In time our woes are forgotten, released into some ethereal void where nothing persists individually. Our memories and achievements become optimized records, stored and retrieved like binary data to all who desire it. This is our final resting place, molecules of soul and spirit evaporating into something we think we understand, resting in a state of I’m-not-too-sure-about-that. Existential reality cannot be bartered. There is no value to your perspective until it is outwardly perceived.
“GIVE ME THE TRUTH”
To blackness I shouted, the mist of my breath crossed by streams of light filtering in the crumbling brick. Weary of illusion, stripped naked of the hope I have retained, time after time I have maintained a smile in the face of a ghost, fed to an invisible host like cells in a Petri dish. Accumulated and used in research, never fruitious but spent, maximized and exhausted the seed becomes food for any attempt to become useful.
“WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME??”
The hazy drug induced fog remained, but not as overwhelming as the previous days. I could only wonder how much longer I would be distracted by the persistent cravings, the murky memory.
In silence the story is written, passed line by line to fable, remembered by those who truly desire it. Passed down in the wee hours in part and parcel, packaged for the delivery. Stories told in late night gossip over dimming coals, sworn to secrecy and shared by few over a breakfast of pancakes and jam by half sober devotees.
The response was slow, deliberate. “We are not asking anything, my friend. It is you who has found us. The question should be, what do You want from Us? We left that world behind many years ago, and you show up to haunt us. What evil news do you bring to us from that place of sin? The only news you can bear is of no good to us, your sole existence is enough to remind us of a past we have tried to remove ourselves from.” The bitterness in his words crept out over the murky air, early morning fog wrapping into pointed wisps of resent, blowing towards me. I grappled with the question. Could it be that I was unwelcome here?
“No, you don’t understand. I know you. I know why you are here. You found Me. I can help you.“
The response was direct. “We don’t need help, but you sure look like you could.” By now others were awaking, moving closer to see the new addition to the group in the wisps of light streaming in thin streaks from chips in the aging mortar. “There is one requirement to allowing you to remain with us. Would you like to hear what that is, or do you want to leave now?”
The question pointed directly into the darkness, trailing never-ending into the gloomy tunnels.
“Tell me then.” I offered.
“You will follow Our laws. You will learn Our ways. This is the only requirement for you to stay.”
“Fine then, what is that… “I submitted, hoping my uncertainty was not apparent.
“It will be shown to you gradually. There is no quick way to do this. We have never taught one who is an outsider the Way. We will begin with our version of what you would call an alphabet. Are you familiar at all with the indo-Asian early languages? They share a unique similarity with the Native American languages in their usage of direct, literal words of physical things as definitions of expressions of non-physical things. In this way, the language always is directly linked to reality. There is no room for selective interpretation, as the true meaning of those words is known and apparent.”
“The entire concept that you would interpret a different meaning from what I say than what was intended is unacceptable. It breeds confusion and argument. So speaking in any language except the Way is not permitted in our presence. Is that perfectly clear to you? A breach of any of the rules will result in your expulsion from the Order.”
I nodded my head in agreement, immediately hesitant to say a word in response.
“I will not repeat myself. It is up to you to comprehend the meaning in the words, once you are finished with the alphabet your lessons will be complete. There are six lessons, which we will teach you in stages, as a part of our daily rituals. Now please be aware and learn all that we have been shown, this knowledge becomes our bond, our pact with the great divinity.”
From the conversation, I knew that this withered man was the leader of the group. He was wise in his years of solitude, cunning in the ways of scavenging and strict in this religion, hopelessly devout. But what choice did I have except to play the game until I reached the open air again, out of this dark and clammy prison, surrounded by sex crazed lunatics. In the darkness the features of the others were faint, shrouded in heavy hoods, long flowing cloaks to buffer against the damp and cold.
