I wait, and grow, listening to the grandparents.
The lights grow dim, and night settles on this side of the earth, bringing rest to those who sleep; and the little ones begin to glow. They are the keepers of the forest, tending for the health and growth of all plants alike, sharing their shine. They have merry faces, and hop about playing tricks on each other while doing their work, from which they derive great pleasure. They also have clans, which compete with each other in a healthy rivalry to do better work. And in the teams, there are many jobs to be taken in rotation of turns; the singers and musicians who keep the working spirits high, the tenders of the roots who go under the ground, the cleaners of the stalks and branches, and the ones who polish and take care of the foliage and the flowers. There are also the ones who bring the ale to the workers who launch a mighty: “Ho!” before each big gulp. These funny and tireless beings are teeming with the good life, and brighten up the forest every single night.
Then there is, of course, my good friend Minpoki; the ancient one who, since the very beginning has roamed the forest consuming those who give themselves to him because they feel it is time to give up the ghost and crossover to a new life. When it is time for us, and we will it, we change color and Minpoki comes to set us free.
Since I first began here, the good Minpoki comes to me every night and asks me how I am doing. Minpoki knows everything about everybody here, and sometimes he tells me stories of my past lives, so that I may better understand where it is that I am going. He told me that once, a very long time ago, when this present world was still in the making, and yet another of the great transformations was occurring in the human sphere, I had been borne to the world of people. It was the time when within every person, the pale ghost and the giant spoke with equal volume, making the world of people a very dangerous place to be born in, for there was no clarity of intent in their divided attention. The Great Destroyer worked to undermine the work of the Great Creator within with his legions of dark energies, lead by fear, greed, and deceit.
Meanwhile, the Great Creator could only whisper softly from the hearts of people, and hope that they could hear his call. You see, people have to choose and learn for themselves, otherwise the lessons are not truly felt and learnt, and because of that the Great Creator; the giant within can only force his way up when the host is in extreme duress, otherwise he would be interfering too actively in the host’s will of self-determination and destiny. But the Great Destroyer; the pale ghost within is free to run rampant and cause all kinds of mayhem, for he does not abide by the same spiritual order than the giant, and to him chaos is golden.
But there were other aids to help the people help themselves. There were the rhythms in the natural world, concurrent yet flexible, and the examples set by the animals, each species and being endowed with a purity of personality, all great examples of behavior and wisdom. The natural world sang as it moved along, a song that could be heard by any who stopped to listen.
Yet we lived huddled together, in caves, we had built in our mountains of stone, and we ignored the world outside. Therefore, we were often victims to the deceit of the pale ghost within. However, I had been born with the fortune to hear beyond the mask of sounds that permeates the air, and that was my talent, which led me to recognize the chant of the Four Brothers. At first, others had taught me that they did exist and lit the spark in me, others who lived outside the common mind-frame, and when finally I stopped to listen, the Four Brothers were there. That had been my destiny, to learn and pass on the message.
In each of the Four Corners of this earth is a spirit that will teach and protect they who acknowledge their knowledge. They are the Four Brothers. I call them brothers because to me we are all the children of the same God, but it would be more accurate to call them Chiefs in deference to the wisdom they impart. They are the keys to understanding the rhythm of the natural worlds, as they stand in their directions and from there conduct the symphony of the natural world as it passes along the cycle of birth, growth, decay, and death. A cycle mirrored in all things great and small, visible and invisible, without and within.
After living a long and fruitful life, the Four Brothers turned my road, and it was my time to return to the world of the Great Spirit, where I waited to return and continue to pass on whatever it was I had to give.
When Minpoki finished I rejoiced with that beautiful tale of lore, and thanked him for his place in my life. With its daily visits, I was delighted, for I regarded Minpoki as something of a guiding spirit, a protector. I was now just a little plant growing from the forest, happy to be part of such a great community in celebration of life, but I knew, with every new story, that the end was nearing, for I was feeling rested, and prepared to move on. One night, when Minpoki arrived, I had changed my colour, and the last thing I remember was his open mouth coming towards me, and then blackness, and I was flying again…
—————
I sat on the top of a mountain, and as far as the eye can see, there was beauty, and music. The sun was setting, the moon rising and the earth turning in a song that precedes all life born to it, and ever since that time immemorial it is still the same motif that sounds through all of God’s manifestations. In the distance, I saw a small village surrounding a church. The church bells rang and so I floated to the church tower, watching as a procession arrived at the door. There were hundreds of them, and they were kneeling in prayer and wonder, the air charged with intense fervor. I could hear the villager’s thoughts and emotions as they emanated from their heads and hearts. Some were asking for success, and some begging for forgiveness. Some were sending words to the love in their heart, and some counting their blessings. Some believed what the young virgin had foretold, but most could not accept that an angel would appear in the young girl’s dream to warn her of its arrival to this particular village, of all the places in the world, to visit that night, of all nights.
