The Journey Page 3

  Pulling the rags from his frame, he lowered himself into the pool. The breath of the steam soothed his muscles. He could feel the steam crawl across his skin, relieving him of hardships and aches.

  He then began to ponder what the Frozen Man had said.

  There were elements of truth to its logical rigidity.

  However, there was also much sadness.

  The water sluiced the soot from his skin and slipped gently into the surrounding pool. Bubbles formed at its edges. Ripples craved a grand landscape along its surface.

  Looking to the ceiling above, he saw only azure; brilliant hues of blue and white in confluence. He tried to recall when he had last seen the sky so blue.

  Memories lingered, though time had displaced them.

  Was he dead?

  What is life?

  He closed his eyes and allowed his mind to drift. His questions could wait until his audience with the Burning Man.

  Conversations with the Burning Man

  The purple sash divided his golden tunic and leggings.

  The tub had drained itself, hot water already refilling the vacant chasm. Running his hands along his scalp, he realized for the first time that his hair had grown long.

  How long had he been walking?

  For that matter, how long had he been in the tub?

  He rubbed his hands together and they felt smooth.

  Touching the tips of his fingers, he regarded himself and how he looked nothing like the Frozen Man or Ilori: a moment of introspection. The Frozen Man had spoken of life and death so matter-of-factly that they felt arbitrary to the Lonely, fleeting.

  “What is life?” whispered the Lonely.

  Taking another look at his hands he shook his head, dusting away his wayward thoughts as unconsciously as they had come.

  He moved across the chamber, not giving such a wonder another look. Moving into the open air of the hallway chamber, he recognized the polished floor from earlier. Before the floor beneath his feet had seemed cold––but as he peered down now, he saw something dramatically different.

  Now, there seemed a lake of heat from beneath him.

  It was glass.

  The flooring ran along the hallway.

  Darkness had infected every corner. What had once been warm and inviting felt suddenly horrific. The Lonely kneeled to the floor slowly, methodically.

  Deeper beneath the glass were reservoirs of energy, brilliant sweeping waves of pulsating, bulbous masses of plasmatic material that seemed to undulate before his eyes. The Lonely followed it with his eyes, enraptured by the color and form that seemed to come alive before him. Dancing, writhing, it was the ultimate display of sensuality.

  Colors congregated, mixing.

  The Lonely had never in his life––how many lives it had been he could not be sure––seen such a thing. He was unsure whether it was magnificent or gaudy, whether it could be called a masterpiece or of trivial perversion.

  Disengaging himself from the vibrant visualizations, he stood once more. He remembered her words. There would be three slashes and would be on the only door through which he may enter.

  The walls of the Oasis of the Eternities were such that the Lonely wondered whether it had always looked like its present form.

  What had it been before?

  What would it be again?

  He came upon the door with three slashes and regarded the subtle hue of the door––blue faded into green and then green into amber. It was like the sun rising over a coastal jungle, vibrant and powerful.

  A great power emanated from the door.

  The Lonely held his breath for a moment before pressing his hands against its cool exterior. As thick as it was, it opened inward easily.

  The far side of the chamber was darkness, and the corners were as well. A cold wind blew across the room and for a moment the Lonely felt a pang of fear.

  Had he stumbled into the wrong room?

  A candle burst to life, illuminating a small area around it, then another; and then many more, until the darkness hovered around the soft yellow dome of light. In the center of the room, brilliantly carved candelabras encircled a throne of ivory and silver.

  Within its gentle embrace sat the vivacious figure of Ilori.

  “You have come, that is very good,” she called, her gentle voice a song on the winds. She crossed her bronzed legs and looked at the Lonely. “You look much better now that you bathed. Your present appearance suits you.”

  “Where is the Burning Man?” the Lonely asked.

  Ilori smiled.

  Her teeth were dazzling in the candle-lit darkness.

  “I am the Burning Man.”

  The Lonely touched his chin, but made no other outward movement. “You are the Burning Man?”

  Ilori stroked the intricate carving in the throne.

  “I am. Are you not the Lonely?”

  “I am, for we both know that I am called the Lonely. However, your name does to seem to apply as mine does.”

  Ilori laughed. Her laugh was a throaty, giggling, melodic affair. “Indeed, but I can assure you that it does not make it any less true. Is it the word man that confuses you?”

  The Lonely nodded and moved forward. Although darkness had settled over the area illuminated by the ring of light, he could find details in the shadow.

  There were others among them.

