Philosophy, mysticism and a childish stereotype. What more could you possibly want. I’m on page 80 now – only 50 to go!
Not sure how it is reading yet. I won’t know until I’ve finished.
34.
In the beginning was nothing
The primordial nothing
Infinite nothing
Not Spreading
Not filling
There was nothing to fill
All space and time did not exist
There was no movement
No shape, no form, no mass
No existence or reality
No fantasy or fiction
No life, death or being.
This was a nothing beyond the power of the mind to grasp. This was absolute, contrary to all ideas of nothing, beyond imagination. Not merely the absence of something. Our nothing has size, distance, colour, time and even the concept of an inky blackness.
Here was not darkness or even the absence of light, not airlessness or the non-presence of energy. Here was the absolute – the complete non-existence of dimension, thought and substance.
The mother of nothing.
From this our ‘nothing’ was formed. The birth of the new nothing was also the birth of something – the flux, the vibration that some call god, life, matter, infinity, finity and death.
For some inexplicable reason – from random chance or mystic movement in the void – the mother gave birth to her only daughter – nothing – so different and so strange – a subtle movement. The nothing we can imagine but never know. The nothing that possesses properties. Such as expansion. For things created usually grow.
From that moment of conception there was an idea in the void.
In infinity all things are possible. Even the most unlikely circumstances and events will occur an infinite number of times. In many a distant crater there is a B52 bomber. Everything is repeated. Are there no exceptions? If not that would be an exception. There are an infinite number of exceptions.
One is an infinity.
After creation expansion occurred rapidly. Primitive reality was spawned. The foundations of space and time were laid down and bred matter, energy and life and energy was merely nothing moving very fast.
Does time exist at all? Or is it a figment of our imagination? A means of measuring change? A measure of distance that puts order into chaos?
Truth is chaos.
Time merely puts poetic metre into the universe in repetition.
Messny sought the beginning.
It began to form in his head.
There in a clearing was a naked man.
The man did not look up or acknowledge him in any way. He was staring fixedly into the distance. It gave Messny a shock. He had never seen an old person before.
There was something extremely odd about this person. He was different. His hair and beard hung in long strands down his back. His skin was extremely wrinkled and leathery as if he had been in the sun much too much and had dried up like a raisin. His flesh sagged as if the muscles had wasted away. Yet there was something peaceful about him.
Cautiously Messny walked nearer. He was fearful that he intruded.
‘Who are you?’ he asked quietly.
There was no flicker of response. The old man did not acknowledge the intrusion in any way. He continued to stare into the distance without blinking – his face an expressionless mask – his eyes two inky pools. As Messny looked into their depths he felt it was like looking into the constellations of stars in the sky. It had that same infinite quality that sucked you in. But in that drowning was a peace and contentment that spoke of true fulfilment.
Messny suspected that this meeting was pivotal – as if some premonition had been fulfilled. This was what he had been seeking. It was over. He had arrived here to achieve his purpose.
Now was the time for patience. He quietly sat himself next to the old man.
Much time elapsed as they sat side by side and Messny became absorbed in the stillness.
At last the man spoke without looking around of moving.
‘Why have you sought me out?’
‘I have come to learn,’ Messny replied without hesitation.
The man nodded.
The alarm bell rang and Messny woke up with a start. He lay back in bed and mulled over his strange dream.
Perhaps it wasn’t a dream?
Perhaps in other dimensions a different Messny, who was slender and bright green, lived in a strange fairyland with some happy people and had gone groping for answers? Perhaps a smiling old man taught him to see the chinks of light?
Maybe?
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