Uncultured
Dreamer/Cynic
This is something I wrote last night that might develop into something bigger. I'm thinking a surreal fable type story that involves religion, sort of similar to the work of Philip K Dick. So yeah, if you do read it, leave your criticisms and what you liked or didn't like in the replies and the poll.
The branch moved with the speed of a glacier towards the person who stood at its base, the souls eyes sparkled in the face of the tree and with care and calm the boy outstretched his arm towards the colorful, yet colorless leaves upon the limb of the tree. As it took a thousand years to move towards his arm, empires fell, plagues came and went, boarders were redefined, religions were formed and the world changed. During the beginning of the interaction between source and soul the Magna Carta was signed, and at the apex of the boys reach, the third world war had ended on earth. Vast stretches of land had been rendered useless for a millennium, and the sky was the color of ash, the world had become a bone yard of twisted metal and death, all that remained were the lucky, those precious few who would repopulate the earth and rebuild from the ashes of the old world.
As the tree limb came ever closer to the fingers of the ancient soul at its base, humanity had recovered and the world was once again green with life and smiles could once again be found upon the faces of those who had inhabited the planet. While on earth a thousand years had passed, but for the boy who stood under the tree of life, it had only taken a few moments of time. The relative nature of time muddled the souls perception of existence, for he had been in the garden for longer than he could remember and he had witnessed the cycle of human existence more times than he cared to remember. No longer were there surprises. The circle never varied aside from slight wobbles and vibrations and as such the story never changed aside from the small details, the overarching sweeping motions of fate that had always controlled the mechanization of the universe would never yield, only the names, the interactions between people, the drama, only the obscure and minute ever changed, not the important events.
The boys fingers brushed upon the tree, and for a moment, the true age of his body flashed, pure and smooth skin was replaced by the wrinkled and pale, his eyes flashed from that of a young boy to that of a jaded old man, and his teeth, once white, became yellow and brittle, and then, like a flash of lightning cutting violently through the sky, he was returned to his youth.
The boy turned his eyes to the leaves that sprung from the branch before him, and what he saw still awed him as if it were his first moment before the branches of the tree. It was a mirage of leaves, each one a different shape and a different size, each one was wholly undefinable by any medium aside from music or mathematics, and none stayed the same, for the essence of all life is change and the tree was the source of all life, for it to remain static would go against its very nature. With each second the tree shifted from color to color, from shape to shape, from specie to specie, it reminded the soul of the appearance of light through a crystal that was slowly rotating under a clear sky. Like a diamond rotating underneath a light, if one kept their eyes fixated upon the leaves they would appear to remain the same but if one were to retract their gaze for just a moment before gazing once more, they would see something entirely different than they had a moment before. Many younger souls would see only chaotic movement within the changing of the leaves, but the boy saw something more, he saw harmony within the chaos, symphonic in nature it was and if the soul could shed a tear at a beautiful sight, he would have and if he could breath in his form he would have been robbed of it at the sight of the tree. Truly it was a spectacle, each leaf was interconnected to the other without seeming so, each one imitating an individual while being part of a greater collectivem it reminded the boy of the sentient beings within the universe, how they believed that they were separate from each other, while truly belonging to a larger collective, if only they knew that they were only pieces in a puzzle instead of individual pieces they would have saved so much bloodshed and hatred, but so was the way of existence and it would never change no matter how many cycles the ancient soul witnessed. Upon the tree before the boy was one constant among the variables, it was the fruit of life and within it was all of the knowledge of the physical world. Its skin was radiant, and it exuded a glow that was barely perceptible to the naked eye, the finest golden light emanated from its skin like golden thread, and although its aura shifted its color and its shape remained the same, but the hue of the fruit, and the shape of it as well, was indescribably beautiful, beautiful like a sunset over the coastal line of a continent, beautiful like a nebula within the cradle of life, or a neutron star, spinning at speed unfathomable to the mind of a human.