“The lessons all become one in the presence of OneasI, the great one, the truthful way. Our six lessons are structured from its stories, in its architecture. OneasI embodies everything, because we are an extension of it. Our lives are a direct fruition of the desires of OneasI, in our own way representing the various characters. This relationship is symbolic, and is shown in many different ways in cultures around the world. For example look at astrology and its use of the zodiac to calculate the biorhythms of the earth and its bodies. That is the direct use of a fixed set of objects, each one representing something universal in nature, but still the meaning of the planetary forces is open to debate, because there is no clear distinction of how the planets define themselves. That definition is left up to an interpreter; in this case it is the astrologer who defines the meaning of the various elements. This is unacceptable and leaves the truth in the hands of deception or misinterpretation, when it is apparent from the very onset without the need for any intervention at all. OneasI provides all the needed tools, but unfortunately mankind has limited its awareness to a contrived palate of letters that affix no meaning, and has avoided the understanding of these things.”
“Of the house of fortune, I only wish to know two things. First, who is the viper, the leader, do you know? Is it a man, or a woman...?”
I shook my head in ignorance.
“For these questions, you are permitted to speak. Please, continue…”
“I don’t know.” I mumbled, “I only saw the guards. It appeared to be run by women, at least from the people I could see.”
“Who was it who did.. This to you” he pointed at my bare eyebrows and tattooed skin, “Was the ceremony performed by women as it was for us?”
“Yes, it was women.”
“Then it must be Maravek.”
“And lastly, are they still in the factory with the pale green walls?”
“Yes, sea green walls. Unless they moved and painted it that same ugly color..”
“Very well, thank you. You have been gifted by OneasI, and I welcome you into our Order.”
He turned his back to me and began speaking in a foreign language to the others, syllables blending together like an ancient tongue. It was harder to understand than Russian, but the sounds fit well together, holding a distinct rhythm in their cadence.
The camp was ripe with drunken revelry, scattered blankets and rings of dancers centered on a large fire, discordant singing carried across empty sand. Torches burned along the paths carved between clusters of agave and choya cactus, slowly dimming after many hours, dissolving into the first rays of morning, cresting on dark red pinnacles jutting from the otherwise level ground. Hidden from fire, the two girls rested behind the shade of a large juniper, its branches covering them, tender fingers grasping onto the box, quiet voices giggling, shushing, and nervously coaxing a final resolve of their destination.
“We should go farther; we can do a renewal dance.” Gwen whispered excitedly, “We don’t know what the history is…”
“It’s perfectly OK. We opened the box many times, and there is nothing odd about those coins, they’re just really old and,” Natasha stumbled for the correct words, “valuable.”
“Let’s go.” And Gwen grasped her hand and pulled, stumbling forward towards the rocky bluffs, into their shadow left by the sunrise.
“I’m afraid you just don’t understand the gravity of the situation, Sir. Your funding is gone, cut-off. We have an obligation to resolve these facilities immediately.” The gruff voice resonated across the barren room, carrying very little weight. Mr. Maravek looked up from his table, brightly responding
“I am afraid I Do in fact understand the, as you put it so gracefully.. ‘Gravity’ of the situation. I also, as you may have realized now, am not too happy about our negotiations as of late... Your financiers seem to want the better half of any part I receive. As the grunt in this bargain, it’s an old trick capt’n. I can see through you.”
The man responded by taking a few steps forward and in a urgent voice “For the better part of 15 years we have solely funded your enterprise, but I have to ask.. Is this information so valuable to you?” And with a small resolve, “I would reconsider your answer, Mr. Maravek.”
“What you are afraid of is that I will say No, I don’t agree. But the entire truth is that in fact I Do agree with you. But I cannot give you what you desire, that is out of the question. Some things in life are not yours, no matter how much you think you deserve them.”
At this the man began sputtering, “How dare you! This was just handed to you for researching; nothing else… and you are bound by contract to give us that discovery. I can’t see your angle; you have nothing to gain from your stubbornness.”
In a history of production capitalism is all we see; blinding truth forsaken youth beating sense into me
In the years of destruction, questions yearning to be asked what the credit is for granting affection from the masses?
The internet is spoken and the shell has broken open from the lowest poor to the high classes
The critical mass we laid into this egg shattered to be the world we have known.
