Wake Of Liberty: 23 – Rejuvenated
Following the confrontation with the mob and the dreadful Grakh at Place de l’Hôtel de Ville, strange things are happening
Field Dream by Gavin Denman
I am flying in space. There are hundreds of millions of lights around me flickering in the dark, making music I am familiar with but can’t really place. It sounds like a lullaby I used to hear when I was a child, in the middle of the night. My heart is beating strong, happy, and I am free.
I see a blue dot in the distance and fly to it and circle round it. This dot, I know it. It’s a gemstone inside which I used to live, back when I was an intelligent molecule. How things have changed since then, how I have grown and soared, floating through the ether, one with the Field that permeates the world, seeing things I could have never imagined, places only the “fluent” get to see and experience. The old world seems so distant and quaint. How ever did I get by, trapped as I had been in my solid, structured form, set in electrochemical stone? How on earth could I have survived without becoming a piece of unpleasant, opinionated existence?
The thought disturbs me but I shed it like a flake of old skin. I move on unperturbed. Nothing binds me anymore. No shackles to hold me down, no neurotransmitters and hormones to dictate how I feel and think and behave. I am free to float and disengage from nasty thought at will, and veer off, into lighter circumstances.
I spot a rushing comet and grabbing it by the tail I go for a ride. Planets are whizzing past me in an endless cascade of sizes and colors. Each one is unique unto itself, an assembly of atoms formed in various and varying circumstances at different points in time and space. I can sense each and every one individually, their personalities setting them apart and making them stand out for the natural wonders they are. Their moment of creation entangles my mind, revealing their rise from random particles to accumulations of energy and radiation, fusion and conflagration. The perpetual world of atomic dancing flitters through my perception, and endless time, no longer unnoticed, is now part of my Field. As though I am part of it, floating within it like a happy electron.
Float happily I do, on and on, without a care in the world, when I notice an immobile, black spot ahead. I move toward it. I have a feeling I shouldn’t approach it but quickly dispel the notion and glide onward with delight, curious to see what it is, unaware that there are things not even an electron can escape from.
For a moment everything is calm. I approach, curious and unafraid. I stretch out my hand and a fearsome buzz leaps out of nowhere, jolting and sending me spinning to the side; then it explodes into a roar that rattles the space around me like an earthquake. My clarity is shattered, and so is my calm. I have visions of molecules battling and wrestling each other, and lose my composure and find myself crashing toward the black spot with incredible speed. I try to shed the thought but can’t do it. The buzz is getting louder, and I can feel the presence of something dense closing in, fast.
“Mr. Smyth? Wake up – wake up, Mr. Smyth. Come on, open your eyes.”
Light! Bright white light crashes through my head, blinding me.
“Here he is. Welcome back, my boy. Good to have you back, I assure you. For a moment I thought you were gone for good.”
source: www.clker.com
Cooley! What is going on? Am I – am I dead?
“No, not to worry, you are neither dead nor in limbo for that matter. We are right where we are supposed to be, on the next part of the tour. Good job, Mr. Smyth, you got us here safe and sound. Not a moment too soon either.”
I squint my eyes and move slowly, laboriously. My body feels as heavy as a mountain but nowhere as strong. Great big bags of tar come to mind. I take my time in order to settle back into myself.
Just as well. Cooley is packing his pipe with tobacco, laughing under his breath. He looks at me and cracks a knowing smile.
“You took a detour.”
What?
“A detour. You took the back door out of the last stage, through the horizon and into the Field.”
What do you mean? What I saw… it wasn’t a dream?
“Everything is a dream. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
He turns away and continues packing his pipe, chuckling softly.
I get up and walk toward a cluster of trees. The sun is too bright and the question too general for me to deal with. Their shade looks inviting and soothing, and I settle down under them and close my eyes. I cannot get my head around where I am, what is going on, or what Cooley is saying. All I can think about is a sense of total freedom, total weightlessness, from which I have been ripped away only to be thrown into a pit full of molten cheese.
“It’s hard to readjust, I know. It feels awful.”
Cooley is sitting next to me, under the shade. The rascal moves quiet when he wants to. I don’t respond to his comment, I am not in the mood to talk right now. All I want is to lie still and quiet and get to grips with what just happened.