As the boy felt the limb of the tree a jolt moved through his body at the speed of light, energy, so pure and white in its complexion flowed through his bones and his joints and his skin, electrifying him for a moment and revealing to him the purpose of his arrival at the garden so many cycles ago, he had a purpose for the first time in more years than anyone aside from god could count, something was coming to him, a figure, a shape, something beautiful rather than malicious, for the first time in all his years within the garden, the almost omnipotent soul had become intrigued and curious by something.... mysterious.
From the branch and the tree he turned his eyes to the trunk of the source, it was sturdy and hard, yet it twisted and spiraled in a flowing and dancing motion towards the earthen ground it had grown from. The tree itself was a combination of thousands of fine fibers, each one an individual growth-age, yet the tree operated as if it were one. Each cell functioned in fine tuned entropy, chaos in motion, chaos channeled into order. A contradiction no doubt, but one that was taking place before the eyes of the ancient soul. It was beautiful as a symphony is, pure in its own musical way, beautiful and dangerous for within it lay the key to all things, both orderly and chaotic, both sane and the insane, the soul mused to himself if it were the case that the only difference between a genius and a madman was the perception of the same unchangeable reality that was posed by the source, posed by god himself. Perhaps contradictions were at the heart of all things, maybe contradictions were necessary, for a sane man may claim to know insanity and an insane man may claim to know sanity and truth, but only a man who is both sane and insane may understand the range of human psyche, a sobering and thoughtful muse no doubt. Contradictions were at the heart of all things, a realization made by the soul as he peered into the woven trunk of the eternal tree. Without death there could be no life, no change, no progression, and of course without life there could be no death. Without one side of the spectrum the other could not exist, love and apathy, anger and calm, shame and self acceptance, pride and humbleness, each was co dependent on the other for its survival, like the Earths moon and the planet inhabited by the human race, without the moon the tidal forces of the earth would become erratic, storms and squalls would decimate the coastlines, earthquakes would become more frequent and tsunamis would bring death to thousands, and without the earth, the moon would have no home, a hitchhiker floating on through the blackness of space without purpose.
From behind the boy came a voice, its sound pure and booming, the voice of a being as old as the cosmos themselves, it was the guardian of the garden, the boy could sense that immediately, but something was off about him, something had been changed or tweaked and the soul suppressed his urge to make his call before speaking to the fellow ancient. The ancient one finally turned from the tree after several seconds of waiting, he lowered his hand from the branch, and he turned to face the emanating source of the voice. As he did so, cities once more burned on earth, world war four had taken place and thousands of years of progress once more fell to the burning desires and carnal instincts of man kind. Total war had taken place and what had taken so many years to create, now smoldered within piles of ash and refuse, and those who survived began the arduous task of repairing the broken world they had created for themselves, and as these events took place upon earth, only moments had passed for the ancient soul in the sphere within the heart of the universe.
“A mission for you I have been tasked to give. Do you know who I am Zekial?” asked the boulder that had appeared before the boy. “You are Seremia, guardian of the garden” said Zekial, his voice deeper and older in intonation than his body would suggest.
“How do you know my name?” asked the large rock. “I do not know, I do not know how I have come to be here, or how long I have been here, but I know your name Seremia. If the lord has tasked me with a mission, let me hear it, I am ready.” said the boy.
“Good” said the voice, booming loudly over the ever present noises of the garden.
The birds of the forest chirped in harmonious symphonies of eternal notes that would drive an ordinary man mad, and the waves of the cosmos crashed upon the sphere that surrounded the garden and the subtle noises of the waves gave cause for a loud booming voice, the kind of voice used by the guardian as it spoke its forthcoming words. “A place you must go, far from here it is, a prophet you will meet, a woman as well, she will help you on your path as you meet the others, and a fallen angel you will find as well, his heart is covered in darkness, but within it is the light of god, and his light shall show you the path” said the boulder after a long pause in his booming voice.
