The Conversation, Part One

October 1, 2021

Have you seen the lights and clouds that float under the firmament?

Surely have I. They surround, encircling something, something that pierces through the ground, the air, and the sky, beyond my limited vision.

It seems that light comes out from it, out from the center of the circle formed by stacks of clouds. With the layers accumulating, the circle gradually dwindles, eventually concentrating into a Point.

The point is the ultimate brightness, shining through our land and realm. It reaches no end.

Rays of light have unleashed, blurring my vision over the detail of the center. Interesting enough. Is it the Sun, the Luminant Orb around which our land has revolved over billions of years?

Intriguing description. I’d like to hear more of it. Despite so, that light source isn’t likely the Sun itself, but rather a proportion of it detached from its body. Yet it revolves around our land, and thus becoming hardly seen by the livings. Now show it to me, your description.

It becomes the story of particles and light, of substance and matter. One who ever lived has thought about the land that one comes from. It’s said that the land was a spinning sphere out of molten and solidified rock, circling around a ball of giant blazing gas, the gas that combusted so intensively that discharges tremendously into brightness and heat. It became so far apart that the brightness and heat travelled for eight minutes onto this molten rock; it became the brightness and heat that covered the rock sphere with light and warmth; it became the light and warmth that ultimately cultivated millions of so-called organisms colonizing upon this rock; it became those organisms that self-evolved into the today’s men and women, the thinker and the philosopher, the practitioner and the conductor.

Yet you have been one among thousands, millions, even billions of individuals. Fortunate, have you witnessed the orbiting light.

Then tales must be told with respect to the light.

I shall illustrate the said tales. It has been said that the said Light once integrated within the said Sun under the said condition. For unknown reasons, was the Light granted the ability to think and move. And then the Light departed; and then the Light wandered. It wandered in the limitless dark space out of existence and nonexistence, of being and nonbeing. Years and decades went by, did it become awry and lost. Desperate as it was, did the light exhale its ultimate, prolonged cry that travelled throughout the entirety of space and time, that retained the remainder of the Light’s energy. It has been said that the last outcry has eventually travelled to the Earth, that the last outcry has brought about the first existence of organism. Light as it was, bright as it was, the last piece of the Light revolved around its protected planet, the so-called molten rock, permanently.

Tales were preserved; tales were told; yet tales were tales. No need to undertake it to any serious extent.

Now, observe. Observe the beam of light surrounded by countless clouds, what have you noticed inside of it?

What I have seen was the clear azure lurking behind. What I have seen was an otherworld realm filled with atmosphere of delight.

And what I have seen was a giant gate hanging directly amid the Beam of Light.

Precise has always your vision been. It has reminded me of something out of familiarity, which I must have contemplated over some time before. I need clues. Clues should work.

Is it from the Mythology of Greeks or the Bible of Christianity? Is it from the scenes you’ve observed or the legends you’ve read? Is it etched deep inside your subconsciousness or a superficial impression over your withered recollection?

None of those, none of matters that exist. It should have come from dreams and fantasies, out of my own observation. It has been all about the Gate of Heaven – the exact answer; that means the said orbiting light has emitted the Gateway to Heaven. A correction to my words: you were right at some point; I indeed located it out of books and myths.

Divine and holy are they, under the miracular Light surrounded by layers of thick clouds. We must be permitted to ascend toward the Hallowed Realm; it serves as a fulfillment to my spiritual wellbeing.

Not really. The sacred nature of the Gateway has prohibited its observers to approach. It has been told that anyone who attempted to enter the Gateway should perish. Best to observe, not to interfere.

Then the conversation has no further purpose. We shall leave immediately.

Not so soon. The Light has been rare, always. It will eventually fade into nothingness, shutting the holy Gateway. If you not wish to waive your inner delight, then stay and watch in silence.

Patience. It takes time to comprehend the whole image.

It takes time.

October 8, 2021

It seems this is where it all culminates, tales and truths unleashed.

Beware. Danger lies; it threatens.

Heavenly should our conversation be. I have observed the Gate of Heaven, the Staircase to Heaven. Divine and holy were they, hallowed and scared become they. Words cannot tell – it has always been ineffable.

