Waves

when she stopped making art,

she became angry,

anxious, irritable, resentful.

she would watch him draw horned beasts,

using only red and black pen on a white canvas.

she would watch him outside a window

swirling acrylics on metal surfaces.

she would browse through her old drawings,

or find a stray red pencil in a drawer.

what had once moved through her?

and where did it go?

early on, when she had felt the first wave  

she got derailed

trapped by her own need for affection

for acceptance, for love.

she abandoned everything to move in with a stranger

she left for the ocean.

every warning was ridiculed,

she surrounded her thoughts with an iron fence.

her body was burdened,

her lungs were tight and closed,

and the thing that once moved through her

became so small as to be invisible.

she thought about it for years.

sometimes she attempted a small drawing,

but she had lost trust in her own hands.

she judged the lines before they were complete,

saw herself as another would see her,

as another might see her.

later she fled,

or was cast aside.

she escaped the narrow path

of needles and crime,

lies and delusion,

denial and fear.

she salvaged what lay just inside the dumpster

and left the rest

to become a vague memory.

and she found herself in a room,

staring out a window.

how long had it been since she drew?

he said to her:
'if you want to make art, make art.'

and she stared at him

with tears in her eyes.

she thought she had to wait

for something to happen,

for a burst,

for an explosion,

for shapes to break open the gates

and explode onto the page.

she watched him standing in the sun

just outside the window.

he never noticed her there,

just a few feet away.

the canvas was on the ground on a blue tarp.

he let the colors mingle,

then would occasionally move

one side of the canvas or another.

After a while

she went back to her room.

The Sealed Temple

“Just as a pool is of little use when the whole countryside is flooded, the Book is of little use to us now. So we will read it everywhere. Together we will find it on the pillars, on the walls, on the street itself. It is present all around us.”

At some level I know he is here to help me; or at least I believe he is sincere in his wish to help. But I am still hesitant to trust him completely. He is a stranger, a complete unknown, a kind of latent danger walking beside me. I look away even as he walks by my side.

***

A large group of school children in uniform gather right in front of us. The boys wear green shirts and blue shorts, the girls wear blue shirts and brown skirts. A line of buses waits at the end of the block to take them somewhere else, a field trip of some kind.
I overhear the children talking.
“There is no God,” a boy says, “no truth, no spirit, no moral order. Nothing. The basis of life is sex. What else can it be?”
“Lust is the highest that life can offer,” a girl answers in a mocking tone.
“Fuck ‘til you drop!” another boy says. And they all laugh.

***

I see a single half lit gas lamp at the northern gateway to the Sealed Temple. ‘Maybe there is water behind these doors, maybe there is blood.’ Maybe there is only solitude.

“You know me” he says.
I nod. I know what he means but I can’t explain it, even to myself.
Without a pause, he continues:
"I think of you most often when I'm in airports. It’s the same for you."

I see a white ghost standing by a stone pillar. I see her as somehow everlasting and infinite, standing on the motionless foundations of the Sealed Temple. She's missing a face, part of her head, her arms, parts of her hip and leg. She is still recognizably a woman even through the thick scales that cover her skin. I sense that she cannot be pierced or burned, she cannot be wet or dry, she can barely exist.

***

“The Book says:
You will see a large skeletal bat flapping its dark wings above your head. You may look up but only briefly. If you look at it too long, it might look back at you. Then all will be lost..."

***

September 26

A second cracked pillar was discovered today.
At the base of the cracked pillar I found a little white bird. The bird was missing a wing and had a black mark above the eyes, on its head and on its beak. I took a photo of the black mark. I had seen this black mark before painted on a sidewalk. A small black box. Some kind of icon.

The Builder says the pillars were constructed in January. The cracks could have happened any time after that. The Temple is expected to remain closed.

***

(With my old friend, I once met a man who taught people how to meditate. I sat among other young people that my friend had invited and I quietly listened to the man talk.
At one point the man looked at me and asked me if I had read the Book of War and Understanding. I said I had read some passages but I had never read the whole thing.
He looked at me quietly for a long time and then said:
"There's no need to read it, you know? The Book is all around us right now if you only look carefully - if you know how to look."
Later we did a group meditation. He asked us to imagine the night sky. I looked up within my mind and I saw that the stars had become numbers, zeros and ones flashing in the dark. I saw them glittering over a long cement bridge that was also covered in lights.
I heard his voice then, talking very quietly to all of us:
"This is a liminal place, a space of transition. Like an airport or a train station. A place where you are not there yet but you are no longer here.")