The knowledge is grown to my brothers and sisters and communities we’ve never known to results we never thought would happen to show that what we have to give is as what we would have given. A schism, sarcasm of the brain in ancient wisdom, a lack of logic gotcha. Now it ain’t the kissin, aint the sexy lays of life… It’s what you're missing.
The cold realities you want in your last ism, your past life can share the strife.... It’s what you’re missing.
“I am afraid that my angle is slightly out of your line of sight”, responded Mr. Maravek, carefully moving his finger underneath the desktop to the Panic button. “I have been endowed the responsibility of researching and caretaking the massive wealth of information pertaining to this study. To remit the responsibility and walk away, without any guarantee of continuance, would make the cumulative effort of our work useless. The nuances will get lost, and with them the context of our determinations will be void of substance. To remove us from the project would be condemning our work, and the enormous potential of the revelations we have uncovered, to a veritable archive. Nobody has more credentials than we to complete this task!” It all seemed lost. Barely taking a breath he continued, “Mr. Donaldson, I regret to inform you of the decision we have made against you. Your actions amount to treason, of our cause, of your requests, and of your promises. We have no other alternative, but you can make one last choice.” From the hallway arrived a heavily armed team, “Which would you prefer: The shackles or the taser” and with a slight hesitation, “Sir?”
I love you more than all the hype. Time has brought us closer; a love we couldn’t foster matured us. Now I know the way, clearer than daylight it blinds me. I am ignorant and humbled by the knowledge. Jumbled thoughts persuade me to continue, walking forward into the foggy horizon. Stumbling into a cloud overcomes me.
You are within me, and I welcome you forever. Deeper than sex can walk, we have melted together. Timeless we created a child before we knew it, grew it to independence, and now it controls us. A love so strong we cannot explain it. It talks in silence and I am captivated. The future changes as it is created.
“Gwen, are you alright? Wake up! People are coming…” Natasha sobbed into the dusty hair of her sister, pulling her arm, feet digging into the broken crust of sand.
But the men were there, forming a solid barrier, demanding explanation, summoning the healers to charm the sickness from her lifeless body, calling on their ancestors to drive the evil spirits away.
Birds began chirping, the beginning of a new day yawned through the valley, but the people were shrouded in sadness, evoking ancient chants and medicines to awaken their beloved chief’s daughter, to no avail. Chief Qwa-Qiu-Than-ulth, Sees Behind Mountains, turned slowly and began to speak.”
“Tell me the story, young sister. Tell me what happened here. We would like to know the reason why you are standing and my daughter is laid out for the dead to raise.” At this the girl blurted out, “It wasn’t her, it’s that money. That money is evil. I never knew…” She sobbed into the arms of the others, “I never knew…”
The sun rose steadily into the squinting eyes of tired, hung-over companions, knowing their day’s work was doomed to failure. They eventually dispersed into dream state; wandering into the unknown in search for their lost sister. But two remained, sitting closely, talking quietly, enthusiastic motions describing a wonderful adventure. “I told her to stop, but she was moving so fast, she looked like a blur in front of me. She was singing this song, just repeating it and spinning around faster, barely touching the ground. Even though she was moving around me, spinning so quickly, I caught her eye and she was so happy, like when we were little, you know that childish grandeur of life. But she knew that it was real this time, she said to me “Its here now. It’s in me now. I am complete.” Before Natasha collapsed into his arms, exhausted and forlorn.
“Father…” the words were masked in between the wind blasting between the rocks, faint but persistent. “Mother…”
Remaining huddled under a woolen blanket and depleted of all energy, they slept through the brilliant daylight. The questions persisted, unanswered.
Gwen turned over, sweating, aching in every muscle, throwing the blanket aside. Her eyes burned and her body drained of interest, laying in waiting, wondering who would find her first: the vultures or her people.
The answer was calming, softly reaching into her empty soul. “I am here child, I am here with you.” Her hands remained clasped together, whitened from the pressure after the hours. Her mother reached down and held them in her palms, feeling the clammy cold skin reviving with the warmth. Gwen startled and leaned back, her hands moving instinctively to support her weight, the coin dropping from her clasped hands into the sand.
“So this is the reason, I see. What you found out in your dreams, you can tell me daughter.”
