There can comes times in life in which you can have perfect clarity. It all seems to come together in an instant and you suddenly feel aware of everything - the past, present and future meld together to form a perfect whole. This must be, I think, what it would be like to be God. The moment, at least in my experience, lasts but a millisecond and no more. The awareness is gone and you are left with only your limited human sight. You can, however, get a hint of the frustration that would come with being able to see the whole picture and know that you are not in control and that you are powerless in the face of such magnificence. This frustration, then, can lead to either a pursuit of that glimpse of clarity you saw, or it can lead to an tantrum of anger, angst and rebellion. This last, I think, must be what it is like to be Satan.



On an unrelated note. What if what you want is highly improbable. What if the rational side of you know that it is best to focus on the probable instead of worrying about all that is possible. What if the improbable odds far out weigh the probable odds; that every fiber of you being tells you one thing, but you keep wanting the other. Does that make you a lunar? Or are you living by faith? I know, it really depends upon what the issues at hand are, but I am just curious as to whether I am truly having faith in an untenable situation, or if I am a lunar living in an out of touch reality. And this is, I think, what it feels like to be Human. I guess this is, after all, a quasi-related note.



As the door closes on Anois, these thoughts flood my head. The passages are still dingy, whether from some Hollywood sense of mood setting or simple neglect, I haven't a clue. Making my way back up to the central hub of the place, determined to explore some of the other passages, I notice a change has taken place.



There are small scribblings on the walls. The description of a scribble is not entirely accurate, though. In some spaces, the wall has been scrubbed clean and someone or something has printed in an amazingly clear and fluent print, by hand no less, the phrases, sentences and words that I see. Perhaps I could read some of them to you...*



"A deadly mistake I believe our cultures make in the pursuit of meaning is this illusion that love devoid of the sacred, a naked love, is all we need to carry us through life's tests and passions."

"Now, here is my secret: I tell you with an openness of heart that I doubt I shall ever achieve again, so pray that you are in a quiet room as you hear these words. My secret is that I need God, that I am sick and can no longer make it alone. I need God to help me give, because I no longer seem capable of giving; to help me be kind, as I no longer seem capable of kindness; to help me love, as I seem beyond being able to love."

"Worship provides the posture of the heart and harness the inclination of the will."

"...God conquers not in spite of the dark mystery of evil, but through it."

"Truth is true even if no one believes it, and falsehood is false even if everyone believes it."

"...meaninglessness does not come from being weary of pain but from being weary of pleasure."

"We all recognize a sacred love when we see it, and we long for it. We all recognize arrogance and selfishness when we see it too. Sacred love is not without boundaries. There are lines that commitment will not cross because when they are crossed, it ceases to be love."

I don't know where these came from**, but I do sense that they are true statements. I do not know who put them here or why***, but I sense there was a purpose. I will try to copy some of these down and carry them with me, so that I can ponder them and store them in my heart. For some odd reason, I get a sense of hope with these words and phrases.

I hear a woman singing in the distance. I think I will investigate...

*All Quotes are from HERE, unless otherwise linked.

** Obviously a lie. I told you just above where they came from. And the one quote that didn't come from the same place as all the others is linked to the Amazon site of the book from which it was take. Although I got the quote from the same place as all the other quotes. I just linked the original author's book on Amazon for the sake of completeness and to avoid any potential legal things. I am fairly ignorant of copyright law, but this seems to be fair use and the reader (all one of you - maybe) is directed back to the original author. Whew. I mean I could probably go on like this for hours. I would probably end up putting a link to Llamas in here somewhere - oops, guess it is already there - AND LINKED TOO! Fun with links! Here is another link! This is fun...at least I didn't mention the moose...dang.

*** Another blatant lie in what seems to be a long string of lies. I obviously know who put them here. I even know why...

One final observation before I leave. There is an odd fountain in the farthest corner of the room, situated with a view to the window and surrounded by soft accent lighting. I say it is odd, because of the water itself. The water is beaded. Not upon the frame work of the fountain itself, but within the fountain and flowing into the fountain. The water beads are a lovely silver-gold and feel cool to the touch. I say that the water flow into the fountain, as this is all I can see. The water drops down from the ceiling and across and into the fountain itself. I can see no source for the beads; they just appear midair and fall down.

On a whim I take one of the beads and pop it into my mouth. I have been thirsty since my hallway encounter dried my mouth. The bead instantly dissolves in my mouth and washes down my throat. To say that it was refreshing would be do it a disservice. The water feels as if it is filling me, touching every part of my being and making me well. A peace comes over me. I feel settled and whole.