“Trust me,” he continues, “I know. I took a bunch of detours myself, back in the day when I was shown around by my own spirit guide. Sheer wonder, amazement, awe – a different world altogether. And so hard to come back from, if not intolerable. Almost makes you wish you had never gone through it in the first place.”
He lights his pipe and stands up.
“The same goes for a tour, of course.”
He glances at me and walks away.
I stay there for a while, breathing deeply and listening to the flutter of the leaves above me. The sound caresses my mind and soothes me. Soon I am feeling a little better, good enough to get up and stretch my legs, stroll around a little.
Forests were the property of the king or the church. Source: wikipaintings.org
I look around. We are in a forest of some kind, trees and vegetation in every direction. Cooley is frolicking about in the shade, puffing his pipe languidly, blowing thick streams of smoke in the air as if he’s in his own back yard and killing time. I walk up to him. I want to ask him more about the detour but promptly change my mind. The mere thought of talking about my ethereal experience while being stuck here, in thick reality, however serene and fresh it may appear to be, makes me depressed.
So I ask him about the last part of the tour instead, which has completely evaded my mind, until now.
What happened back in the square, Cooley? Why are we not dead, or in limbo? I thought we were done for. The Grakh! What a hideous—
I pause. The mere thought of that creature sends chills down my spine. I have the urge to spit and clear my throat, which I do noisily, regretting having mentioned the damn thing in the first place. The mere thought of it is polluting every cell inside me. But I need to know what happened. How else will I be able to make sense of it?
We were done for, I tell him. As good as dead. Right?
Cooley turns around to face me. He is holding his pipe to the side of his face, the thin stem near his mouth, tapping the smooth grain of the chamber with his fingers. He frowns for a moment, then leans in a little, as if he’s about to tell me a big secret.
“You know what, you’re right! We were truly done for. I was sapped, broken and gone, having instructed you directly, against all guidelines, to use the pipe. And you – you were left standing there to face a Grakh that had infested an entire mob, and you did so with nothing but a pipe in your hands and no smokescreens left. The game was indeed over.”
He raises his shoulders in resignation; then changes expression and raises his brow and lifts his right hand with his index finger sticking out, pointing at me. “But then – then you went and did something astonishing.” He smiles and his eyes flicker bright blue. “You stopped thinking about yourself and decided to help me. Instead of using the last puff of smoke to protect yourself, you directed it at me to soothe my convulsions. It was the right decision, coming to my aid as you did, and the right frequency was activated as a result, helping us split through time.”
I look at him, and look at him, and keep looking at him, taking the time to process what he has just said to me. Part of me cannot really understand it. I shake my head under his patient, tickled gaze.
You mean it was all a test, Cooley? Everything was set up in such a way to see whether I would help you out or not?
He chuckles.
“Didn’t think you had it in you, did you, my boy? It takes an emergency for some things to surface.”
A walk in the woods has always been a great way to clear the mind. Source: wikipedia.com
You cannot be serious!
I am staring back at him with amazement, not quite comprehending the casualness with which he is telling me all this. Does he not understand the implications?
“I understand them perfectly.”
Do you? I mean, what if I hadn’t done what I did? What if instead of blowing the smoke at you I had confronted the Grakh and the crowd, blowing the smoke at them? What if I had just given up or fainted? What if that crazy man that kept jumping out of nowhere had managed to wrestle me to the ground? It would have been the end for both of us.
“Like I said, Mr. Smyth, tours are not easy rides, nor very predictable. They are as much a test for the tourist as they are for the guide. We are in this together, understand? Now enough with this talk, let’s get a move on.”
He whacks me on the back in jest, hard enough for me to keel over in pain. But this time I don’t roll over. I jump back up at him, push him back and wrestle him to the ground. It takes him by surprise. I keep him pinned down for a moment, then let go and spring back up to my feet, surprised at my own agility.
He rises slowly, patting his clothes down with wide, smooth strokes.
“Well, well, look who’s recharged, fired up, and full of confidence. I guess a little victory in the face of certain disaster and a little mind-blowing detour through the Field are all it takes to turn a piece of opinionated flesh into a spirited being.”