And look: the sunlight pierces through the leaves shuffling with branches swinging. Lively, were they, filled with vibrancy.

I said, Beware. It was merely because of your superficiality, your negligence, that the sun starts to descend. It’s not a good sign.

Where shall it be?

It ultimately lies into the underworld, covering the overworld with endless darkness. It becomes the last sunset.

Caution. Danger lies; it threatens. Illusions will you encounter; they only appear in Dreams.

Yet there lacks a reason for this. It comes from nothingness that the sun would begin its descension.

Wise suspicion. Perhaps it was written; it was predestined.

it grows restless. Show it to me.

Not for now. It is still early.

The blindfold will inevitably sink into nonexistence; that’s when you shall come to understand.

Undoing starts to surround. It forms mists; it blurs my vision. Yet I may sense; I sense the light decaying, the leaves withering.

It has to come to an end.

Patience. It takes time.

October 23, 2021

In search of the recurring voice, have you arrived. It has been the sanctuary of consciousness, the shrine of mentality.

Yet the dreams and the illusion. They all belonged to light.

Light... light has since vanished. As you've seen two weeks before, it rotted, withered, perished, into nonexistence.

and what accompanied the death of light, were the elimination of the souls of good deed.

that I had acquired under the storm amongst dark clouds. They were once the dome of the sky.

they roared; they rampaged.

Digression. You have not yet thought any of what brought you here.

Same as what you've said at the very beginning. It was the Voice, the voice that repeated in my mind for thousand times. It calls me.

to where?

to this exact place. What I've seen is merely a bench with green leaves and red bricks abaft. Light has yet existed, forever.

Haven’t you ever realized that you’ve been Dreaming?

You’ve been dreaming for long. You’ve dreamed a dream; you’ve dreamed a sanctuary; you’ve dreamed a world. The dream consisted of lights and, indisputably, dreams. The dream consisted of what you’ve been in search of for lifelong. And the dream consisted of the sun and grass, plains and trees; and the dream consisted of life and happiness, good deed and wellbeing. And the dream has been a part of you, a part of your indispensable element.

what have you meant?

It was the dream that initiated the voice, it was the dream that summoned your spirit here. It has since possessed your mind and consciousness, has since controlled every step of your movement. It has become your inner motive and drive, the drive that has driven you to this sanctuary.

and yet all those dreams and thoughts were for merely a bench.

Not important, though. Turn yourself over and walk, without taking any further glance of here. Go.

I’m still confused. What has all this been?

I shall tell you a story. Once there was a man who was obsessed with Dreaming. He has dreamed for days and nights, dawns and dusks. He dreamed of himself, immersed in a world of dream. He dreamed of the sun and grass, plains and trees. He dreamed of himself absorbed into the dream, absorbed into all fantasies and unreality. He himself has become the illusion, the voice. He himself has become the voice that led every action of his, for which he strived, to which he expected. It was all about dreaming and voices that led him toward morality, toward satisfaction and gratification, toward the inner flow of his mind. Yet had he made any misstep, would he cease to relish said limitless wellbeing. Yet the man is you.

That reminds me. The dream has emerged from tones and melody; the dream has been navigated by stars and planets; the dream has derived from every single piece of thought of mine. The dream has been inevitably connected to…

Your destiny. The fate and destiny that you have always refuted to admit. Yet it has been what inherent inside your cognition; they are an integrity. That should lead us more of the things to discuss about.

The thing.

A question, though: toward where are we heading?

Toward somewhere closely linked to your destiny. Do not further ask; there lies no answer.

Yet what I have seen is streets aligned with houses, houses that were neither tall nor grand. Yet the streets were narrow but elongated, devoid of vehicles and pedestrians.

It has been… It has been so long. It has been a flashback in my memory. It feels like the scene ahead was what I had experienced years before, years before I had ever had consciousness and mentality.

Now that the sky, along with its welkin and firmament, has turned dark green. Now that the sky has turned light green. I see seabirds flying through. I see a Tower that lies.

It leads me nowhere; haven’t had such feeling any before.