***

The Builder says the Temple has become a place where people feel afraid.
“It's just not a safe place for kids or families. We have missed the mark. We have missed our opportunity.”

***

(From the distance I saw the dome of the inner sanctum, covered in yellow and black. I couldn’t find my way inside that day. I might never be inside. Not even within my mind. The trees waved in the wind up above me, like a forest suspended in the air - a forgotten paradise floating in the sky.
The meditation teacher said: “You will return to this place many times. This place is yours. As you return to it, it will become more and more specific, more and more real. Eventually you may not be able to tell any difference between what you think is real and this place you have created in your mind.”)

***

The Builder made very clear promises.
“You will be able to enter and leave the Temple at any time. For periods of seconds, minutes, hours or years. Enter at any time. Leave at any time. The choice is yours.”

***

(I saw a simple greeting written in orange letters. It was nailed over a door made of silvery steel.
Large orange letters with an exclamation mark to emphasize them: “Welcome!”
But the doors were closed and the greeting was empty and touched with a melancholic sadness.)

***

(I met a man by the side of the road. He asked me if I had read the Book of War and Understanding. I told him I hadn't. I said: “I’ve read some pages here and there. Or people have read them to me. But no, I have never read the whole thing.”
He smiled and said: "No need to read it now. That time has passed. Instead, I will guide you through it. We will walk together around the perimeter of the Sealed Temple and the Book will reveal itself to us. Its pages are even now wrapped around the Temple and over the streets that surround it. The Temple may never open again. But all that matters is that the Book is easily accessible. You can walk by it and not be aware of what you see. I will show you how to find it and I will show you how to follow the shifting shape of its thoughts.")

***

I see crystalline flowers flipping back and forth on elastic stems, a dance of wind and weight and color, a gentle teasing - the flowers get very close to each other but they never touch.

***

“The Book says:
You will see three musicians made of bronze and silver dancing slowly through time, so slowly they may seem to be standing still; but the movement will always be there, the dance will continue. You will see bolts holding their limbs together and the curves of their bodies will draw shapes over the sky. The musical pulse will be so slow as to be physically heavy, the beat will be so long as to be lost for days… and even longer.
These musicians have no attachments. They are equally disposed towards their family, towards their enemies, towards their friends, to those who support them and to those who are hostile, to the good and the evil alike. They are unaffected by the results of their music;
even while playing, they really do nothing at all.”

***

I see a black tree in the shape of a church. A sign on the tree announces that this is a public place, a place where anyone can sit, where anyone can talk and rest and meditate.
But it warns that there will be no sleeping here. Sleeping is not allowed.

“You ask yourself who I am, how is it that you know me, how is it that I know you.
What I can say is: of all that measures, I am time. I am the destroyer of all; my hunger consumes the world. But my hunger never ends, and the world is infinite.”

I see triangles over cubes over rectangles over more triangles, pure shape, pure form. I sense that this is where it all comes from, and this is where it all goes.
I sense the man nodding even while I look away. I haven’t said anything out loud.

Whenever I turn around to see him, his face has been subtly transformed, as if the light is changing it. It makes me feel dizzy, confused. It makes me feel as if, even while walking outside, I am alone in a small room with this one other person, a familiar stranger, someone I can almost recognize.

***

September 25

Today a crack was discovered in a steel beam beneath the hanging forest. The beam is on the eastern side of the third level of the Temple. The entire Temple was immediately evacuated and closed.

***

“The Builder fights for his creation, knowing he has no way of winning. But he does it anyway. The worse thing that could happen is for him to deny his destiny, his true nature as a Builder. He would then be lost, lost in an endless ocean, a ship without a port. He could stay lost for a very long time, even forever.
The only way to avoid this aimless drift is to continue to be a Builder, even if he is now the Builder that failed. He will forever be remembered as a failure.”

***

“The Temple was a lively place for a brief time. There were two restaurants and a bar, which was happily and noisily patronized at night. There were two stalls actively selling newspapers, magazines, sandwiches, drinks, candy and cigarettes. The stalls were open from dawn until late at night. (Of course, the Temple itself was open at all times.) People constantly circulated in and out. Many of them simply wanted to have a look inside. There was once an arcade located close to the third gateway. The arcade was seedy, as was the surrounding area outside.
I used to play cards in the arcade. I would play for an unusually long time. When nobody was around to play with me, I would just arrange the cards in different orders. In some way they spoke to me in a language only I could understand. On one card was a white flower with wide open eyes, a white flower sliding up on waves of red and yellow. Another card had a single dripping blue point, under it there were blue curving handwritten letters.”

