posted on Mar, 18 2008 @ 10:41 PM
It was 81 years ago when he had found this treasure.
Since then, he visited many similar places. Yet, nothing had come even remotely close to the wealth of knowledge that this book had contained. Its
pages, pale and brittle, were preserved under sheets of clear hard coating. This saving grace had prevented them from crumbling to dust
Sitting atop his favorite mount, he poignantly flipped through the book to find further clues as to the whereabouts of these strange, and yet,
His mind wondered; going through the motions of a 'faux' dream-like state that was common to all present light beings. R.E.M. sleep would elude
him. He had surmised from the many passed-down myths, that the human body could achieve a total surrender to an 'almost nothingness', with many
'mind pictures'. The ancients called this 'dreaming'. He had also recalled that these people would spend their nights in cycles.
'One third' was an important number to them.
What was this 'almost nothingness'?
Why was dreaming so important?
Were the gods aware of this as well?
The painting, that he had propped against a rock, seemed to move clandestinely across his vision.
What had caught his attention, forced his eyes to focus. In all his years of admiration and
observing, why hadn't he noticed it?
Yet, there it was now...in plain view.
On the outskirts of the mountains was a tiny 'trail'. He pulled the painting closer, and gently brushed an area with the back of his nails. The
trail did not want to come off. Was it a buildup of residue? The over-all layer of paint was fluidic and evenly-coated. Yet, these thickly-plied
markings were definitely brush strokes. His mind reconciled that was added 'after' the painting was completed. This oversight must be a clue!
Who ever did this, wanted the tiny path to be found.
Chris stared out across the distance and re-played the many journeys over and over in his mind.
His eyes wondered up and down the glens and peaks.
He was certain that he saw this trail somewhere.
Tucking the painting into his carrypack, he smiled and jumped down from his mount. The
journey shouldn't take long; his mind fixated on the exact place. How did he know...where to go?
It didn't take long for him to realise that the very mount he was perching on, was the start of the same path that his finger had 'brushed aside'
in his favorite painting. This was the best start. Why did he feel drawn to this part of the world? He pushed forward.
Could the very answers to his questions be 'beneathe his nose?'
Slowly, he descended below....passing the shadows of the dark valley below, and into parts unknown. Only he knew the terrain, from the shadow of his
mount; as far as he knew, NO other beings had traversed this far. Something inside of him propelled him onwards.
Half way down the mountainside, he had encounterd a 'real past image'. This is what he called it. He had discovered a 'done deed' amongst his
kind and 'something else'. 'Done' meant final. No one came back to talk about things when it was 'done'. The bones didn't lie.
He recalled this strange battle in his mind, and regardless, chose to go further. It was a steep fall.
Working between 'not tumbling forward in a rushing heap' and feeling like a 'putz', Chris elected to pull what ever 'pride' could be mustered up
from a 1000 ft. fall, into some sanity.
There was none. He fell pretty hard.
The bottom gave out, and he was there to receive it. He was wishing there was no God to receive his blillegerent responses on the way down.
He was 'hateful' and 'obstinate' unto his very falling....when he hit the ground. He thought his heart would pump its last when he made the
But it didn't.
He thought he heard the words:
"We welcome you back."
This is a dream....this is a Goddam dream....
What do you mean BACK? He knew that he was never here in the first place. His being was crying out.
"Speak child." Who the hell is this?
He stood proud, in front of the council, in all his majesty. Naked and stripped of any demeaner that would ever suppose of any misgivings of human
geno-development. He never knew of these words. He raised his head to speak. I must be dreaming...
"My name issss Chrisssss." His tongue darted about, and was trying to grasp the wordings that he heard this race speak. He knew of this language
and tried to speak in it.
He felt his body quiver, with each sylabol spoken, and wondered why there was a sense of 'familiarity'. It was as if he was changing from the
inside, and he wasn't sure if it was going in the direction that his mind would permit.
"We are pleased that our imbedded records have permitted you to return to our fold." The whole council resonated as if they 'were one'.
What the hell are they talking about? I came here of my own accord... "What the hell is happening to me....??!?
"We sense that you thirst in many ways...please drink..."
One of the 'lesser, offensively, quiet consillors' walked forward and handed him a vial of white liquid.
"Please drink? I promise you...ALL will become clear. We mean you NO harm, only that circumstances will prevail, and you will come back, with an
understanding of what 'once was, and what WILL be."
Chris thought, "I came all thisssss way, to find the truthsss of many thingssssss, after all thisssss time... what do I have to losssse."
With his lizard-like tail apendage, propelling his weight forward he drank deep this sacred water.
The scales started to slowly fall off; revealing the soft warm mamalian skin underneathe. The verticle slits in his eyes reverted to round black
holes, and he noticed that he had only 2 eyelids instead of three. The inner eyelid had ceased to be no more. He blinked many times and had lifted
his fingers to carress the tiny hairs around his eyes, and above them. His hands drew to other parts of his body, feeling the other diferences, and
the pupils in his eyes grew much larger. His breath quickened, and he struggled to regain composure, as all this was happening to him.
"What am I?"
He shook incredibaly, not out of astonishment and awe, but of the 'final metamorphasis' into a body of warmth and 'belonging'. The air was
starting to feel chilly around him, and he soon discovered that he was now creating 'heat', by the mere act of shivering. No longer would he have
to 'splay himself' on his favorite rock mount, in order to grasp the sun's rays.
One council member came forward to offer a warm blanket and clean clothes, to which he graciously accepted.
When the transformation was finally complete, his knees buckled, and he fell to the floor from sheer exhaustion. He lifted his head and pleaded once
again to his fellow humans.
"What am I?"
The council stood up, and in unison decried the words:
"YOU...are finally home...Welcome Brethren."
END....or is it?