Now you have experienced it. Now you are heading towards it, the Tower.

within the Tower lies the most brilliant and radiant rite, namely the Celebration.

What have been all those?

No need to know. Keep going, and you shall return.

I shall deny until I understand.

You really seek to understand something. Let me tell you.

Let me tell you a long story.

You might be wondering how I have emerged. We, as I use this phrase to state both you and me, are an integrity; we belonged to the same body and, more, the same spirit and mind. Yet the bulk split into two, yet the two have gradually become separate, all by the very moment of being granted consciousness. That has further been a long word to say, too long for me to elucidate under such brief period.

I have emerged from your very will of preserving your wellbeing, and was thus called to lead you. I have been granted partial knowledge from the Book of Prophet, the book that consisted of every aspect of your destiny – it was all written. I shall not render any further information about the Book; it was left for journeys and future.

and the Tower has been holding the Celebration; and the tower has been the torchlight in the ultimate dark; and the tower has been what you will eventually undergo resurrection.

and you must expect.

and I shall understand.

and you must expect

that the Voice should be followed, that the Celebration should be undertaken, and that the Resurrection shall eventually take place.

and I have been dreaming over the dream, dreaming of sunlight and grass, of wildland and happiness, of the Voice and the Celebration.

yet I am bewildered; yet I become astray. What shall I do under this exact moment, has yet left unknown.

Patience. It takes time.

It all takes time.

October 30, 2021

I see what you mean. The bridge that connects the down and the dusk – it lies in the front.

And I’m nearing it; and I’m seeking the inherent nature of it. What have you meant by all this?

Good question. It looks like the bridge has been a preview of where you are going to travel to, the City.

Still hard to find.

Then I shall tell you a tale.

Once upon a time, there was a man who suffered from failures. He kept making trails, only to fail every of these. Desperate, was he in search of salvation, in search of happiness and light. It was then when he strived for the inner piece of mind, for tranquility; it was then when he threw away the bowlines, seeking for the City.

Built by the Artisan’s hands, the City has grown restless in years. Originally a small town, the City expanded, enlarged, swelled, into a grand metropolis. The man has heard, that the City should encompass every wonder for which he strived, that the City should embrace all the dreams and mysteries which he had accumulated – innumerable dreams, countless mysteries. The man has heard that the City should lead him to the ultimate culmination of his short existence.

It was when he finally arrived in the city, did he feel himself filled with burst of light. The light became so bright, that his physical being gradually disintegrated. His body shattered, then vanished, into nothingness. Yet he did not die; yet his spirituality persisted. Clouds and storms were broken through; he has reached the ultimate culmination, eternally.

I must have heard those, as the recurring voices that conveyed something. Things formed into jigsaw puzzles, and puzzles gradually started to combine. It was then when the story became eligible for me to comprehend.

Eligible enough it was. Yet things were faraway to fetch.

Have you recalled the Tower?

It was the Tower of torchlight, the Tower of Celebration. It was the residence of homeless souls.

It was what we have stepped into. The Tower of Celebration lies in your front.

Indeed, the bridge was a mere illusion that had the Tower lurked behind.

The Tower that shone, the tower that glistened; it dwelled in the Dream.

What I’ve seen were those bewildered souls whose bodies were perished upon. What I’ve seen were the far-reaching sea aligning with far-off mountains. What I’ve seen were seagulls gliding over the torchlight of the Tower. And I strode, strode toward the Celebration. And I relished, under endless ecstasy. And I perished, leaving my decayed body on to the basement covered in light. And I became resurrected, enlightened, energized. What I’ve witnessed were the assembly gathering over the ground. What I’ve witnessed were the columns, the columns that glint its candlelight. What I’ve witnessed were the bottomless darkness illuminated by the luminosity of the Celebration.

The tale of redemption, the fable of resurrection.

and I became alleviated, escalating toward heights.

and I was ascending beyond the warmth of the Celebration

into the sky of pure darkness and frigidness.

and I was traversing the city seeking for hopes and inspiration

where I ultimately be gifted the salvation.

and I was dreaming a dream, a dream about redemption

a dream about dreams, a dream about lights.

and I was dreaming of my destiny

the destiny that fitted into the Book of Prophet.

and I was dreaming about the ultimate culmination of my life.

of my existence and being.

and you will eventually meet your mentor, who shall grant you many implications.

and it all takes time.