***

“There is a sign that clearly states our destination is beyond reach. It is painted in light green letters over a surface of dirty white metal. It has recently been repainted in red emphasizing its primordial warning. The hanging forest has many gateways, many ways to enter, many ways to leave. Today they are all closed. We don't know if they will ever open again.”

***

(Suddenly it becomes clear. We should have died that night. That was the night of our death. The night when the soldiers took us away. Suddenly I don’t see it as something bad that could have happened, but simply as something that should have happened, something predetermined and certain, an integral piece of the overarching framework of reality.
But we didn’t die. And from then on we have lived in a kind of after life, a life beyond death that leads to a kind of flight, a levity that allows us to fly freely above life.)

***

He speaks again:
“When your mind finally overcomes the confusion of good and evil, of certainty and solid absolutes, you will attain a state of holy nonchalance. Then, and only then, you will be able to hear the things you hear, and see the things you see. Until then you will remain blind.”

I see a couple of giant bloodshot eyes. They stare up and out from under a giant leaf. It seems to me as if they are full of hunger and yet they also hold a certain hint of doubt. The mouth is hidden by the leaf, the head is absent.
I see tall long rectangles of darkness surrounded by pillars of gray stone. I feel a sense of solid permanence. People come and go all around me. The Temple remains.

“You have always enjoyed talking with mysterious strangers who stop you on the street, isn’t that right? Sometimes they speak to you as if they know you. Right? I am just one more. Just like the others. And you can listen to me, just like you have listened to others before.
I am the process and the pain; I am a living drug and the sound that emerges from the breakdown. I am a kind of gift and the fire which consumes it. And you? You happen to be the one to whom this is offered. Today. Right now.”

I see concentric circles around a black box. We stand together at its immediate perimeter. There are other larger circles around us, larger and larger circles getting lost in the distance. We are so close to the center and yet the Temple remains sealed.

***

“The Book says:
You will see flowers birthing interstellar biological spaceships and complex sentient servants made of light. You will see a living garden of delights extending in all directions.
Here you will learn of the five elements, the five elements necessary for the completion of every wish and effort. You will need the body, constructed from binaries that flash across the night. You will need the means, which are predetermined and remain steady. You will need the mind, through which the garden will lose its randomness. You will need the action that may lead you to fall into a state of knowledge. And you will need the secret will, which you must never allow to fall into decay. These are the five elements in all possible actions, right or wrong, good or evil, selfish or selfless, dark or bright.”

***

August 10

After so many years of work, the Temple is about to open to the general public. It is six levels tall. Two additional levels are underground. There is a hanging forest above it and around it, and giant metal spires reach up to the sky like frozen rocket ships. The perimeter is covered in a kind of lacy shawl - a reminder that something fluid and feminine lives among these heavy towers of concrete, among these rivers of steel and asphalt. The insides of the Temple are composed of curving paths that lead visitors through different chambers and halls. In order to create a structure that blurs the distinction between roof and ground, the hanging forest integrates vegetated hills with giant domes that allow light to go through to the halls below.
A solitary woman in a dark thick jacket and a knee length skirt waits for the doors to open for the very first time. She tightly holds onto her purse.

***

(As I continued to see the glittering stars above the cement bridge, the meditation teacher spoke again: “All these visions before you are radiations of your own thoughts. These are your thoughts shining down upon you. They haven’t come from anywhere else or anyone else. They’re yours and yours alone. Don’t become attracted to them- don’t become weak or afraid. Stay in the mood of a man witnessing his own body drifting down a river. Don’t try to grasp at anything. Don’t try to stop the flow of the water.”)