“I can’t tell anyone. I can’t remember how to describe it. The feeling is like stepping into a fire, then diving into the river. Searing pain, and soothing calm. But there is so much more, Mama, so much I cannot describe.” And she collapsed into the sand, wrapping slender arms around her waist, giving herself to sleep once again.
The dreams came, as if she walked in them, vivid and clear. Gwen sat up suddenly with a scream, sweating from the sunlight of midday, her fingers unconsciously sifting through the sand. Her vision was blurry from the heat, blue and spotty. She began to move in wide swaths, filtering twigs and debris, searching for the artifact. Digging through pots and blankets until reality awoke from its slumber. She looked at the wall in front of her and collapsed onto the floor, the feeling of insecurity overwhelming, wondering what happened; the dreams persisted. She reached to the floor, her fingers feeling the ground, moving on their own, looking for the coin in blind desire.
Natasha returned that afternoon, carried swiftly home under diligent restraint. The matter was to be kept silent, for who could imagine the horrible stories told by villagers, tall tales spun in early morning hours, drunken epics starring Gwen and Natasha. There would be no disgrace of their name over this random, inconsequential event. Her father had decided to quarantine her for a fortnight to allow for her mental stability.
In the days we played, the ways we made casual romance is a stance, a perception between the lines, reading the fine print of our circumstances, a glance to something we never had a chance to be, to see and be the dream. I wrote the script with you, I knew it before time had a name I dreamed the selfsame thing and it became our enjoyment, rousting us up from bed, sleeping deeply.
A love deeper than heaven makes a soul between my ribs. Reality is what you make it. A grip on me so strong you can break it, take it and run. Another boundary to overcome on the horizon. Twenty years of boredom and it found me. Grounded me, took me on a leap of faith and bound me in responsibility, respectability; people die for the sanctuary.
You never heard of me but I thank you for the moment and now we’ve grown up. Take the past behind us. Love haunts us with a vengeance, a silent remembrance. Things to be and always stay; there is no going away from eternity. Our history is the scepter to guide us forward. Riding against the waves, overcome and drown me. Complacency is the easy way. The end of the tunnel, white light is all you see, shrouded in hypocrisy. Open your eyes and drift away into the sunrise. The fear consumes us. Love is innumerable. Count the ways and days. Time forgotten on the waves since we’ve spoken. Drifting as we are shown to a future we would never have chosen, so similar in the past. So familiar as we walk toward…
Talk to me. It has been too long of silence. I heard murmurs of your existence but I couldn’t believe them. Something gripped me after I saw you. Panic stricken. Held beyond belief, grief was not an option. An unspoken hunger for optimism. Illegal, and immoral. Something I cannot quarrel, the intent of winning holding sacred, keeping silent.
Bring with you memory. Things that have been, visions of a world so far away to me. Yet closer, I am a loser.
Lost my mind to find my soul. In history is written our trail. The Trial binds us in walls. Reality is lost. Something fabricated makes the cost of living. Burdening our very existence, ease of living forsakes the masses.
“What is troubling you?” The words carried through the darkness like a breeze. “One day you will start to be more… social.” I looked up; eyes shrouded behind the hood of my cloak, seeing barely a shadow in the darkness in front of me, a thin figure moving closer. The words were calming, a feeling I had not felt since… “Who is it?” I whispered, nervous.
“You don’t remember at all do you? Those drugs must be damn good.” Sliding casually into my reality, crouching in the corner with me, she was finally visible. Soft hands reaching out, tender eyes sparkled a scant light in the void, a smile drawing from the bottom of my soul.
She was younger than me, definitely younger than the rest of those old cloaked figures. How in god’s name was she living down here in the sub terrain, an unpolished gem lost in the darkness, caked in mud.
“No... I’m sorry, I don’t remember…. What?” I asked in complete amnesia. She giggled, clasped a hand over her mouth, and moved close to me pressing her face against mine. “You don’t remember the other night do you?” Her presence was unreal.