The boy did not reply at first, instead he turned from the boulder and walked back to the tree, instead of reaching towards the branches as he had before he sat beneath its willowy branches and closed his eyes softly and deeply, feeling the energy of the source within his body to the core of his existence. As he closed his eyes, humanity broke from its chains on earth, it had colonized the first of many worlds, their government was unified and those who had emerged from the wars of the previous millennium now coasted through the stars in ships made of terrestrial metals, sealing those within from the maelstrom of the chaos found in pocket space. As he opened his eyes to reply to the guardian of the garden, humanity found itself in another war, this time against an outside incursion, a race of evolutionary victors, an apex species with intelligence far exceeding that of the humans, with numbers far exceeding theirs as well.
“To send me there, I must die, is that not the case Seremia?” asked the ancient soul. “Die? No, to eat the fruit is what you must do” said the boulder.
“Eating the fruit corrupts the soul, I will be barred from this place guardian.... what you ask.... it is not something I will do” said Zekial with a perplexed look on his face.
“I am the guardian, my voice is that of gods” said the boulder in a tone that could best be described as amicable yet frustrated. “To make me eat the fruit you have tried before old enemy, reveal yourself for you have been discovered” said the soul to the boulder with a slightly mocking tone upon his voice.
From the rock came a deep growl of a laugh, more a mockery of laughter than laughter itself, and within a moment, the boulder became a long and spindly winged serpent, its eyes glowing in a deep amber. Its tongue flicked several times and then it propelled itself with its ungodly physical design towards the tree. As it approached ever closer to the tree the ancient soul Zekial smiled. Not a grin, nor a smirk, but the faintest ghost of a smile, one that played on the edge of his lips, for as the serpent came closer to the tree it was flung backwards into the jungle with the force of a gunshot.
As the tree flung the serpent back into the jungle, humanity lost its war with the enemy. Their colonies lay in ruin and their home planet of earth had become their last bastion of hope. Blockades of ships had formed around the outer atmosphere of the beautiful gem of a planet that had been given to the humans and billions of people sat in fear as their enemy closed in on them. If only they knew what would come to them would be life instead of death, perhaps they would not be so afraid.
While the boy sat, the serpent emerged from the jungle once more, this time its eyes glowed a near white orange, the inner flame of the demon reflected its temperament, and the heat within its irises showed the pure malice of the creature as it eyeballed the boy who sat within the sphere of protection offered by the source.
The branch moved with the speed of a glacier towards the person who stood at its base, the souls eyes sparkled in the face of the tree and with care and calm the boy outstretched his arm towards the colorful, yet colorless leaves upon the limb of the tree. As it took a thousand years to move towards his arm, empires fell, plagues came and went, boarders were redefined, religions were formed and the world changed. During the beginning of the interaction between source and soul the Magna Carta was signed, and at the apex of the boys reach, the third world war had ended on earth. Vast stretches of land had been rendered useless for a millennium, and the sky was the color of ash, the world had become a bone yard of twisted metal and death, all that remained were the lucky, those precious few who would repopulate the earth and rebuild from the ashes of the old world.
As the tree limb came ever closer to the fingers of the ancient soul at its base, humanity had recovered and the world was once again green with life and smiles could once again be found upon the faces of those who had inhabited the planet. While on earth a thousand years had passed, but for the boy who stood under the tree of life, it had only taken a few moments of time. The relative nature of time muddled the souls perception of existence, for he had been in the garden for longer than he could remember and he had witnessed the cycle of human existence more times than he cared to remember. No longer were there surprises. The circle never varied aside from slight wobbles and vibrations and as such the story never changed aside from the small details, the overarching sweeping motions of fate that had always controlled the mechanization of the universe would never yield, only the names, the interactions between people, the drama, only the obscure and minute ever changed, not the important events.
The boys fingers brushed upon the tree, and for a moment, the true age of his body flashed, pure and smooth skin was replaced by the wrinkled and pale, his eyes flashed from that of a young boy to that of a jaded old man, and his teeth, once white, became yellow and brittle, and then, like a flash of lightning cutting violently through the sky, he was returned to his youth.