***

(Many years later I found myself inside a small plane. Beneath us was the city I saw when I was a boy. I recognized the clock tower, the bridge and the waters of the bay. I could even see the dome of the temple, the spires seemed so close I felt the urge to reach out and touch them. To my young self, this looked like an exotic and romantic place. I could see masses of people going everywhere, a throng of ants moving in all directions. A boy in a sleeveless jersey and long blue shorts, a woman in a blue dress that showed her bare shoulders, a tall black man wearing a white hat backwards, holding a phone in his hand.
With me in the plane were two young girls I barely knew. They were looking for a man I used to know; an old friend, a friend I hadn’t seen in many years. They had asked for my help in finding him and I had agreed. From the plane, we looked in every corner, every street, every empty lot. But it was impossible to find him no matter how carefully we looked and by the time we landed, I was ready to give up. I felt as if we were hungry ghosts looking for something we would never find.
Later that night, the girls managed to find my old friend in the flashing darkness of a dance club.
Both of them rushed towards him with wide open eyes and mouths. My friend looked like a giant next to them, a thick solid brown giant covered in tattoos and scars. They looked like vicious tiny wasps running after him. It then became clear that they were very angry and they were looking for some kind of payback or revenge. If I had known this, I would never have agreed to help them in their search. I left the club right away, unwilling to be part of this unfolding scene. I heard later that there was violence and blood in one of the club’s bathrooms. My old friend got taken away by the police and I never saw him again.
I felt sympathy for him. I knew what it was like to be taken away by fearsome men with guns. One night my mother and me got taken away. We were meant to die that night. It was all agreed and pre-established. But somehow we didn’t die. There’s a kind of privilege in living beyond the night of your own death. I see us now as ghosts, beings beyond death whose only goal is to explore the dark, to search and search, without any clear sense of what we are looking for or what we can find.)

***

“I remember when I’d stop in at a store in the lower level to buy candy, nuts, juice, magazines and even a plant. I loved to walk past the cocktail lounge and look inside.”

***

A thin old woman approaches us. She holds an even thinner old cat in her fragile hands. She looks at me and speaks:
"She's getting so thin. I've tried wet food and animal vitamins. I took her to the vet. He offered nothing but a lack of bright ideas. We've lived together for 9 years. She helped me find a home. She never judged me... she was the best friend I ever had! Maybe there’s still hope somewhere nearby, somewhere I can't find at the moment"
And then she walks away.

***

“The Book says:
I have given no persons permission to sleep, lie or in any way remain within the doorway to my Temple while the doors remain closed.
It must be understood that perception is higher than matter, and your mind is higher than your perception. Above your mind is the sign, and above the sign is the eye. Once you know what is most high, let the eye remain open. Read the sign above your head: ‘Wake up’
Once awakened your first impulse will be to triumph over your enemies. Don’t forget. This is not just the Book of Understanding. This is also the Book of War. It is not enough to Understand. It is also necessary that you fight. It is precisely through this violent victory that you will know
that you have finally come up from the abyss of deep sleep. It is only through the violent struggle that you will finally open your eyes.”

***

(I can’t help but think of her, of her hopes and dreams, of the things she was told and the things she believed. She still believes she can unseal the Temple, or that she must try. Or that she must appear to be trying.
At this moment, I know that I don’t need to change anything. The Temple is precisely as it is and as it will be. As it should be. As it ever was.
I can explore it, I can walk its long perimeter, I can find new things each time I come around. Here and now I live at the doors, I brush my hands at the gates, I feel the subtle shaking of the pillars.)

***

“I understand it’s hard to look at me. But listen. Something that may seem like poison at first,
may taste like nectar in the end… this is the joy of walking the perimeter, the joy that emerges from a mind at peace with closed gates. I stand next to you, as the taste of cool water when you are thirsty, the radiance of the sun when you are cold. I am the gentle word that alleviates all fears, I am the sound that makes your heart burst, I am the courage that makes you human. I am the smell of wet earth and the red burning of the fire; I am life. You don’t have to turn around yet, but you will.”

***

July 10

“The hanging forest will be open to everyone. The Builder says he envisions school children coming through for tours and lessons under the shade of the tall trees.
‘When you climb high above street level and you find a dark dense forest, your perception changes,’ the Builder says.
The hanging forest will also be accessible by plane.”

***

(When I closed my eyes, I looked for indications for when and where to enter and found all the doors crossed over by yellow tape. All the gateways had been annulled, forbidden, placed on permanent hold. It may take a while before this place opens again, I said to myself.)

***

(I went back to that night of nights, and I saw a ghostly cup which held a tiny blue bottle inside.
I knew immediately that the blue bottle held some kind of deadly poison. It had been waiting so long for us to arrive. I saw again that I had been given a kind of privilege. We had left the blue bottle unopened. Somewhere it still waited for us. But for now we could fly high above the city and explore it without any rush.)