Behind the fountain is a small doorway, leading to a previously hidden alcove. Above the alcove is a small sign, in some ancient tongue that I am unable to decipher, but seems to indicate great treasure. How I arrive at this conclusion is beyond me, perhaps it is the effect of the water. Inside the alcove are three statues, carved in the ancient Greek fashion. Three young men, standing proud. No names, no plaques, no indication of who they are. But they are hidden here, and obviously revered.

Before leaving, I take as many of the beads as I can carry and pack away. They seem remarkably stable for having melted so rapidly in my mouth. It is while taking them that I notice an inscription around the edge of the basin: To You It Shall Be Provided, You've Merely To Ask. To All You Shall Give As Much As You Are Asked; To All You Shall Give As Much As You Have Need.

OUT! Get out of here! You've no place here!

White flash of light, retinas burning, then cool grey. A sepia effect has crept over the room. I can see a woman of middling age, bent forward in anger, brandishing a steely finger. Her face is set with disgust and pain. Her eyes flashing red, the only true color left in the room.

I've given you chance after chance and you still can't do it. Leave me, NOW!

I cower at the force of her words and emotion, afraid she will see me and turn her attention on me. I am lucky enough not to see upon who she is focused. That is a face I would not envy, such is her force.

A low groan and the room returns.

The lighting in the room is soft, presumably to allow better viewing at the window. It looks like the walls are divided by raised, golden or brass ridges. This gives the entire face of each wall a distinctive panelled look. If I squint a bit, and emphasize the ridges, it takes on an altogether different appearance. On some panels can be seen pictures, on others sayings and quotes. On still others, old time flipping letter message boards upon which ever changing words are flashed. It gives the overall appearance of an unsettled whir of activity. At one moment it may seem disparate and without cohesion. At another, all the elements come together and seem to make sense. The various topics displayed are dizzying in their number and complexity in one moment, and the next are simplistic and singular.



I have no way of reproducing here the pictures that I see. I am no artist, either in inclination or talent. The pictures change with the same fluidity as the writing and at times give the effect of an old time movie. I will do my humble best to describe some of what I see; to preserve it here for some forgotten posterity.

The first, and most striking picture is of a woman. The frame itself is a wonder of minute detail and craftsmanship. There are thousands of scenes carved into jade and ivory set into a frame of some exotic wood. The wood itself is deep, and rich. You can almost become lost in the lines and luster of the grain. The woman is, as I said, striking in her beauty and obvious intelligence. Her figure is enchanting, alluring and yet retaining an innocence that her eyes belie. Her face pulls you in, at once asking to be caressed and warning you not to touch unless asked. He lips and eyes are equalling inviting, but it is her eyes that ultimately win out. They are a perfect mixture of green and brown, sincerity and laughter, motherhood and sensuality, wisdom and frivolity; they are a perfect symbol of a great woman, one capable of embodying what it truly means to be a woman. I am in awe, and wonder if this vision ever really existed. The picture itself is almost calming. Almost. You see the eyes never quite look at the viewer. No matter the angle, I cannot get her to look at me. Sort of the opposite effect of all those paintings that disturbed me in my youth. And somehow a bit more disturbing.

Underneath the painting appears to be some sort of small garden or planting. The flowers grow, flower and fade within minutes; a never ending cycle of growth and renewal. A mesmerizing display of natural beauty.

A sign, tucked in a corner reads: "Banalities covered in sugar are still banalities"
Odd thing for a sign to say.

As I turn away from the window, a low moaning sound edges my awareness. A wail and a keening build and seem to force the air from the room. Choking, gasping for any relief, I looking around and find nothing. My eyes dim and...

Red. The room is awash in red. Dripping, coagulating red. Pooling underneath the corpses. Some impaled on rough hewn posts, others hanging by threads of skin from the ceiling. Their eyes turn as one to me, their mouths open and they begin to...

STOP

The briefest of blacks. a flash and there is a man standing before the window. He reaches one finger out to touch and the window cracks and splinters. He stands back and spreads his arms wide, welcoming his rushing...

ENOUGH

The black is content to surround me. The floor writhes and squirms its way up my legs. Pushing and burrowing into my skin. My arms are pulled back and up. I can feel my shoulders ripping apart and my skin being peeled off my legs. I try to scream but my mouth is filled with...