December 4, 2021 – The Monologue

Long have you been eluding.

Alas! You have faded. Alack! You have waned

It took me so many days to locate your traces – until now. Now that we must talk. Now that we must have a deep, thorough, profound conversation. That the conversation has to fulfill its arrangements; that the conversation has to bring you back; that the conversation has to conform to the Book…

Let me ask you a simple question – pretty straightforward. What shall one do in search of his life goals? If one strives to achieve his goal, what shall he do? What has one attempted in front of his Salvation? What has one struggled, persisted, persevered over it?

In search of salvation, one may not merely construe the emotional wellbeing. One cannot merely imagine the sun and grass, the plains and trees. Once must not merely think of the ultimate state of the safe harbor – they all resided in fantasy, infeasible and absurd. They were Dreams.

Fool! Haven’t you realized that you have submerged into the enduring Dream? The dream that had established long ago, the dream that surrounded your consciousness and mind; that dream has possessed you. It has since thwarted you; it has since impeded you, from your glorious progression toward lights and salvation, toward dawn and sunrise, toward peace and tranquility.

Yet that the dream has hypnotized you; yet the dream has contaminated you; yet the dream has devastated you. Where have been your reasoning, your rationality, your determination? Were they degraded, receded, or diminished? Knowledge, have you learned; truth, have you understood. And the City has been where you dwelled, along with limitless wonder, illusion, and inspiration – they have acted inversely.

The once friendly dream has turned against its omnipotent creator. The dream has devoured the large part of its creator’s lucid mind, and the mind has long been blurred from facts and truths. Yet the Dream was the dream of sunlight and grassland, of the monuments in the City, the city where travelers have perished. Yet the Dream was the dream of winter, of snowstorm and blackness. Yet in the Dream, the lone wanderer has become mangled by the incessant storms of blizzard, by the ever-rampaging wind. Wind has blown; wind has roared, over the ears and the face of the poor wanderer – he has ceased to exist ever on this land. Yet in the Dream, the wanderer has recognized the past, the present, and the future of his; all he spotted were the ever beauty on this land. Yet the blood has been dripping, dripping from the rims of the wanderer’s sunken eyes. Yet the reddish liquid has dyed the snow, dyed this land to its reddish hue. Yet the reddish hue has spread, spread through the lands and rivers, through continents and oceans. The man woke, finding himself yet alive, outside of the Dream, the dream that has trapped him for so long.

It has always been the tale of resurrection, the story of redemption. The man was aroused by the ever-growing intensity of the snowstorm, yet it made him suffer, suffering from the deepest pain he had ever undergone. Yet I have seen the Path of yours, the ultimate, correct Path that leads you to our reality. Yet the Path has long existed, devoid of pain, injury, and agony. Yet the Path lies in the farthest aspect of your familiarity, the bypass of your journey. Yet all your salvation has lain along the Path. Yet all you have to do is to step onto the Path.

Yet it takes no time to hesitate.

December 18, 2021

It eventually falls on you to navigate through the Bridge. We once thought that the bridge has been a hindrance toward the Tower of the Celebration; yet it ultimately becomes the said Path.

Indeed. It resides at the corner of the City, the City of imagination and creation, the City that will evoke my sense of nostalgia.

There lies no reason for this. The City has been a mere creation of your Dream, the Dream that has devastated your consciousness.

Yet you were wrong about this. Though the dream has hypnotized my mind, it left countless amount of inspiration. The imagery has been created unforgettable.

You convinced me this way. Still, the City will inevitably be abandoned. Now step onto the bridge and go, without looking back.

Perhaps this would be the last glance of it. Let me stay for a brief while.

I see the seagulls gliding above the bridge. I see the constructions made by the greatest artisans. I see the landscape left wild and afar. I see the world of the dream so real and tangible.

Yet you were right; they were mere products of illusion. While they soon perish, their images persist.

Now I may go.

Go, along with me.

That’s how it does all; the process.