***

(I say the teacher’s words softly to myself: All these visions are radiations of my own thoughts. They haven’t come from anywhere else or anyone else. They’re mine and mine alone.)

I saw four white arrows that pointed towards each other in a self referential circle. The circle wrapped upon itself. At its center was a simple message: "Too much information can make you fall within yourself. It may then be difficult to find a way out."

I saw a mountain of many colors, all these bright waves of color slipping and sliding against each other. I saw a kind of mouth at the top of the mountain, a gaping mouth hinting at a deep hunger, a restless appetite for disintegration.

(I won’t become attracted to these visions, I won’t become weak or afraid. I will stay in the mood of a man witnessing his own body drifting down a river. I won’t try to grasp at anything. I won’t try to stop the flowing motion of the water.)

***

“A struggle developed between two opposing factions - one faction hated the very idea of the Temple; the other faction wanted to defend it.
The faction that hated the Temple wanted to destroy the very process that would lead to its construction. The Builder wanted to set the process moving again but he had made a mistake.
According to the Builder (this was narrated by him many years later, after all these events were almost forgotten history) one night a stranger appeared in his office and spoke to him as if he knew him, as if they were old friends that hadn’t seen each other in a very long time.
The stranger said: ‘You have been an idiot in the way you have dealt with these things.
I will guide you but you have to obey me.’
The Builder, realizing he had no choice, agreed to obey.”

***

(I have always talked to strangers who stop me on the street. Especially the ones that speak as if they know me. I am one of a million diverse forms, an infinite variety of color and shape. Among all those forms, these strangers seem to recognize something in me, something they think they know. The least I can do is listen to what they have to say.)

I see an old chariot left behind by the side of the road. Its sides are a bit rusty, the paint is fading and falling away. But it still retains some element of its former glory. I can almost see the outline of the powerful individual that once commanded it into battle; the supreme War commander who entered the field of battle and offered death while manifesting life.

***

“The Book says:
They should have died. Soldiers took them in the middle of the night. That night they should have died. It would not have been good or bad, it would have simply happened. That is all that death is. Something that happens. And it should have happened to them.
On the perimeter of the Temple there are only two orders of creatures: the perishables and the ever changing forms. They were perishables and they should be gone by now. Now they live beyond their death. Now they live by the side of the road, in the afterlife.”

***

He stands for a moment and points up at a sign above a gateway.
“The Temple is closed. It will remain closed from some time in the past to some time in the future. The secondary streets will also be closed during this window of time. Invisible guardians will remain on site. Thank you in advance for your cooperation.”

I see bright red arrows that curve and turn and point in all directions over a surface of gray and white; broken, cracked, dirty.

“Stay close to me. We can enjoy a kind of solitude as we stray away from the crowd. This is how you read the Book. This is how you seek the knowledge of the Temple while the gates remain closed. Of course you wish to enter. To seek anything else is ignorance. But you will forever remain outside. This is where you belong.”

***

June 5

“Following many years of construction, the Temple is almost ready to open.
A dirty homeless man outside the construction site loudly proclaims its imminent closure:
‘The pillars will shiver and crack, the beams will start to break. The Temple may open but its glory won’t last long! Once it closes, it will be closed indefinitely. Entire generations will come and go and the Temple will remain closed!’
The Builder continues to struggle but he has a growing sense that he has no chance of success. He continues to struggle anyway. The worse thing that can happen is for him to simply surrender. He would then be lost, like a ship in an endless ocean, and he would stay lost for a very long time.”

***

The Builder once claimed that he had seen a giant female creature made of black ink
bathed in rainbow blood. By that point nobody paid any attention to anything the Builder had to say. He was at best an obscure joke, at worse a pathetic figure erased by time. His head was bent low and he was getting ready to die. His face was a mask of deep regret and sorrow.
In a voice barely louder than a whisper, he said:
“Both of us were naked, together. She was being very playful and flirtatious. I didn’t understand why. Why would she come back to visit me after all this time? ‘Here’s what I can finally tell you. There is no God,’ she said to me, ‘no truth, no spirit, no moral order. Nothing. The basis of life is pleasure; what else could it be? Lust is the highest that life can offer.’
I refused to make love to her and eventually she got very quiet. Her expression was a mixture of sadness and anger. Then she made her way out of my room through a rip in the red fabric that formed the walls. Neither of us ever said goodbye.”

