You Are Going Home — Part 01

You are about to read a story.

Or, more specifically, you are about to read the first part of a story.

A rather strange story that came to me in a dream.

My hope is that you enjoy this story.

On The Sky Train

You are sitting on a cold, metal seat.

To your right, there is a passage that leads through the train. To your left, there is a window.

Right outside of the hazy, faded glass that is this window, there is the city of Ruh-Suh-Jin.

You can see the spires that scrape the sky; etched from steel and glass, sculpted from desire.

You can see the waves upon waves of snowflakes as they splash against the window.

You can see the fog and mist and snow that is the city.

You can see the great bodies of ice and water that surround the vastness of the city.

You can see the endless cacophony of light that is the city streets below.

A series of moments pass.

You observe the city from above, appreciating its vastness.

A beginning, yes, but no ending.

No true ending; a neverending series of streets, buildings, spaces; an infinite wealth of possibilities.

And, yet, even within this infinity of possibilities and potentials, there is a knowing.

You are not home. And, in the end, you never were home.

You know this now, although you chose to deny it for several years.

A moment of reflection comes and goes.

Eventually, the train stops.

You allow a tall, gaunt automaton, holding an old leather briefcase and wearing a top hat, to pass you.

And, then, you walk across the rickety metal floor, down the three snow-stained metal steps, to the platform.

You walk past the black bricks to your left and past glass railings overlooking the city to your right, careful not to slip on the frozen puddles of water, into the station.

You walk through a series of stairs and stairways, some more dimly lit than others, before reaching the surface.

You are in the city.

And, it is time to go where you must go.

A Pleasant Walk

You are standing in the middle of a street.

On your left, there is a neverending stretch of rough, icy road. On your left, there is a neverending stretch of rough, icy road.

You are alone.

You are surrounded by tall structures, each one scraping the sky.

You are where you wish to be.

And, in being where you wish to be, you continue to walk.

You continue to walk through the network of structures you find yourselves in, until you reach a single block.

A single block with no name.

The block that you are within is no ordinary block.

Right within this block, there are four directions: up and down, left and right.

Each one of these directions can take you out of the block.

But, each one of these directions can also take you deeper and deeper into the block, infinitely and endlessly.

You see, this block possesses a beginning, but it possesses no end.

You can walk in one direction for a period that exceeds 100 billion millenia.

And, in doing so, you will never reach the end.

You will continue to find new structures, alleys, sewer vents, tunnels; and so on and so forth.

Every structure exists as a library.

A library that contains an infinite number of spaces.

Each space contains an infinite number of books, photographs, films, games; and so on and so forth; ad infinitum.

Our concern is not purely with these libraries, though, and neither is yours.

Your concern is with a space that exists several minutes away from you.

You continue to walk straight, as your boots scrape across the icy concrete.

Eventually, you reach a tall building, sculpted from wood and glass, titled “The Oracular Precipice.”

You go to the tall metal-glass doors.

You attempt to open these doors.

And, in attempting to open these doors, you fail.

You wander to the right side of the structure, crossing through a tight alley.

To your left and right, there are puddles of frozen ice, walls etched from rusty metal and faded red/black bricks.

You walk and walk, until you reach a metal door with see-through grates.

Your hand touches against the door and quivers; it is frozen.

You grab the doorknob and, with the kick of your foot, the door opens.

Right in front of you, there is a small patch of frozen dirt/grass.

And, right in front of this patch, there is the sea.

You know it as the “Asima Samudra Kalpana.”

A sea with no beginning. A sea with no end.

Everything that exists within your world is bound to the Asima Samudra Kalpana.

You walk closer and closer to the edge, gazing at the frozen bodies of ice as they sway with the rhythms of the wind and the waves; a perpetual movement that crosses all moments and all things.

And, for a time, all is well.

Soon enough, though, this time passes.

You return to your goal.

You look to your left.

A small fence, made of corroded wood, stained with ice, is protruding from a brick structure.

You go to the fence and pull three broken boards from the fence.

And, then, you go into the fence and onto the patch of dirt/grass that the fence was guarding.

Right within this patch of dirt/grass, there is a small stairway.

A stairway that leads to an underground entrance into The Oracular Precipice.

You step onto the slick, concrete steps, careful to avoid their cracks, gashes, and contours.

Slowly, but surely, you reach the steel door at the bottom.

You place your hand on the silver handle and, with a rough turn, The Oracular Precipice beckons.