Concentricity … 16

Ch 16 ~  In space, do we hear pieces of the self — indeed, the entire self — rejoicing?

They had first seen each other from across a crowded room.  It was the way of an old world movie.  It was the way laid out within an old world romantic song or an exquisitely beautiful poem that transports the heart into the soul.  This was not a superficial harlequin romance.  This was not the manufacturing and selling of a feel-good, featuring a handsome dashing prince rescuing a gorgeous damsel in distress (with those at the center of it all humans or vampires or werewolves or pirates or aliens or any other creature).  This was instead something that possessed not only all of existence within it but also possessed within it so very much more than that.  A shared consciousness.  A truth beyond the ages.  Eternally formed.  Eternally alive. 

They had first seen each other from across a crowded room…in ways depicted by some of those old world ways — like the old world movies, the old world romantic songs, the exquisitely beautiful poems.  Ways that registered instantly within everyone as classics because those ways spoke of universal truths, universal realness so unquestioningly pervasive, so woven into the human heart so woven into the collective spirit as to be instinctively innately immediately understood.   Ways that are somehow without time even while their very existence serves to define all dimensions…even while their very existence serves to meld all dimensions, including that of time.  Some know of these Ways as the beginning of creation.  Some know of them as the ever expanding future.  Some know of them as the Voice of Always in each present moment.  Some — like Miles and Emily — know of them as everything, all-encompassing…carried from the onset of all moments to every moment from every moment and back again.  

There are things that words — as we know the instruments of language to contain — fail to describe.  And so Emily gently coached her mind into silence, resisting the urge at any attempt to form words…to string characters together around that which words failed to capture but what the heart and soul so immediately fused with.  And so instead she listened unquestioningly, and she absorbed those images in her mind for which language in the form of words seemed able to describe.

Suddenly the moments had begun unfolding in a wildly random manner for Emily, with images of how they met coming more distinctly into view.  They had first seen each other from across a crowded room…and it was Forge who had inserted a layer of agenda into what had been fated.  The significance of the energy, the spirit from the good looking redheaded young man far overwhelmed the sense of significance Forge tried to inject into their collective meeting at the Glenwood Cafe.  And yet down any path or dimension — past-present-future — that might take Emily’s inner eye by the hand, Forge remained nothing if not tenacious about putting his agenda front and center.  For some reason, the thought then occurred to her that much of her own inner process for seeing the future could be considered very similar to the process Pat was engaged in with the technology that was embedded behind her eyes.  They were both receiving inner broadcasts afterall.  From what Emily could see, it may only be the source of those broadcasts that proved to be the difference between how Pat and Emily viewed things.  And yet..something about that idea seemed incomplete somehow, but Emily wasn’t knowledgeable in any true way in the ways of science or philosophy or even in the ways of creativity to be able to explore this in a more indepth manner. 

(Clearly, this was true as she wasn’t really exhibiting a high degree of sustainable creativity through this story.  Or certainly, one could argue, the slight woman with the concentric circles wasn’t communicating this with any degree of success no matter how much her fingers tap danced along the QWERTY keyboard.  Although, in all fairness, one could also argue the point that it’s rather difficult for a creator to, well, create when he or she proves to be their biggest heckler.  Certainly there was no fear of group think going on with this endeavor, which — given the theme of this 50,000 word experiment — was rather interesting and ironic, indeed.  She wondered what the slight man with the average build who found his way to the Glenwood Cafe by way of a Black Hole might think about all of that.  She wondered if he would share his views on all of that at some point…) 

Instinct was Emily’s guide now.  Many of these other frameworks — scientific, philosophical, creative — eluded her quite readily and singlehandedly.  But perhaps, she suddenly realized as her inner eye travelled through what looked to be a worm hole, perhaps there was a connection between those musings of hers two paragraphs above.  Indeed, perhaps as she began to think two paragraphs above before her focus was rather rudely interrupted by the slight woman’s thoughts, perhaps that was part of the reason why Forge seemed so determined to get inside of Emily’s head, as it were.  Maybe my processes aren’t all that different from what he wants to try to create with this technology?  Intuitively linking and blurring…but of what though?  She paused, thinking around the edges of that question (and throwing a raised eyebrow up to clearly signal a warning to the slight woman who had begun to rustle in her chair until she caught Emily’s glare and settled herself quietly back down into her booth as a silent observer) only to latch another question onto it:  Does he even know…has he even articulated the broader implications of medium as message as messenger?  Or at least some of those implications that she sensed when she allowed herself to indulge in her sometimes wild and fanciful if not fantastical imaginings?  She asked and waited for the Arrival — past, present, future or past/present/future or past-present-future or pasprefut — to occur in the hopes that from there she might be able to latch onto something, gleen something that would help answer that question.

What arrived for Emily was this undisputed fact, presented and held without expectation while at the same time unquestionably so…a dance of knowing and flowing too spectacular to be described.  They had first seen each other from across a crowded room.  A tender, open smile.  Eyes that danced with curiosity.  A not too slim, not too fat pen twirled between his fingers.  Mousy red hair naturally expressing itself on the head of a genuis and sitting before him a laptop.  Her bedroom eyes fixated with fascination.  Her shy, inviting smile instinctively arrived upon.  Fidgeting hands with a mind of their own.  Mousy brown hair that often caught in her eyelashes and a mind with a particular talent that involved seeing the future by way of any time dimension, separate or combined.

They had first danced in each other’s arms with nothing more than a smile between them.  And quiet strands of mousy hair twining together.  There was music in the air…from somewhere but what they heard more powerfully was the music in their hearts everywhere around them, everywhere in them.  Everywhere of them.  A melody for the ages.  Words that encompassed all languages.  Words that had no sounds, no shapes, but carried with them the most intense, innate meaning.  Words that caused pieces of the self, the wholeness of the selves to rejoice.  Words that were born beyond the cellular level, fused at the spiritual level, coursing in melded ecstacy within their very core.  Time and place and space blurred.  Everything around them stopped, dimmed out by their dance.  Dimmed out by their combined energy, their combined intention.  Unspoken yet so unmistakeably known.   Words of the traditional language failed.  Words of the old world timelessness prevailed, and QWERTY had yet to find the combination of keystrokes to communicate those majestical words as fully as they were known to the two of them.  The good looking young man with the mousy red hair and a laptop…the good looking young woman with the mousy brown hair and a particular talent. 

And so they danced.  Perfectly so.  Timelessly so.  Eternally so.  With nothing more than a smile between them.  Their lips brushed together ever so slightly, formed around each other’s ever so softly, cradling and breathing …one.

NaNoWriMos total word count this chapter:  1,400; total word count todate (not including this notation) this chapter: 25,870

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