Revelations
Revelations
Everything was nothing. It was upon this sole statement that his world was built. He was in a coma, and in this coma nothing existed. He lay in the green grass, surrounded by soothing smells. He knew nothing of the real world. He knew nothing of the green grass. He was well within his own mind and he had no desire to look outside. How long had he been lying there? It did not seem to matter, for time itself had lost its importance and so he lay there, in the green grass, floating on the clouds of his own creations.
Something called for him from an unrecognizable source. The walls of his mind seemed to echo with its powerful voice. Although there were no actual words spoken, the voice conveyed a cascade of feelings and thoughts to his world of non-existence. It told him of the real world, of grass, forests and of animals. It told him of beauty and of warmth, and as it continued he realized that he felt these emotions. He became aware of his physical body. He felt the motherly embrace of the green grass. His lungs were filled with fresh air and the smells were astonishing. As he inhaled the very essence of nature he felt that he was completely calm. This was a lot better than his dreams and his thoughts. Mother Nature had conjured things, to him unimaginable; things, which would leave even the greatest of poets in awe.
He opened his eyes and rose from his position and stood up on the smooth grass. The surrounding animals were astonished with this sudden revival and they stood in awe of this break of the routine. He was running, saluting the animals in a childish fashion, openly expressing his joy.
There was much of the world left to see and to explore but he was contented with what he had begun to know and feel comfortable with. As time passed, he eventually felt as one with his surroundings and understood that he was now a vital part of its existence. Not so long after his revival, time once again became fluid and once again did the lines between reality and dream dissolve and he was plunged into the realm of unconsciousness. He had entered his second coma.
Again the voice trembled. However, it was sterner now, as if to tell him that it was of grave importance for him to listen carefully. Once again it did not speak in words. It told him of wonders and of miracles. It told him of improvement and of victory. As it spoke, a shape appeared in front of him. It managed to enter his beautiful realm. It was a black figure. Though the voice did not alter in tone or form he could see that the source of it was no longer unidentifiable; it came from the figure’s mouth. The black messenger disappeared in a chaotic turmoil and when the smoke had cleared, nothing was left to tell of its existence but a huge black book. Naturally, he reached for the book. It was a beautiful piece of art, with several complex symbols and paintings on the cover. As he opened the book, it exploded in the sounds of a million voices. These voice took complete dominion of his mind and he was infused with its dark message. The sound that rose from the book was an orchestra of sobbing, wailing voices crying in pain and agony. They warned him not to open the book. He, of course, disregarded this warning and proceeded.
There were no words, only blank pages. Even they held some form of tacit beauty and he was intrigued by the exquisite inscriptions on the front cover. Suddenly, while he was admiring one certain symbol, the book forced itself open and letters appeared on the previously blank pages. It was written violently and the black ink, though intriguing and beautiful, made him feel severe unease .
He read.
It told him of everything. He learned the concept of time, the laws of physics, and the secrets of the universe. He saw how blind and stupefied he had been, and he shuddered at the very thought of his comatose self. As he read, the day turned into night, a phenomena he had never seen before, but which he completely understood now that it took place. Although the darkness would normally make reading impossible, the light from his eyes enabled him to continue with his research. There would no longer be darkness, for he had created light. There would no longer be grief, for he had created happiness. And no longer would there be death, for he had conquered it. It was noticed by the animals that it was not until after him reading the book that tragedies and death became reality. There would no longer be fantasy, there would only be facts.
A certain passage in the book told him of his surroundings and of the undiscovered. Although it had a very vivid and exact description of the earth he stood upon, its focus lay in the skies. It was the tales of the stars, the moon and the vast cosmos that caught his attention. He remembered learning, in the early days, about hope and aspiration. As he read further about the mysterious skies, he began to realize that the moon and the stars were the manifestations of these particular aspects of the human mind. As this realization illuminated him, the black ink disappeared into the blank pages and the book vanished. It did not matter; he was all too intrigued by his recent discoveries to let his attention be caught by anything but his own dreams.
He stared at the sky, not moving one inch. He admired it in silence. Constellations formed in front of him and the stars were given meanings. They became symbols of his dreams and wishes. The world changed around him. The nature, which he had been a part of decayed around him, betrayed by his neglect. It did not matter; his focus was elsewhere. The animals looked at him in their grief begging him to return, but it was for naught. He had entered his third coma.
He had not turned his gaze from the stars since he first discovered them and the world he was still physically a part of turned to dispose of him. Slowly, the grass around his feet crawled up his body and around his neck. The green thick collar pulled him towards the ground leaving the rest to the earth. The ground, upon which he lay, opened and he was devoured by the green earth. All was now well, and his body had merged with that of the earth. His soul, however, would not rest; it would forever dream of the stars above.