I’ve never thought about that, but that’s absolutely beautiful. I especially like how it resonates with me, with my inner feelings.

Truly they are. They were nebulae and stardust, comets and stars. They were canyon and ocean, aurora and sunglow. They were… ascending.

They were the outcome of your imagination, your imagination that appeared throughout this Dream. They were all your happiness and delight, the delight that you have experienced throughout this Dream. They accompany you stepping out of this realm, this dimension, once you have recognized the world you live in.

and look. They are flying into flashes and lights; they are flying toward the ahead and the beyond. It brightens my vision.

and what have you seen?

My past, my present, and my future. They were filled with glistening light.

and the light enlightened your thinking; and the light enlightened your mind.

and the light enlightened the entirety of the sky.

Language surely fails to depict the grandeur and the beauty. I need to keep my pace.

Let’s finish of our walk on this bridge, together.

Certainly. An unforgettable journey it has been.

Always has been.

December 24 – The Epilogue

Once I was told that there was a man, a wanderer.

A man out of darkness and despair, out of hopelessness and dismay.

That the man has wandered ever since he was granted the very first flashback of his memory, that the man has wandered through days and nights, through summers and winters.

What the man has recalled were the thousands of sceneries that he had ever observed.

The views of the gorges and the canyons, the views of the sea and the ocean, the views of the harbor and the coast, the views of the mountains and the peaks, the views of storms and rain, the views of the ever-growing civilization, the views of a brilliant shining city, the views of the wildland beside the city, the views of decorated mansion, the views of pieces of furniture inside the mansion, the views of his past, present, and future.

What the man has recalled were the thousands of journeys he had ever made.

Once was he permitted to behold the flashes of light accessing the sacred Gate. Once was he miserable to spectate the eventual sunset of his undirected destiny. Once was he dreaming, dreaming of the road of perished souls, of the elevated, brilliant Tower. Once was he making a misstep, a misstep that led him to the rapture of subconsciousness, that entrapped him without bringing him back. Yet the man continued his journey.

Yet the man continued his journey, waiting for the Night to recede, waiting for the Dawn to descend. Always has he been, waiting.

Yet he dreamed while waiting, yet he travelled while waiting, yet he observed while waiting. That the man has observed himself, sinking into the arid sea of sand and dust.

That the man has observed the nebulae and starlight, that the man has witnessed sunrise and twilight, that the man has foreseen the lights and dreams, dreams of grass and soil, of trees and plains.

That the man has observed feelings and sentimentality of living beings. What he has observed was the sentimentality of horror and fear, of sadness and dismay. What he has observed was the feelings of rejoice and delight, of elation and euphoria. What he has observed was the state of peace and tranquility, of balance and secure.

Yet the man has been overwhelmed by his contemplation, overwhelmed by the hundreds of emotions.

Yet the man has once been overwhelmed by horror and fear, yet the man has once been overwhelmed by rejoice and delight. Yet they all came from the man’s untold past.

And the man threw away his bowline, and the man sailed off from the sanctuary, and the man set up a journey, a journey that has been repeated for millions of times.

Yet the journey has been different, yet the man has sought to fulfill his inner pursuit of the state of tranquility and peace, of balance and secure. Yet the man has become in search of lights and dreams.

The dreams of days and nights; the dreams of days and nights that enclosed the once-shone Tower with an ever-held Celebration, that enclosed the ultimate Light leading toward the Gateway to Heaven, that enclosed a City out of pure wonder and imagination.

And the man found a bridge, a bridge that connects between the time and the space, between the past and the present, between the present and the future, between the imagination and the fantasy, between the wonder and the meditation…

And the man made his last resolution, a resolution he will never be regret of.

And the man stepped on to the bridge, in search of lights and dreams, in search of dawn and sunrise, in search of tranquility and calmness.

And the man was filled with lights, limitless, luminant light. And the man was illuminated by the infinite light. And the man was enlightened by the light.

And the man found the bridge made of light, and the man saw the sky covered with light.

And the man found light filling up his vision, through the past, the present, and the future.

And the man himself became light, the light of which he has been always in search.

And…

…in search of opportunities and more lights…

the man woke up.