LESSONS...as told in the Thirty-Third Century by Blynda
Lessons-4 Continues...Fourth Excerpt #4 The Rebirth of Existence
I finally reached the top. There was nothing familiar, but I felt well within my elements.
I do welcome the unfamiliar. I was standing by the side of a small paved road. If I am a time traveler, I would be at home, but in what century, I wondered? Such questions need answering if my feet are to firmly stand on this ground.
Ahh, that Little Genius from New Jersey, I have yet to decide if to embrace or curse him. Retribution is not a thing, especially, given the un-assurity, that the Little Genius had either cursed or enshrined Existence.
On the other side of the road, is a ten feet high mount. Is it a mount of buried history, or was it built up by the dirt removed to create this road? Such simple things need not be complicated by deep thoughts.
A few feet to my right, stood another Twentieth Century relic; a pay phone. Actually, three pay phones clustered together. Beyond them, stood a small patch of banana trees.
Through the banana trees, I see a small house. It is made of gray cement blocks. There are no windows visible, just a door entrance, with upper and lower half doors painted blue. The upper half of the door was open.
There stood the apple of my Granny’s eyes, my Great Granny. She was leaning on the lower half of the door. I wrote one great before granny because there are too many great, great to say or write, to place her properly on the family tree.
She wore a bright orange blouse with a flowery pattern. Her head is wrapped with a faded white cloth. I gathered faded by blood, sweat and tears. I wondered how many times she was forced to wipe blood, or sweat, or tears? The blouse flowery pattern, is not quite faded by the centuries.
Although obscured by the banana trees. My Great Granny’s eyes spoke to me. They were imploring that I walk to the pay phones and dial my cell phone number.
Within a time span too small to annunciate, I was before the pay phones. I picked up the receiver of phone #1, and tried unsuccessfully to insert the coin my Great Granny had no doubt, blessed my right pocket with. The coin slot was closed. I replaced it on its receiver and move to pay phone #2. Its coin slot was also closed.
As I lean towards pay phone #3, I heard the complaints of tires against the paved road. I look around and saw a green 1977 Chevy Nova moving forward. The slender young lady of 25 years was sitting in the front passenger seat. She bathes me with her smile as she waves goodbye. "My phone,” I screamed, as I started running behind the car.
All four car tires were now in conflict with the road. The tires lost the battle.
The car was now plowing through the banana trees. It flew over the mountain’s edge.
I ran to the edge to bear witness.
The car flips upside down as it descend to the base of the mountain. It landed in the pond.
Many of the wailing masses were still milling around the pond. Some jumped into the water. They lift the slender young lady of 25 years from the car. She was void of life. Sadness without tears.
I ran down the side of the mountain. The beach sand gave me balance as gravity held me down.
Down, down! I ran, I ran, I ran.
Before long, I was standing by the pond, again. I saw my reflection, again. I tried to catch my teeth as they fell from my mouth, again. My hands were too small, again. Reruns.
Who was this young woman of 25 years, death has taken?
I was once again climbing up the side of the mountain. My agility was more acceptable. I summited faster, credit my familiarity.
I was standing on the side of the small paved road, again. I gazed back and realized I had just ascended a vast canyon. The lines of time had decorated her like body art. Her steepness speaks of a vast history.
Not as steep as the capacity of my impute. I have walked side by side with the first warm blooded mammal who walked upright. I dined at the first and last supper. I was and is to be, once again, comforted by the first fire built by hue-man’s hands. Yes, I bathe in history. I have not lived it all, but I have witnessed it all.
I no longer crave clarity, give me salvation. I am rambling like a madman. Madness I will accept in place of the numerous answers the Little Genius have left us.
Semele feels secure that the Little Genius have also left a blueprint for all the questions to the answers. But why such shenanigans? He placed them all in one bag.
I am still wrangling with the process. Was I to be blindfolded before picking an answer? To which question does each answer belongs? We select the answers before knowing the questions. This has worked fine for him, but if I am the solver of riddles. This riddle has thus far eluded me.
It was Nietzsche who had proclaimed "The Death of God.” Such a simple pronouncement that had confounded those who desired confoundment. He was simple with his eloquence. Did he not speak of the nobility of individuality? The same nobility which gave rise to self determination. Self determination which is the ever present answer that lay in the palm of ones hand for questions to be determined.
Who did not fore-saw the virus’ manipulation; yet not by the hands of whom? Did the medicine man not warn you to take all of the medicine to eradicate the disease? How then can you be infected, when the medicine is in your hands?
I meander through history. Witnessed evolution, I saw the death blow strikes at reality.
Foucault warned of "Le Carnival.” Spoke of the "Death of Reality.” Before him, the revelation of the Bible warned of "drinking the wine of the fortification of the beast.” Yet I wondered aloud, what beast, only to be gobbled up by time. Words!
Was it the beast that lies within or without? What of the three headed monster? How confounded it is to say the three headed monster is "I, am & me?” It is a singular goal that made me whole.
Why question goals when all living things knows time is at hand? Time is not short if it is circular. Why build a mansion or monuments? When the children move on, and one’s time has expired, will the mansion or monuments not crumble? When mansion and monuments crumbled, and their stones have returned to dust, what's left for the passerby to witness, if not the view that inspired one to build a mansion and monuments at this very spot?
I have accepted that these trivial goals are an elixir, when the living accepts that death is no longer a constant companion of eternity. We aren’t married to death for eternity. Such distinction!
I am so confounded that the word live is the word evil in reverse. What is a word? Words are the signifiers of ones existence. “Chose your words carefully,” my Granny said as I tried to explain my uncontrolled urges.
I have substituted evil for madness, but madness in reverse is ssendam. I know of no language that defines ssendam. Do not conflate in order to relate such word to Sodom as in Gomorrah. A linguist would be better than the humble I. Oh my, I am rambling again.
This time, as I stood on the far side of the road, I hear the bouncing of a ball. There was a hole in the embankment. As I crossed the road, the bouncing ball got louder. I walked through the hole. Standing before me was a young woman of 20 years old and a girl of 5 years. Existence may have divided, but for whose consumption?
The young woman of 20 years and the girl of 5 years, walk towards me.
”We came through the never ending forest,” the young woman of 20 years explained as she points to the dense forest at their backs.
So dense is the never ending forest that no light or water falls to its floor, yet it thrive.
They stopped close enough for us to embrace, but the moment was wanting. Our braided stories has yet to begin.
“The journey was not to bad,” she continues. “We had no moment of thirst. And here you are, as we were promised.”
Ring, Ring, Ring! My cellphone I thought.
The Girl of 5 years pulls it from her pocket and flips it open.
“Hello”! She says, while holding the phone just below her mouth.
“Hi! Yes, we are here and are about to begin your story. Thank you!”
The girl of 5 years, hangs up the phone, placed it back in here pocket and took a half step back, partially hiding behind the young woman of 20 years.
She held onto the bottom of her skirt with her left hand like little girls do, while peeking at me. With her other hand, her fingers alternate as instruments of finger sucking and braid twister; twisting the braids on her head. Restlessness is beguiling.
Ahh, a moment of solitude; the girl placed her right hand into the young woman of 20 years left hand.
With her right hand the young woman of 20 years took my left hand. Ohh, what familiarity!
I ask no questions, as we walk through the hole and down the paved road, directly into sun #2. My journey continues as a co-star. Many lived journeys, await.