Everything was nothing. It was upon this sole statement that his world was built. He was in a coma, and in this coma nothing existed. He lay in the green grass, surrounded by soothing smells. He knew nothing of the real world. He knew nothing of the green grass. He was well within his own mind and he had no desire to look outside. How long had he been lying there? It did not seem to matter, for time itself had lost its importance and so he lay there, in the green grass, floating on the clouds of his own creations.
Something called for him from an unrecognizable source. The walls of his mind seemed to echo with its powerful voice. Although there were no actual words spoken, the voice conveyed a cascade of feelings and thoughts to his world of non-existence. It told him of the real world, of grass, forests and of animals. It told him of beauty and of warmth, and as it continued he realized that he felt these emotions. He became aware of his physical body. He felt the motherly embrace of the green grass. His lungs were filled with fresh air and the smells were astonishing. As he inhaled the very essence of nature he felt that he was completely calm. This was a lot better than his dreams and his thoughts. Mother Nature had conjured things, to him unimaginable; things, which would leave even the greatest of poets in awe.
He opened his eyes and rose from his position and stood up on the smooth grass. The surrounding animals were astonished with this sudden revival and they stood in awe of this break of the routine. He was running, saluting the animals in a childish fashion, openly expressing his joy.
There was much of the world left to see and to explore but he was contented with what he had begun to know and feel comfortable with. As time passed, he eventually felt as one with his surroundings and understood that he was now a vital part of its existence. Not so long after his revival, time once again became fluid and once again did the lines between reality and dream dissolve and he was plunged into the realm of unconsciousness. He had entered his second coma.
Again the voice trembled. However, it was sterner now, as if to tell him that it was of grave importance for him to listen carefully. Once again it did not speak in words. It told him of wonders and of miracles. It told him of improvement and of victory. As it spoke, a shape appeared in front of him. It managed to enter his beautiful realm. It was a black figure. Though the voice did not alter in tone or form he could see that the source of it was no longer unidentifiable; it came from the figure’s mouth. The black messenger disappeared in a chaotic turmoil and when the smoke had cleared, nothing was left to tell of its existence but a huge black book. Naturally, he reached for the book. It was a beautiful piece of art, with several complex symbols and paintings on the cover. As he opened the book, it exploded in the sounds of a million voices. These voice took complete dominion of his mind and he was infused with its dark message. The sound that rose from the book was an orchestra of sobbing, wailing voices crying in pain and agony. They warned him not to open the book. He, of course, disregarded this warning and proceeded.
There were no words, only blank pages. Even they held some form of tacit beauty and he was intrigued by the exquisite inscriptions on the front cover. Suddenly, while he was admiring one certain symbol, the book forced itself open and letters appeared on the previously blank pages. It was written violently and the black ink, though intriguing and beautiful, made him feel severe unease .
He read.
It told him of everything. He learned the concept of time, the laws of physics, and the secrets of the universe. He saw how blind and stupefied he had been, and he shuddered at the very thought of his comatose self. As he read, the day turned into night, a phenomena he had never seen before, but which he completely understood now that it took place. Although the darkness would normally make reading impossible, the light from his eyes enabled him to continue with his research. There would no longer be darkness, for he had created light. There would no longer be grief, for he had created happiness. And no longer would there be death, for he had conquered it. It was noticed by the animals that it was not until after him reading the book that tragedies and death became reality. There would no longer be fantasy, there would only be facts.
A certain passage in the book told him of his surroundings and of the undiscovered. Although it had a very vivid and exact description of the earth he stood upon, its focus lay in the skies. It was the tales of the stars, the moon and the vast cosmos that caught his attention. He remembered learning, in the early days, about hope and aspiration. As he read further about the mysterious skies, he began to realize that the moon and the stars were the manifestations of these particular aspects of the human mind. As this realization illuminated him, the black ink disappeared into the blank pages and the book vanished. It did not matter; he was all too intrigued by his recent discoveries to let his attention be caught by anything but his own dreams.
He stared at the sky, not moving one inch. He admired it in silence. Constellations formed in front of him and the stars were given meanings. They became symbols of his dreams and wishes. The world changed around him. The nature, which he had been a part of decayed around him, betrayed by his neglect. It did not matter; his focus was elsewhere. The animals looked at him in their grief begging him to return, but it was for naught. He had entered his third coma.
He had not turned his gaze from the stars since he first discovered them and the world he was still physically a part of turned to dispose of him. Slowly, the grass around his feet crawled up his body and around his neck. The green thick collar pulled him towards the ground leaving the rest to the earth. The ground, upon which he lay, opened and he was devoured by the green earth. All was now well, and his body had merged with that of the earth. His soul, however, would not rest; it would forever dream of the stars above.
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