***

(One day I received a single written note from an old friend I had not seen in a very long time. The note had only a single word written on it: my friend’s name and an exclamation mark. I closed my eyes and pictured him floating on the surface of a tall blue wave or maybe sitting on a small fishing boat off the coast of El Salvador. I saw him putting on a black hat. Something I might have seen in a children's book. I sat in front of him, eager to finally talk to him again.
I tried to tell him something I had seen, something I had been wanting to say for many years but I had never been able to say it. It was hard to say it - not just hard, but impossible. So I mostly listened as he told me about his life off the coast of El Salvador and where and how he had found the black hat.
Later that night we played with a set of cards with pictures on them. We played for a hours and hours. We both kept arranging the cards in different sequences. One card had a bridge floating over green cubes. The cubes repeated endlessly in all directions. Another card had a few clouds on it. Another card had a few birds. Another card was just a picture of an empty sky.)

***

(When I think back, I imagine a small room. There’s one other person in the room with me. Their face keeps on changing subtly - sometimes it’s a man, sometimes it’s a woman - sometimes I recognize the face, sometimes it seems to be a complete stranger. The light keeps on changing.
I don’t know how long I’ve been in this room. But I know I’ve been talking and talking and talking for a very long time.)

***

“The Book says:
You will see a green arrow wrapped around a broken circle. The arrow will come from nowhere and it will point to nowhere. The inner circle will be broken but complete. Above it, in large block letters you will see the word: system.”

***

During an afternoon walk, I meet a man on Market Street. He stands behind a table covered in books and pamphlets. He asks me if I have read the Book of War and Understanding. I tell him I have read some pages.
“When I was young, my mother would read it to me. She was always into these kinds of things. But I have never read it in its entirety.”
He says: "You should read it. I will give it to you. But I will do more than that. I will guide you through it. All the stories and poems in the Book are written on the walls of the Sealed Temple. But they are hard to see and hard to comprehend without the codes hidden inside. You know, the Temple may never open again. But I will show you how to read the Book anyway. The young think that knowledge and action are different, but I will show you that they are the same. I will show you how to find the Book through action, and I will show you how to follow the shifting rhythm of its thoughts."

***

(I had thought of the Temple as a place to meet, a place for people to come together, to find each other and then leave. But maybe these meetings were too fleeting, too fast. I had thought of it as a kind of hive, a dome covered in curved yellow lines over a textured black background. Maybe at the boundary between yellow and black there was a secret entrance. But I didn’t have the power to open this secret passageway, even if I imagined that I knew of its existence.)

***

As we walk, I overhear a couple talking among themselves.
“In the end, the Builder is real.”
“Yes, based on the story he tells in this book, he could be the author himself.”
“No, but the thing is… that doesn’t prove anything.”
“No, nobody is talking about proving anything… we’re only talking about what we’ve seen, what we have felt through our intuition. Of course none of it is real. It ultimately makes no sense.”

I see paths that wrap around themselves like snakes, I see a multitude of cars driving upon gray surfaces. All the cars are red and the paths have no entrances or exits.

***

“The Book says:
You will find yourself underwater; your will paralyzed, your mind confused. There will be a red squid on your right and a blue fish to your left - the water will be clear but dense. You will feel a yearning to stay there, to close your eyes and slowly float downward.”

***

February 15

“The roof of the Temple will be covered by a hanging forest. It is our intention that this forest should become a kind of liminal space of transition for the many who come to visit. Similar to an airport or a train station but, we hope, with a deeper resonance. We wish to inspire a feeling of being suspended between the known and the unknown. Giant spaceships will land here and you will be able to stand next to these spaceships. ‘It will be a true miracle when it is complete’ said the Builder during a conference. ‘Anyone will be able to enter and leave the Temple at any time. They will be able to remain inside for periods of seconds, minutes, hours or years. We will be ready and equipped for all possibilities.’”

***

I was walking on Fremont street one afternoon when I found a kind of handwritten map that outlined the city in a very rough way. I noticed that certain blocks of Market street had been marked with a peculiar little symbol, a small black box. On the back of the map, in barely legible handwriting, were the words: "don't try to find me"
I walked into a supermarket and found something to drink. Then I very slowly made my way towards Market street.