The expectation was thick and I could feel all the emotions within as I floated over their heads and away from the church. The streets were empty. It seemed all were at the gathering, in wait for the angel, all but one.
Up ahead, on the outskirts of the village, I could see a young boy sitting against an old grandmother of a tree in quiet contemplation. As his fingers ran through the long grass, he was thinking that if he were angel, he would not want to appear outside the church, in front of that noisy crowd, with all their veils and candles. He would rather come down from heaven at a beautiful plot like this, with such a magnificent view of the fields and rivers. He secretly desired for the angel to visit him. This field was the child’s favorite spot, and it was a beautiful one. Whenever he had wanted to share something special or secret with any of his friends, he would bring them there, where they could be in perfect privacy, and it was there that the angel did appear.
At first it seemed as if a star were too close to the earth, but then, as it grew and changed shape to become a small bird of light, the boy understood that it was not a star, but something much greater. The bird flew towards the child and rested on the ground, where it morphed into the shape of a beautiful woman with wings. The young boy did not know what to say, yet words were unnecessary, for angels do not need to speak to be heard. The angel communicated that she would take them somewhere even more private than his stunning secret place, and she carried him to the past, to watch upon what had been.
They had returned to the time when the boy was just four years of age. They watched him running around and playing, without a care in the world, and the boy could see that there had been a time when nothing else mattered, but the love he felt for his family, and the pure enjoyment of the moment. As he watched this, he felt an overwhelming melancholy come over him, squeezing at his heart, as he felt that something in him now was amiss, and at that moment, he heard the angel speak again in his head:
“You have now come to an age, when you are beginning to doubt the truth in what you have been taught, and are thinking for yourself. You watch the patterns, and the patterns of people are beginning to annoy you. Most of the times they do seem indigent, but before you judge the lies too severely, try to understand why they have been so, and what good may have come from them. Do not close your mind, or you will cease to see the beauty, and you will no longer be able to see me when I am with you. Remember this moment, and what I have showed you. Live life to the fullest, and embrace the beauty that is around you. Although sometimes you will fight the good fight, life is not war. They will not believe you when you say I was here, with you, but I have made it so, and warned the young virgin that I was coming so that they may all be somewhere else, and I can come to you alone. With your actions through life, full of life, you will lead them to believe that it had been so, and hopefully teach them something of themselves.
Their angels are within them, and they need only open their minds and hearts to receive their visit. Keep yours open my son.”
With this, the angel faded, and all of a sudden, the child found himself sitting against his favorite tree again. He ran back to the crowd and frantically told them that the angel had come, but none believed. Shunned enough, the young boy resigned to his fate, and went home in high spirits, for he knew what the truth was. That night as he laid in bed, the boy gave thanks, and wished only that in his dreams he would meet the angel again.
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“Time distills most things down to their essence.”
The words floated in the air, thick with the fragrance of time everlasting. It is the same old scent found in all new things, the same old motive found in all new dreams. This, he breathed in as he lifted himself up from the sandy ground, and as he exhaled, it was with these words;
-“Where, and who am I?”
Habits recur without our intent or consent, and in this way, he was again in human form, in consonance with the unspoken word and the answer after which he continued to chase through both death and rebirth.
At that moment, he did not know which of the two prospects circling in his mind were the most frightening, his stomach churning as he considered them. Which was worse? The intuition that this was not the first time that he had found himself in this current predicament, or the possibility that here was his first moment of total and utter oblivion.
A lost strand of wind swooped down to create a whirlpool with the dust and leaves that lay around his feet, a message from the answer that spoke, as the spiral lifted from the ground before him.
“Time distills most things down to their essence.”
It was the reply. His intuition had been right, as it always is with him, if left unclouded and unabated by wondering thoughts. At that very moment, he understood that although he was not aware of who or what he was, or where he had come from, he was not alone. He could hear and understand the words; and that meant someone, or something, was talking to him. It was as if he had arrived at the edge of everything, to see the source that was calling with hints, and finally come home.