No, I’m sorry” I said unsurely, “I don’t remember much… it’s all spotty right now. I remember lots of weird things, but… it’s not real. Those were some crazy drugs, man. I’m just hallucinating it…” I paused to absorb, feeling sensibility coming back into my mind. Feeling like I was in control of myself, finally resolved of the induction. Everything is OK. I am just lost. Lost from a week of crazy shit, how did this happen? Warm fingers grabbed my face, pulling me, soft eyes looking deeply, pressing hard inside the darkness, grabbing at me, falling toward my heavy heart. “Do you remember this?” she asked, pressing her lips hard against mine, digging for a memory. In the complete darkness, there was not much to place it to, kissed one you kissed em all was my philosophy. My response was direct and as clear as I could remember “I imagine we fucked like dogs.”
“You don’t remember do you?” And she looked hard at me, “Damn those were some good drugs they gave you. I never had any like that myself… I could never imagine forgetting how much we tore it up last night; I mean… you really don’t remember do you?”
If there were any light at all, I would be burning up in it. My cheeks were chapped from the unexpected blast of radiation she was emitting. “No, I don’t remember shit ok? Can you fill me in? Where the fuck AM I?”
“What do you remember?” she asked again, persistent, crouching up close to me in the darkness. “You remember Me, but do you remember before me? What do you know?” She swayed in front of me, gently nudging up into my chest, her questions pointing to one thing.
My response was deliberate, maintaining balance. “You could start by telling me your name…” I felt like an idiot, “I don’t know. I’m confused. It all seems like a dream; I don’t remember what is real anymore… I’m sorry.” I couldn’t blame her for being interested; she must have a completely different outlook on life from her vantage point. No comprehension of the outer world, the technology, the media. Living in perpetual tunnel vision, only perceiving the city in its stark and naked self, hidden from view, looked upon as a beggar. But beyond the appearance, beyond the impressions from cultured businessmen sipping lattes at the Café, wondering why she was sitting on the street begging, her tenderness persisted, touching me deeply. I sputtered “It’s a gift you know.”
“I know.” To my surprise, her response was what I expected: self understanding. “My name is Nith-Khawa-Tien, Do you know why I am here?”
The question hung above me like a guillotine, ready to drop. My mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. “No. I don’t. I can guess, but that would be lying. Her entire demeanor was captivating, I felt whole in the void.
“I was born here, raised here. Only recently I learned to talk your language, I learned from watching and listening to the outsiders because nobody here speaks your words. But I understand papa’s hesitation for your kind, he has always cautioned against inviting outsiders.”
Without thinking I responded “My kind?” And caught myself mid-act, asking silently “Since when was I so unique?” But her words caught up to me. I was not my routinely working self anymore. I was a debilitated, hallucinating naked guy, stranded in a labyrinth of tunnels where my only sanity resided in these Completely Different People. For all I knew, this slender woman, barely twenty years old, could be an old friend, a lover, and I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference, my memory was like an etch-a-sketch that got wiped clean, only a few bits of magnetic dust remaining where the picture used to be. I made a feeble attempt to cover up with a question that had been burning in me, “Can I call you Nikki?”
Words flew out of her mouth. “I remember that it started in the early 1950’s as a utopian commune, Mannoh told me stories about how the Temple of New Realization eventually grew with enormous strength. If the people understood how it’s all played out… but my ancestors were fed from the radical hippies, a movement that had reached its peak.” Her words were cut short from others in the room, stirring in a dreamless sleep and annoyed with her chatter.
“They desired nothing less than Nirvana and Peace on Earth… Can you imagine the power when thousands of free loving teenagers give their inheritances or life savings to the Temple? They are dedicating their lives to the needs of this Church.
“This Church?” I could not contain myself, “I’m not in no Church... I’m in a cellar, a dungeon. And what’s with the spiritual holy stuff?”
“You have to understand. In the beginning we followed the teachings of gurus and eastern religions, seeking enlightenment to culminate in the ultimate manifestation of peace on earth, the idea was simple… In roots, you will find your garden, because all fruit needs a tree to grow on. But over time the purpose mutated. Mind altering hallucinogens blurred their focus and somehow, after years of this self indulgent reality we became socially independent.”