***

The thought keeps on recurring within me. ‘He is here to help me.’ But I remain unsure, suspicious, afraid. So I still look away. Even as we continue to walk together in circles, large concentric circles.

***

“The Book says:
I will give you two measurements. With them you will construct the black box. The measurements are two and four fifths and eight and a half. That will be all I will tell you.
You may have to work on this for a very long time. As long as the project remains unfinished you will be a ship lost at sea unable to find a port. If you renounce your wish to finish, there will be hope. The wish itself is an obstacle. As long as you continue to work, there will be hope.
Strangers will say they want to help you, and some of them will be thieves and some of them will be lost and hungry and some of them will be friends but only friends and nothing more and some of them may actually help. Those will be very few and far between.
Above all, do not despair, do not fall into sleep. If and when the box is finally finished, you will hold it close to your face, close to your ears and eyes. You will then see a golden circle slowly come to life around you. And large glowing flowers will glitter before your eyes. Large orange letters above your head will announce your arrival.”

***

The man stops walking and turns his head. I stop as well, just as he stops.
“Turn towards me. It’s time.” He says.
I turn hesitantly.
“What do you see?” he asks me.
I am unable to answer out loud. What I see are infinite mouths and arms, but only one man. I see infinite eyes but only one face. I see one body pregnant with all possible forms. I see him everywhere, without beginning, middle, or end. And yet he is here, now, under the sun. Finite, vulnerable, fragile. 
His eyes are shining with tears; his mouth is about to open but he has said enough. The Temple stands behind him glittering in an array of bright colors, its long spires touch the sky.
I look at him and my heart opens painfully. I have lost all sense of place or time.
“Do you remember me?”
“Yes, I do.” I finally answer. "I think of you most often when I'm in airports. When I’m getting ready to fly."

Peril At Sea

White shirts and water and old men and old jokes and leather shoes and a long white wall and I found myself on a boat, a ship rather, a huge traveling machine that embraced me in metal arms. It was noisy and busy in there. The noise startled me out of the strange thoughts that had just been running through me. Dislocated fragments of words and images, visions of correspondences and breaking points, twisted thoughts, mangled thoughts, thoughts I immediately forgot.
I looked around myself and I quickly found my place within the crowd, I quickly found my allocated purpose, my duty, my role in the scheme of things.
I was on a large transatlantic ship, an elegant old ship heavy with history and tall tales lost in the deep blue waves of the high seas. There was a feast happening in the main salon, a sumptuous chamber which invoked a kind of luxury that I had rarely experienced directly. The floor was cushioned by thick red carpets that made you feel as if you were walking on clouds each time you took a step. The elegant round tables were all covered with white or pink table cloths. There was an enormous chandelier hanging over the center of the dancing floor, twinkling with golden light.
I was tired in the middle of all of the frantic movement, tired and slow and hesitant. So many people surrounding me and yet I felt all alone, totally separated from the celebration that was happening all around me. My hands trembled slightly but I wasn't really cold, my eyes watered but I wasn't really sad. I wouldn't want to say what I felt because I didn't have a word for it, I still don't. I didn't know why this was happening, that was clear. But then again, I didn't know why anything was happening at all, why anything had ever happened.
There were people everywhere, all of them enjoying themselves in a way that spoke of certainty and financial security and a kind of carelessness that came with it. Laughter came from all directions, waves of laughter that washed over me with such strength that they nearly pushed me over. They seemed to insist that I should set aside my thoughts, these waves of merry washed in champagne.
It was definitely hard to think clearly with so much noise, so many bits and pieces of unknown conversations, so many scattered statements, so many loose words. My mind would try to grab onto one phrase but it had soon been displaced by another, and my own chains of thought would be broken by the collective mental discharge.
I was removing the dirty white dishes that constantly piled upon the table tops. I saw several of them in my hands and noticed there were more to be picked up. I was wearing a black and white uniform that clearly distinguished me from the guests. The uniform was simple and standard: a white dress shirt, a black vest and a bow tie. To clear the tables was my job aboard this ship. At least one of the jobs I was meant to fulfill.
I looked around to catch a glimpse of my fellow workers. I could see other men and women wearing the same uniform I had on, each with a job to do, each with their hands full of dirty plates and utensils or walking back from the kitchen with freshly washed plates full of hot food.
While we worked, the crowd feasted, it moved as one large being of many heads and many arms. I spotted Vicky among the workers walking out of the kitchen. She was a quick glimpse of recognition among so many faceless strangers. Of course she was here. Where else would she be? I tried to catch her attention but there was too much happening and it was all moving too quickly. I soon lost her in the haze of movement.
I continued to clear away the unwanted remains. I felt so separate from these people, from the feasters, from the workers, from everyone. I felt clearly marked as someone to be ignored until needed, a part of the rumbling machine, a kind of moving breathing furniture.
"They are the Other. All that is not me. All that I can see and everything I cannot." The thought went through me as I looked at the guests laughing, eating, drinking. I could feel the floor weaving slightly under my feet, more than I was used to, more than seemed reasonable or comfortable. "There's no use in asking for a reason. They are that which you cannot control. They are that which moves beyond your grasp."
There was soft music coming from large speakers at one end of the room, a kind of soft jazz without claws that could be easily ignored and set aside as sonic wallpaper.
There was the tinkle of clinked stemware and the scrip scrape of knives scratching plates. Little ribbons and pearl centerpieces adorned the tables in a fixed simulation of living flowers. Round men in tuxedos bared toothy grins as I passed them by. Maybe they intended to flirt with me, maybe the alcohol had robbed them of their skills of distinction and they now thought I was their friend, their wife, their mother.
Women in satin and taffeta wore tight hair buns and white gloves. They never looked at me unless they had a particular request. Some of them danced with a cultivated air of nonchalance, some of them lightly swayed as they talked to each other. Their shoulders were bare and tanned, their faces were painted. Artificial flowers, like the ribbons and the pearls.
I scrambled to keep up with the pile up of dirty dinner ware. At least that was something clear for me to do, a task I could understand. I carried a toppling stack back into the kitchen area, wrestling with my own turbulent feelings which threatened to take me over, thoughts that slid down the side of my cranium like avalanches of words and letters spilling away from their original container. I avoided the steady stream of workers which all came in and out through the same door. I looked for Vicky among them but she wasn't there.