  “Why do your disciples hide in the shadows?” challenged the Lonely.

  Ilori’s smile tightened, but did not disappear.

  “They are not my disciples nor are they hiding,” she began. Craning her neck back ever so slightly, she continued. “Chandra. Kalinda. Come.”

  Two sets of yellow eyes twinkled and then emerged from the darkness. The panthers were exquisite. One was pure white, its fur spackled with darkness. The other was pure shadow with streaks of white. They were the sun and the moon––light and shadow.

  They came to the side of the throne.

  Their haunches were at a level such that Ilori could lay a hand on them from atop her throne without moving. “They are my friends and loyal companions. The one black as the deepest darkness is called Chandra. The one as white as snow is called Kalinda.”

  “Why am I here?” spoke the Lonely.

  “You are in this room because I asked you here. You are in the Oasis of Eternities because you chose the South. You are here because here is where you are,” replied Ilori, gently stroking the back of Chandra. Both panthers lowered to the ground, their eyes never leaving the Lonely.

  “Why do I walk in this realm, any of these realms?”

  Ilori clicked her nails against the carvings of the throne.

  “You seek the duality of being: peace and purpose. They often collide as one’s life dwindles. What is it that you seek? Peace or purpose?”

  The Lonely could feel the gaze of the panthers on him.

  “I seek purpose…” Ilori cocked her head sideways, as if she were waiting for him to finish. “As well as peace. They are intertwined,” he replied exasperatedly.

  “Indeed, they are. Although, often they work against each other; the journey on which you find yourself is no different. You are bound to this journey.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I am the Burning Man,” she replied.

  “Should you not then be a man?”

  Ilori laughed again, though this time less angelically.

  “They are but words. The Burning Man is a title and it could have just as easily been a goat. You men are too often preoccupied with terms and logic.”

  “The Frozen Man would argue that it is strength.”

  “Strength, however, is not always what matters,” she answered with a grin.

  “I am a man?”

  Ilori nodded.

  “If I am a man, then what is my name?”

  “What is in a name? What purpose would knowing this name serve? Would it grant you peace or purpose?”

  The Lonely remained impassive despite her goading.


  “To know my name would be to know whether I walk in life or death. Without knowing, I can never truly understand what this journey is.”

  Ilori shook her head.

  The dark curls of her hair swayed across her perfect features.

  “A name is an arrangement of verbal sounds dictated by region and culture. A name would not tell you who you are unless it was given to you to reflect a particular trait. After death you may be called something different.”

  “Then I am dead?” the Lonely pressed.

  Ilori rose from her throne, her long legs rippling with musculature as she moved gracefully across the room to the very rim of candlelight.

  “Do you feel dead? Would you know what it feels like to be dead?”

  “Of course not, that is why I ask. I do not remember anything before I came here and I am uncertain what yet will come after.”

  As Ilori paced into darkness, the candlelight disappeared and was replaced with a blue hue that rose from beneath her feet. The eerie light bathed the room in a surreal darkness. Tricking the eye, it made everything appear as if it were a soft-blue color.

  “Would death hurt more than life?” she queried, not looking back at the Lonely.

  The Lonely stuttered, his words trapped, restrained.

  Ilori continued. “Would not the embrace of the darkness be without pain? Is it not during life when we are able to question things?”

  The Lonely wrung his hands together thoughtfully.

  “What is the purpose of your questions?”

  “Ah, you see. Purpose. There is that word again. What is the purpose of something? Why must my questions have purpose? For that matter, why must anything have purpose?”

  “Purpose helps to define our lives, shape them. Without purpose we stumble blindly,” answered the Lonely. “We need to know why we exist.”

  Ilori nodded, her radiant smile undiminished by the azure hue. “If you define a life through purpose, then without purpose we are empty? What do you believe this purpose does for you? A reason for existence? Do you need to know the why and how of things before and after to understand the present?”

  The Lonely moved toward Ilori, but stopped abruptly as the panthers rose in unison. “Are you questioning my faith or saying that I need faith?”

  Ilori looked to the panthers.

  “I am saying that you may be asking all the wrong questions. Is this life? Is this death? Who am I? Why am I here? The answers to these questions are right in front of you.”

  “How can that be?”

  “Every person believes that they are unique in this journey we call life. Each of their experiences singular and vastly different, even if it is in only the most minute detail, from everyone else’s. Does it truly matter right now if you are alive or dead? Or even if this is a dream?”

  “Yes, how can I live if I do not understand why it is that I am here?”