I wanted to scream “You are dependant on the rest of humanity!” but I was silent, absorbing the disturbing reality I had been forced into, my mind in turmoil, looking for a proper response.
Our excited chatter had caught the attention of the others and they began to shuffle closer, motioning to us. An old woman stooped low on a well used cane, walking close to Nikki. She seemed to know what we were discussing and stepped close to me, her harsh, raspy voice beginning to explain in broken English.
“My people existed by relying on guidance to produce a fully self sufficient community; the irony was obvious: anarchy required leadership. From what I remember, a self imposed government of the most influential members maintained control of the temple and its funds. In that position, they had many opportunities to steal from the others, choosing to promote our own status and comfort.”
Her beady, sunken eyes looked at me sternly, sizing me up in the shadowy light. I couldn’t wait any longer to speak.
“I met someone there. An old woman, she told me that you were here, living in the tunnels. That’s why I am here now; I just need to remember what she said… she had a message for you.” I tried to collect my thoughts; overloaded from the story I had just been told. “She knows you are here, she remembers, she wants to help.”
The old woman continued with her diatribe, muttering softly in between my words, not seeming to notice.
“Effort goes without mention. We live out lives; we trance the memories of life today.
Team effort, together we lay a solid foundation. These efforts rewarded with hundreds of enhancements and refinements. Modify our view, isolate the singular emotion. We become a piece together, another piece... time and generations, and time again build us, train us, and make us who we are.”
Her gaze shifted, clouding distant memories.
“Through a series of treachery, industries were established to provide a greater source of capital, replacing the money new recruits brought into the community and giving the people something to do. Rallied into submission with two assemblies a day, powerful speakers held the masses in constant fervour imitating the Nazi era pep talks.
Men became workers, slaving in the fields and factories for the benefit of the community. Marriage and sexual relationships were prohibited; the ability of birth was selected by the leadership upon the merit or stature of the women, the ability of fathering was held by the elite government. All others remained chaste and celibate. In wild uncontrolled orgies sex became anonymous, never able to see their partners in the complete darkness. As children were born they became property of the temple with no direct connection to their mother or family other than the community. Care and responsibility was shared by all nursing women, continuing the maternal provision until their breasts ran dry.
It was in this way that the individual nature of mankind was transformed. Mimicking nature, the community became dependant on itself as a whole; similar to a colony of ants the individual became worthless. With no ego to separate and no family to associate with, every one was united to the needs of the temple as their father and guide.
In time the governing members fell prey to the inevitable quarrels for control and in bitter war, behind the closed doors of the elite chambers, a King was selected. All of us who protested were given lethal doses of mind altering drugs, stripped of their clothing and dumped into the luggage compartment of the next train that left Central Station. We survived in a ruthless dismembering from the colony we had known since birth, evading mental institutions, banded together in hiding, forming an underground culture beneath the city in abandoned subway tunnels, we are forced to live in filth and disease. The drugs we were given were so disruptive that recollection of our prior lives is lost, wandering together only from an instinctual association. The English language was meaningless, the structure of the culture became chaotic and all this was rewritten, channelled from ancient memories from past lives. A new dialect was formed entirely different than any before, and an ethnicity evolved of pure love, of complete enlightenment blossoming in the depths of darkness, nurtured in the lonely places nobody dares to venture into.
Within the Temple, under rule of the newly selected King, the commune became misguided and selfish and many new cultural rules were created to restrict emotions. Tribal ritualistic tattooing began marking members for their roles in the colony, creating separation amongst the ranks, promoting envy within the groups. Sexual desire was so promoted that eventually there was no restraint and the people demanded freedom, revolting in an intense riot. The King had no choice but to turn the riot into an orgy, select his royal maternal providers to carry the elite lineage, and promote bondage and sadomasochistic ritual for the lower classes.
Eroticism reigned supreme in complex pornographic rituals, designed for complete liberation from desire. Only the most outstanding men and women were fertile, all others ritualistically publicly sterilized on their twelfth birthday. Cleverly disguised as a gift to the gods to further the strength and stability of the massive population, its real only use was to stem the exponential growth within the colony that had reached a critical mass.