-“The wind has also told me to breathe deep,” he thought as he brushed the sand and soil off his body, and he took a deep breath of cool morning air into his lungs, and looked around.
The birds were voicing; some speaking and some singing, while the Sun was just beginning to climb the Seven Skies that make up the invisible dome that encloses this world; both trapping us within, and protecting us from the dangers without. A sky needs no form or structure other than the will from above to be.
You could say that this world is a prison, but it would be more correct to say that it is freedom, if anything at all; the freedom to project our own will and efforts into the turning wheels of time: the time that distills most things back to their essence; to the source.
As he without a name stood listening and watching, he realized this: There are no limits outside ourselves, and we are ours to mold and shape. And from deep emerged an image that grew and took form before his eyes. Standing but a few footsteps away, with the lush green canopy of the jungle for a backdrop stood a man made of purple stone; wearing the most kind and innocent of smiles on his smooth and hairless face; looking.
-“You are Chaco-Lkan,” he said, “marriage of Heaven and Earth; bearer of the fruit from the flame; the wind-hearer and water-talker. I bid you, a humble welcome to my country.”
The words had poured out from stone-man without movement of the lips, and around him, the scenery changed; the jungle fading away and morphing into a tall and overwhelming mountain made of precious stone; and revealing a surrounding desert of purple orange and brown.
The skies had cast off their familiar hues and undertaken a deep purple tone that melted to red at the horizon, and the ground had turned into a malleable yet solid unity, much like water, but only denser.
Perplexed, Chaco-Lkan looked around, marveling at the changes and wondering what his relation was to the Stone man. Could it be that he was a Stone man as well? Looking down at his arms, he saw the clear difference. His own were soft and had hair lying over designs that did not rub off. He was clearly not a Stone man in body; he was a drawing, a fact that made him feel sad, having seen and felt the beauty and power of the one standing before him. Yet the respect and admiration he felt for this being was as intense as to burn away all sadness and ill feeling. The unconditional love felt so great that no words suffice to describe it, and he was rendered humbled and happy.
-“To you who have made me,” he thought, “My mind wanders wailing with the restless wind over your vast ocean, rising and asking the waves incessantly: why are they, they, and he, he? And why he has awoken erased of memory, condemned to wander without directions, groping for the answer with hands that cannot grasp.
Maybe the teachings that time and experience will bring to me, those great sons of destiny, will give me consistency and turn me into stone, resistant to the weathering of this double world, where night is day, and day makes night.
I want to be like this great one before me, who has recognized and given me name; the one with the Great Owl on his shoulders.”
The Owl Brother, who had appeared at the mention of his name, could perceive the man’s thoughts, and at the recognition of a familiar, he let out a cry, fishing Chaco-Lkan out from within his thoughts, with a voice that seemed to spring from within the listener’s mind:
“This has not been the first, nor will it be the last time you wake up reborn, for you are drunk with life. As you have been in previous manifestations, you are still intense with the power of a roaring fire, and quick as the lightning we see and cannot hold. It is good you want to be stone, for stone is slow and patient in time.”
And on the leaves the drops drew circles into another world, where silence prevails; the misty grey planes; the heart of what is not, humming from the distances within beckons:
“Walk oh figures, from the world made of words, to where only images speak and only you can choose what is real. And in this night, from everywhere in this dark hearth, all beings speak one voice; one with your inners.”
Chaco-Lkan looked at the Purple Stone man and Owl brother and said:
“I can see you now, you are I, and I am you. The differentiated myriad of things: they are I, and I am they. The one body, the cells of an organism; we are the sons of the One Son, of parents from the One Parent. Those that were born from the undifferentiated One have become the two markings of left and right: their unity is all between them. You are they who walk with me, from this birth to this death, of this shape to which I have shifted after I arose from the ground and the stars, and walked from one existence to the next, until I arrived here, at your footsteps.”
With those last words, Chaco-Lkan began to feel his eyelids become heavy and sleep overcome him. He made a trying effort to open his eyes and look at the Purple Stone man and Owl Brother who now faded into thin air. Through them he saw a great waterfall rushing down from the clouds; and then blackness.
In his head, the words rang:
-“We will not hold you to it; go and transform, go and behold. Across the many ways, we have and will walk with you, for we are yours, bonded by Love. Go and become One…”
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The next morning the doctors entered the room where he lay breathless. They were disappointed at their failure to cure him, and at the lost chance to continue to study his unique condition. Only the other patients, in similar states of physical disability or mental stability understood that he was now gone out of sheer will, and that he was finally free.
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