His words have an unexpected and immediate effect on me. They spark an instantaneous flashback of the detour, and for a moment I feel heavy and frustrated, once again painfully aware of the divide between my ethereal and material dimensions. Angst rushes through my body and for a moment I feel terribly weak. But the sensation lasts only a second. I gather myself up and, just like that – don’t ask me how – step out of it as quickly as it had swept over me, leaving it dangling in the air behind me, like a suspended coat of dust. It immediately breaks down and evaporates in the wind.
“Just like that, Mr. Smyth. Well done! Nasty thoughts are easy to shed when you know how to do it. As effortless as wiping a smudge off a window.”
He smiles and walks away, humming a cheerful tune.
I take a deep breath and look around. The air feels clean and crisp, full of oxygen. I look at my hands, then at my feet; then pat myself all around and stretch and groan with deep satisfaction. I feel strange, powerful, in control of myself in ways I cannot fully describe. My body and mind feel in sync all of a sudden, all lit up and ready to fire. Everything around me seems part of me, connected to me in some meaningful kind of way. I can’t put my finger on it but everything seems to make sense.
I begin to walk through the trees slowly. After about half a minute I come to a big clearing, where a field stretches out. It is draped in greenery, adorned with young trees, bushes, and ferns of some kind. The sky is a crisp blue, and a fresh breeze is blowing through the foliage, sighing like a contented dreamer. I know this place. It looks familiar but I can’t put my finger on it. We are in Paris obviously, that much I can tell, but that’s about it. The place is too pristine and beautiful and nothing like the insane Paris I have been experiencing during this tour.
I look around, searching for familiar landmarks. There is the Louvre again, peering above the treeline. But nothing else – no grand buildings, no streets or alleyways, and no people either. Not a soul. Just trees and greenery, and the smell of fresh, running water. The river must be nearby.
City parks were created out of surrounding woods and forests. Source: flickr.com
I resume my stroll, trying to figure out where this feeling of déjà vu is coming from. It’s the eeriest of feelings. For a moment I think I’m going to pin it down, and just as I’m about to do so, it escapes me and vanishes.
This happens a couple of times, flashes of memory sifting in and out of my mind, and I pursue them intently, but they keep evaporating; the sensation of knowing gradually recedes and the place appears less and less familiar. As if it is being painted over with new colors and shades, morphing into something else.
“Let it go. The more you force it the more elusive it becomes.”
Cooley is standing next to me, gazing into the distance. He is puffing intermittent billows of smoke as he speaks.
“Just leave it. Let it settle into memory on its own, like a snowflake in your palm.”
I look away, to the ground, digging my heel into the earth. I wish I could just find it – it’s on the tip of my tongue. Why can’t I remember?
“You cannot force memory. It does not respond well to sheer will. The same goes for new insight. It needs time to consolidate itself, a chance to assemble. So let it go and give it time.”
source: wikipedia.com
I understand what he means. He’s talking about both the detour and the clearing. I need to let go of everything for now and get my mind occupied, let it do its own processing. I have to settle down, let things flow. If anything, the detour has shown me how to make things happen by acting at the right time, doing the right thing, rather than try and force them to happen. Unwanted thoughts can be dispelled by simply flicking them away and moving on, much as wanted sensations can be induced by simply opening up and letting them fall into place. All I have to do is let it go for a while, and it will come.
But I am not good at it yet. I have only just begun to understand how this process works. I have a feeling it will take a great deal of practice before I am able to take full advantage of it.
I turn toward Cooley. He is standing by my side, gazing into the distance. The Louvre is stretching out grand and noble above the green drapery, which is spattered with houses and dwellings. A formidable hill over to the side towers over the land, and a church, perched tightly on its side, oversees everything. Paris is beaming under a kindly blue sky and a fiery sun.
I close my eyes and turn my face up toward the big blue, letting the sun’s rays wash over me. A warm surge of energy floods my body. For a moment I have the feeling I am weightless again, floating in space, entertaining every thought I care to conjure up and moving happily between them. I feel like a child again, unbound and limitless, the whole world at my fingertips. My mind is calm, and for a moment I think I hear singing in the distance, over the hill and far, far away.