DONE

The room is quiet. I am intact. The window is unchanged. The horror is past. And feel sick.

Anois

Stepping through the archway, the passage gives way to a large room. The dominate feature of the room is a window. This is not some simple, every day, please-roll-it-up, hurry-close-it-before- it-storms window. This is a window in the same way that Australia is simply an island. This is a window that is about five feet in thickness, at least that is what the little sign next to the window indicates. It is window designed in strength, but blessed with portions of perfect clarity. There are some admitted distortions - some caused by the window itself, others caused by water seeping in, still others by an overgrowth of mildew and various similar things.



Trying to look out one of the less distorted areas, I can see that I am indeed under the water. I suppose the bathysphere ride should have been my first clue. The depth here, given the thickness of the window anyway, must be great. Flood lights stare out into the dark beyond the window and provide a few feet of illumination. The revealed sea-bed looks like a mixture of sand, stone and muck (I have no better word for it). At the edge of the light looks to be some lava cones and vents.



One of the first things that strikes me, looking out, is the footprints in the sea-bed. Footprints?! I cannot image anyone surviving to walk around outside this window - no matter what kind of deep sea suit they were wearing. As if that is not enough, there are at least two variety of footprints. One appears to be a barefoot print and the other looks to be more animal, in that it has obvious pads and claws. Curious. The prints seems to be wandering back and forth around the glass. The animal prints more distant, but making occasional rushes on the window. The barefoot prints seem to be warding the animal prints away. Intercepting and deflecting whatever it is that is making the prints. I also see, with something of a shiver, that the barefoot prints (rarely) seem to move out of the way and allow the animal prints in to touch the glass. And yet I see no fatal flaw or life threatening damage to the glass.

At the edge of the light, a little distance from the vents, appear to be half finished structures and designs. The appear vaguely familiar, tickling the edge of my memory without actually waking something. Some of the structures appear to be bending and and some appear to be destroyed by the pressure of the sea. Others are standing firm, with little sign of wear or damage. I can see that other structures provide shelter for small polymorphic creatures. They seem to lurk there on the edge of the night, winking and signaling to each other. I may be going crazy, but they also seem to have an awareness of my presence.

A dull thud shifts my attention toward the top of the window. Some sort of small pointed stick or primitive spear has struck the window. Coming in and out of clarity is the culprit. An oddly shaped thing that looks like the unfortunate offspring between a harpie and a puffer fish. Small arms hold it's primitive weapon, while it demonstrates some expertise with that weapon. (But it is still a very primitive tool and unlikely to do much lasting damage. I was initially scared that it would crack the window and end my investigations, but I soon realized the impotency of the thing and actually feel sorry for it.) It has the head of an eagle, but the face of a distraught and angry woman. It's body is all puffed out with it's own self importance, as if to say "look at me, see how big I am, see how much power I have, see what I can do!" It is ultimately a small thing fighting something it does not have the capacity to understand. It is ultimately a thing of pity.

The 'puffer-harpie' has me thinking about damage to the window, though. I stare out into the black looking for any danger, almost obsessively looking to be hurt. Some larger fish swim by and knock against the window, causing a shudder. But nothing that damages. These larger fish are almost unaware of the effect they have on the window and the man behind it. They are blind things, swimming in the dark, going about their own survival without malice or beneficence.

The inside of the window room is large and comes filled with things to see and investigate...

The lights flicker and go out. The ambient light is just enough to make out shadows and vague shapes. It is disturbing to be here in the dark. The unnatural sounds, the flashes of unfamiliar shadows and strange shapes. I can hear pumps and machinery. I can hear sighing and moaning coming from parts unexplored. And perhaps most frightening, I can hear metal scraping on metal and the rush of air from a long sealed door being opened.

"Mengele" is loose. I can do nothing but stand still and hope he doesn't notice me. I don't know his plans, intents or motivations. I only know that I don't want his attention. I listen with all of me for signs of his approach. Maybe he didn't see which way I went. Maybe I am safe from him. Maybe, but not likely. I see the sparks of a knife being dragged across metal first. Then I hear his footsteps. They have to be his, for I have encountered no others here.

I can feel his breath as he smiles at me. His hand caresses my face. His voice is softer than I'd imagined. His tone is reassuring and almost beguiling. Yet his eyes remain cold.

"It's OK. I am here to do want needs to be done. I can give you the solace you are missing. I will give you rest. All you have to do is ask."

And he is gone, back to his room. Sealed again, for now.