The boy turned his eyes to the leaves that sprung from the branch before him, and what he saw still awed him as if it were his first moment before the branches of the tree. It was a mirage of leaves, each one a different shape and a different size, each one was wholly undefinable by any medium aside from music or mathematics, and none stayed the same, for the essence of all life is change and the tree was the source of all life, for it to remain static would go against its very nature. With each second the tree shifted from color to color, from shape to shape, from specie to specie, it reminded the soul of the appearance of light through a crystal that was slowly rotating under a clear sky. Like a diamond rotating underneath a light, if one kept their eyes fixated upon the leaves they would appear to remain the same but if one were to retract their gaze for just a moment before gazing once more, they would see something entirely different than they had a moment before. Many younger souls would see only chaotic movement within the changing of the leaves, but the boy saw something more, he saw harmony within the chaos, symphonic in nature it was and if the soul could shed a tear at a beautiful sight, he would have and if he could breath in his form he would have been robbed of it at the sight of the tree. Truly it was a spectacle, each leaf was interconnected to the other without seeming so, each one imitating an individual while being part of a greater collectivem it reminded the boy of the sentient beings within the universe, how they believed that they were separate from each other, while truly belonging to a larger collective, if only they knew that they were only pieces in a puzzle instead of individual pieces they would have saved so much bloodshed and hatred, but so was the way of existence and it would never change no matter how many cycles the ancient soul witnessed. Upon the tree before the boy was one constant among the variables, it was the fruit of life and within it was all of the knowledge of the physical world. Its skin was radiant, and it exuded a glow that was barely perceptible to the naked eye, the finest golden light emanated from its skin like golden thread, and although its aura shifted its color and its shape remained the same, but the hue of the fruit, and the shape of it as well, was indescribably beautiful, beautiful like a sunset over the coastal line of a continent, beautiful like a nebula within the cradle of life, or a neutron star, spinning at speed unfathomable to the mind of a human.
As the boy felt the limb of the tree a jolt moved through his body at the speed of light, energy, so pure and white in its complexion flowed through his bones and his joints and his skin, electrifying him for a moment and revealing to him the purpose of his arrival at the garden so many cycles ago, he had a purpose for the first time in more years than anyone aside from god could count, something was coming to him, a figure, a shape, something beautiful rather than malicious, for the first time in all his years within the garden, the almost omnipotent soul had become intrigued and curious by something.... mysterious.
From the branch and the tree he turned his eyes to the trunk of the source, it was sturdy and hard, yet it twisted and spiraled in a flowing and dancing motion towards the earthen ground it had grown from. The tree itself was a combination of thousands of fine fibers, each one an individual growth-age, yet the tree operated as if it were one. Each cell functioned in fine tuned entropy, chaos in motion, chaos channeled into order. A contradiction no doubt, but one that was taking place before the eyes of the ancient soul. It was beautiful as a symphony is, pure in its own musical way, beautiful and dangerous for within it lay the key to all things, both orderly and chaotic, both sane and the insane, the soul mused to himself if it were the case that the only difference between a genius and a madman was the perception of the same unchangeable reality that was posed by the source, posed by god himself. Perhaps contradictions were at the heart of all things, maybe contradictions were necessary, for a sane man may claim to know insanity and an insane man may claim to know sanity and truth, but only a man who is both sane and insane may understand the range of human psyche, a sobering and thoughtful muse no doubt. Contradictions were at the heart of all things, a realization made by the soul as he peered into the woven trunk of the eternal tree. Without death there could be no life, no change, no progression, and of course without life there could be no death. Without one side of the spectrum the other could not exist, love and apathy, anger and calm, shame and self acceptance, pride and humbleness, each was co dependent on the other for its survival, like the Earths moon and the planet inhabited by the human race, without the moon the tidal forces of the earth would become erratic, storms and squalls would decimate the coastlines, earthquakes would become more frequent and tsunamis would bring death to thousands, and without the earth, the moon would have no home, a hitchhiker floating on through the blackness of space without purpose.
