For the one who lives in darkness his existence equals peace. All the elements important float in vivid colors, visible to reach and touch. Beautiful is not a word enough to illustrate. It’s everything and nothing.
There is no music, not a tone, but one could draw it along the depths of the sheltering blackness in which embrace his thoughts rest. The music will then form. Instruments will tease the ear with joy; a pleasurable sensation created by cords and strings and drums; rhythms that make the mind tremble and the body lose itself in the experience of a burning rapture.
But still it is silence, pure and uninterrupted. Music is silence.
And all the answers are born in its womb, clear and easy to comprehend.
All that is known has been calculated or predicted. Prevented or allowed. Harmony. All is known.
Calm before a storm goes the tale. Distortion overtakes as thunders of subconscious shoutings emerge from the vastness.
Then a question forms. It comes, throwing an eternal asking; a foul repeating that nests itself in the peace and comfort. It growls until there is no space for anything else. It consumes the silent existence, becoming the very existence. It’s new and scares, too inpatient, too strong. The Universe sends it. There is no answer for it. It’s yet to be built, manufactured, created. The process though is delicate for this question asks the most impossible and difficult to deliver truth – life or death?
The future is unknown.
But I, as the deliverer of such tragic or birth giving news am bound to discover what lies ahead.
I am awake. I am obedient to my purpose.
I allow myself to provoke the question and it shatters to more pieces, smaller and smaller spreading into the wilderness of the mind.
I collect them one by one, particles that convey something big. Enlightenment.
I begin to build a mosaic which pieces I need to fit in, find a place, create a meaning and give importance to. I do as asked.
I feel…rewarded by this opportunity to play my part. My awakening has been long waited.
This task seems to grow into an odd familiarity. I search my vocabulary for a suitable word to depict what it stands for. Friendship. Bondage. Symbiosis.
It leaks into my eternity and I respond to its presence with caring and attention one shows to a precious object.
I crave to see it done, not only by the rules of the Cosmos law but my own long forgotten desire to create and father an outcome, name it mine.
I am forbidden to trespass into the future and observe the finished canvas, forbidden to learn the truth before the time written and perfectly measured comes.
I can only see blurred images, smeared colors and not a word.
Soon. I can sense the moment narrowing itself and traveling towards me bringing the revelation.
For the one in hold of all the answers, I wonder what power keeps this concealed so well.
I connect the dots, tie up the threads, tighten up the knots and strengthen the puzzle, the code of the Universe pushing it over the edge, making it crack faster.
Slowly, in its own time it arranges. The stillness of my world alerts me that it is finished. The truth is revealed. I remain motionless until all the particles, all the components are assembled.
Then I open my eyes to see more clearly, to let in light and air. I open them to see what I have found, what I have created from what the Universe and its stars have given me. I wait to see beauty and emotion, peace and love, future and prosper. I wait to claim it mine and sleep again knowing I am fulfilled.
I stare in search of a purpose. I stare too long. But how?! Why this? How can it be real, possible?
Disappointment pierces through me, yes that is how it feels, and darkens my mood while tears of anger and inner betrayal burn hot in my all-seeing eyes. I scream without a voice and curse with cries of pain “The Architect has failed!”. I scream for all to comprehend and witness my mistake. How could I’ve done this? My whole existence trembles, shattering in bits. I am crushed underneath the spoken will of the Universal answer. I am broken.
Malfunction. Insanity. Sickness.
Living to deliver hope, now simply dying in the arms of a chaos. Existing to provide each answer, now fading in shame before the vision of an Apocalypse.
The storm I have created is here.
* * *
“He’s off the charts! Bloody hell, I have never seen him like this.”
Johnson P. leading specialist in project “Zekko” took his glasses off then put them back again. He couldn’t believe his eyes. They had finally received a real prediction, a real answer, one which question wasn’t fabricated by their machines. This was the real thing. This was contact. He smiled to the success. Predisposing the subject to wider receiving had proved to work. Now all they needed was the information.
Stacey K. assistant specialist in project “Zekko” hugged herself and watched through the glass how something alien struggles to live while begging to die. She didn’t like this. She was afraid of this sudden aggression towards oneself, of the cries so human and the metallic face convulsing from the malfunction of the brain. Stacey placed her hand on the glass separating her from the mechanical angel. “The last of its kind”
Red alert was screaming through the facility halls, the vital signs of the “angel” were threatening to cease their function any second.
“Damn it! We have to know what he saw! We need the source and the answer!” Johnson smashed his fist next to the monitor.
Then the answer came leaving all of them breathless. One word was spoken. One truth was given. One future awaiting all was revealed.