Saturday, October 14, 2006

The end of the world

When I finally reached the end of the world, the end of my long journey, I saw land far away in the distance. But I was on a cliff, and could no longer continue. The oceans had ceased. The land had ceased. And now I would have to look down. But there was no end down. There was only land in the distance. Only in the distance. It was unreachable. This was the end of the world.

And then I saw, from a distance beyond my body, from eyes way above my self, my own person there, standing, before the cliff. I was myself but no longer there, in my body. I was myself but with eyes that saw more. And the more I saw the more I rose, and soon I was far, very far, and saw that same land in the distance, and that small dot at the tip of the cliff, and then I saw, at last, the border above.

The lands in the distance at the end of the world were indeed unreachable. There was no ground, there was no way, in air, to reach it. I lived in some sort of aquarium and that was, at last, the end of my search. But when I moved my hand toward my face, when I was high above myself, high above my world, and the aquarium and the border of my world, I felt it and it touched my face (it was, indeed, my face.) And so I looked ahead, and saw the world. My real world. Not the world of the one who lived in the aquarium, which I thought I was, but the world of the real me, who lived outside of it: the creator and the full mind of the dot which faced the precipice.

But I did wake up from that dream and found myself once more before the cliff. And for I moment I saw god which was I, the one who lives beyond the glass and who knows about me, the dot. And for a moment I understood that God was I, and I was the most important person in my world, and that my god heard me because he was me, and that he knew things I did not know, but he sometimes tried to tell me, but I didn’t always hear him; I didn't always hear myself.

Finally I moved away from the cliff, turned left and entered the subway station. Sitting in the train I opened my book and the man beside me said my name. I looked at him. He had large eyes, a beard and a turban. He looked strangely familiar. He must have seen my name on my book, but I hadn’t written my name on my book. And so he spoke, and said:

“You see, all these people you see here, only some are real.”

Surprised with such an uncommon comment, I closed my book, and didn’t say a word, but looked at him with interest. He didn't take his off of me, and he spoke once more:

“This is your world and one day it will end. It will end for you but not for many others. It is your world, and you are your god, the one and only one, in your world. But this world you see here will continue, even if your world ends, because it is not real.”

“Is this a dream?”, I asked.

“Of course it is. Not only this one, but the one outside of it as well, and the one where you write, as well, and so on. All are dreams, and all are real. Real is what we share now. This is real in your mind, but in another mind, it will seem different, quite unreal, but you don’t think so, as the other doesn’t think you think different.”

I was confused. This could be a dream, but he spoke confusing words so clearly. Reason didn't help me understand anything he said, but it seemed as if everything was perfectly clear.

“I am dropping off at the next station.”

“Who are you?”

“Who else could I be?

“What do you mean? What is this all about?”

“It’s about everything. You created this world just to be near them. There is no other reason. That is your reason. Don’t forget that.”

“Near them? Them who?”

“All of them. The ones that have left, the ones that are here now, the ones who will come and the ones you will never find.”

He stood up and started to leave.

“Wait. What’s your name?”

“You know the answer”, he answered while he left. The doors closed and the train moved once more. I looked ahead, and an old lady stared at me. But it didn't last long and she looked ahead as well.

I dropped off at the next station into my living room. As soon as I entered I was blinded by this strong red light. I moved away and it faded shortly after. It was the sun shining on my face. It was red because my eyes were closed.

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

In my room there is an angel

In my room there is an angel. I can't see her, but she is always around; she has been around since I can remember. She is there, in my room, in my dream. She has my eyes and something more I can only find in my mind, but she is not I, as I am not she. I am sure.

I stand by the window watching the universe roll, and I sing. I look down and see nothing so I let my head drop, and I fall, I fly. It's a strange sensation. I feel the wind, it stretches me, it's kind of painful, but hitting the ground is not. I feel the scent of the ocean. She is there again. I can feel her breath caressing my ear.

This place near the sea is way beyond the window. Last time I had to cross a labyrinth of bridges and trolls to get here. When I found her somewhere within the castle, we held hands and climbed the spiral staircases of the highest tower. Up there we opened the door and found ourselves on that same moonlit beach. There, facing the sea, was the blue crooked tree.

But that was last time. This time I just fell off the window.

There I am just a young boy. We sit on the swing that hangs from the largest branch of the blue cherry tree. We sit face to face, and in her eyes I see myself. I never remember her face.

I fell asleep once more, and when I woke up I was again before my window, but the sky was cloudy and below me was not the void, but the city.