From behind the boy came a voice, its sound pure and booming, the voice of a being as old as the cosmos themselves, it was the guardian of the garden, the boy could sense that immediately, but something was off about him, something had been changed or tweaked and the soul suppressed his urge to make his call before speaking to the fellow ancient. The ancient one finally turned from the tree after several seconds of waiting, he lowered his hand from the branch, and he turned to face the emanating source of the voice. As he did so, cities once more burned on earth, world war four had taken place and thousands of years of progress once more fell to the burning desires and carnal instincts of man kind. Total war had taken place and what had taken so many years to create, now smoldered within piles of ash and refuse, and those who survived began the arduous task of repairing the broken world they had created for themselves, and as these events took place upon earth, only moments had passed for the ancient soul in the sphere within the heart of the universe.
“A mission for you I have been tasked to give. Do you know who I am Zekial?” asked the boulder that had appeared before the boy. “You are Seremia, guardian of the garden” said Zekial, his voice deeper and older in intonation than his body would suggest.
“How do you know my name?” asked the large rock. “I do not know, I do not know how I have come to be here, or how long I have been here, but I know your name Seremia. If the lord has tasked me with a mission, let me hear it, I am ready.” said the boy.
“Good” said the voice, booming loudly over the ever present noises of the garden.
The birds of the forest chirped in harmonious symphonies of eternal notes that would drive an ordinary man mad, and the waves of the cosmos crashed upon the sphere that surrounded the garden and the subtle noises of the waves gave cause for a loud booming voice, the kind of voice used by the guardian as it spoke its forthcoming words. “A place you must go, far from here it is, a prophet you will meet, a woman as well, she will help you on your path as you meet the others, and a fallen angel you will find as well, his heart is covered in darkness, but within it is the light of god, and his light shall show you the path” said the boulder after a long pause in his booming voice.
The boy did not reply at first, instead he turned from the boulder and walked back to the tree, instead of reaching towards the branches as he had before he sat beneath its willowy branches and closed his eyes softly and deeply, feeling the energy of the source within his body to the core of his existence. As he closed his eyes, humanity broke from its chains on earth, it had colonized the first of many worlds, their government was unified and those who had emerged from the wars of the previous millennium now coasted through the stars in ships made of terrestrial metals, sealing those within from the maelstrom of the chaos found in pocket space. As he opened his eyes to reply to the guardian of the garden, humanity found itself in another war, this time against an outside incursion, a race of evolutionary victors, an apex species with intelligence far exceeding that of the humans, with numbers far exceeding theirs as well.
“To send me there, I must die, is that not the case Seremia?” asked the ancient soul. “Die? No, to eat the fruit is what you must do” said the boulder.
“Eating the fruit corrupts the soul, I will be barred from this place guardian.... what you ask.... it is not something I will do” said Zekial with a perplexed look on his face.
“I am the guardian, my voice is that of gods” said the boulder in a tone that could best be described as amicable yet frustrated. “To make me eat the fruit you have tried before old enemy, reveal yourself for you have been discovered” said the soul to the boulder with a slightly mocking tone upon his voice.
From the rock came a deep growl of a laugh, more a mockery of laughter than laughter itself, and within a moment, the boulder became a long and spindly winged serpent, its eyes glowing in a deep amber. Its tongue flicked several times and then it propelled itself with its ungodly physical design towards the tree. As it approached ever closer to the tree the ancient soul Zekial smiled. Not a grin, nor a smirk, but the faintest ghost of a smile, one that played on the edge of his lips, for as the serpent came closer to the tree it was flung backwards into the jungle with the force of a gunshot.
As the tree flung the serpent back into the jungle, humanity lost its war with the enemy. Their colonies lay in ruin and their home planet of earth had become their last bastion of hope. Blockades of ships had formed around the outer atmosphere of the beautiful gem of a planet that had been given to the humans and billions of people sat in fear as their enemy closed in on them. If only they knew what would come to them would be life instead of death, perhaps they would not be so afraid.
While the boy sat, the serpent emerged from the jungle once more, this time its eyes glowed a near white orange, the inner flame of the demon reflected its temperament, and the heat within its irises showed the pure malice of the creature as it eyeballed the boy who sat within the sphere of protection offered by the source.
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