  Ilori’s smile disappeared for the first time as she sat back down on her throne. “Wherever you are, that is where you are. You have heard this piece of nonsense before, have you not?”

  The Lonely nodded, arms folded across his chest.

  “Have you ever thought past the obviousness of it? Does it mean physically, because that would be far too simple. Without a doubt, wherever your two feet are is where you are standing. That is self-evident. But, to go further it can mean something wholly different.”

  The Lonely held a finger up as he paced forward. “That it is the state of your mind that determines where you are. If you are here in this place, then that is where you are and could as easily be somewhere else a moment from now.”

  Ilori spread her hands wide.

  “Wherever you are, there you are.”

  “What then of a dream? Is that to say that you are present in that dream completely and that it can dictate action, belief?”

  Ilori smiled again, this time a ravenous one. “What is a dream? Is not the unconscious interpreting what the conscious brain sees? There are some who find more comfort and solace in their dreams than they would in their waking minds.”

  “Diversions and deflections will bring me no closer to the truth, Ilori. If this were a dream, then I would reach an apex of understanding, even if it were later revealed to be false. What then would be the purpose of this dream discussion? Certainly it would not be to find peace, for the further adulteration of truth and perception only seeks to dampen my already limited understanding of my existence,” spoke the Lonely rapidly, for the first time vexed by the open-ended, unanswerable nature of the totems.

  Ilori narrowed her eyes and moved away from the throne, running her hand over the flame dancing above the candles.

  “We cannot escape purpose.” She paused, as if she were about to call him something. “We are bound to it as a piece of sand is bound to the desert for all of its existence.”

  Her hesitation did not escape the Lonely’s notice, something left unsaid. “What is that you wish to tell me?”

  Ilori flashed him a deadly look.

  “If you were told the truth of existence, if any being were told the truth, then its meaning would no longer exist. The greatest mysteries of the world must remain a secret if they are to continue to hold sway.”

  The Lonely stepped forward. “You know my name. You know why I am here, do you not?”

  “Every piece of your journey has been arranged so that you will come to understand your place. This trek that you have been commanded upon without your knowing is so that you can understand the order of the cosmos. This is not unlike a book that you know well, though its name shall remain unuttered––a tome that paints many atrocities in the hands of women. To both fear and control is the nature of things, all things.”

  “That is why you appear as a woman, is it not?”

  She smiled a feline smile.

  “You are perceptive, perhaps more so than one would expect. Perception and comprehension are intertwined like that of lovers in a dusk walk––inseparable in their ignorance.”

  “So, upon that you would have me believe that my perception of the world ultimately influences my understanding of my place in life?”

  The smile again, but this time it was more remorseful.

  “More than you can imagine. Many stumble through life searching for their purpose, when they are exacting their purpose in their pursuit of understanding. Were you to stand still for a moment and abandon selfish and subjective perception, you would for the briefest of moments see the world as it was.”

  The Lonely waited.

  She walked away from him into the darkness.

  The dead eyes of her companions followed her without a sound. “At that moment you would cease to be a mortal. You would have stepped beyond the boundaries of comprehension and would no longer exist as you once had.”

  “The Crossroads said that never again could I visit the North, for never again could I visit it purely. Thus, the North no longer exists for me. Based upon what you have revealed to me, the inconvenient piece of knowledge to which I have been graced will henceforth make the South inaccessible to me, will it not?”

  She nodded.

  “I see. I had to defeat the Frozen Man’s logic, though this realm of the South is something altogether dissimilar. Here I had something to learn, a piece of a puzzle to understand. Had I not first visited the North first, then what I have learned would not have been the same, or it would not have been applicable? We are what we are. We do as we must. Can we truly ever understand our being?”

  Ilori sauntered back to her throne.

  Shadows betrayed her iridescent beauty.

  “I fear that over-analysis and a lack of true objectivity will force humanity to constantly evaluate an existence that may lack a divine meaning, but simply is that of which we make it.”

  “Then the Frozen Man was correct?”

  Her tight-lipped smile was bittersweet.

  “For him it was so, just as what I have said holds true for me. To seek a universal answer is to negat
e what you have felt your entire life, to make moot your thoughts, beliefs, dreams. Is truly the apex of comprehension to abandon what you think to find something to which all can find true?”

  The Lonely lowered his head, feeling the gentle tug that indicated that his mind and body were not long for this realm. “I know not why I seek. I only know that I have neither a belief nor a preconception as to why I am here, or the nature of the universe.”