* * *

As I crossed the kitchen doorway, I was greeted by a rush of warm moist air. It could have been a relief from the aimless confusion of the party, a direct rush of heat that was clear and distinct in its manifestation. It would have been a relief but it wasn't. It felt heavy and uncomfortable. As soon as I walked in, I wanted to get out, I wanted to escape the sense of suffocation, the oppressive weight of the hot air.
The cook was a middle aged man wearing a huge white chefs hat, white pants, shirt, and apron. He had a clean looking thick mustache and large black eyes. He was leaning against a counter, sweating profusely and talking to a smaller man with brown skin and narrow shoulders. The smaller man mostly nodded to whatever the cook had to say, with an obvious subservience that made my skin crawl. I was not sure if he even spoke the same language as the rest of us. It didn't matter to the cook. He just kept on talking in his loud boisterous voice.
I felt very small next to him. Without realizing I was doing it, I stopped to look at the two of them talking, to listen to what it was that he had to say in such a loud strong voice that made the kitchenware vibrate in resonance.
He glowered down on me when I looked up at him, he stared directly at me while complaining boisterously about the incompetent level of help on these journeys. I immediately blushed intensely and moved away. He was obviously talking about me. He had to be. He had looked right at me as he talked. I felt afraid of him, afraid of his opinion, of his judgement. I was afraid and yet I would have given anything to have him like me. Obviously he didn't and there was nothing I could do to change that.
I heard louder laughter coming from the main room, even louder than before. I suddenly knew that in the dining room the situation would soon be getting out of hand. Intoxication would breed further intoxication and shameless acts of debauchery. This was the kind of party that could go on all night, growing wilder and wilder as time went on. A mad celebration of wealthy decadence. More than expected and yet somehow understood. I knew these things happened. I didn't look forward to them but they were somehow unavoidable. They could be surmounted, they could be dealt with. This knowledge lived within me in a place I couldn't pinpoint.
I walked away from the cook who was still talking loudly, his voice travelling like a strong committed melody over the grueling rhythm of the crowd. I felt his eyes on my back like heavy cables of steel that reached invisibly from his mind into my muscles. I didn't like it. I wanted to get away. I wanted all of it to disappear.

* * *

Without meaning to do it, I found a metal door that led me to the outside. It was an oval shaped door on the side of the kitchen, the kind of door you only find on a ship. I found it behind the shelves where all the supplies were kept. I had never seen it before. I had been in this kitchen many times and yet I had never noticed a door right there. It seemed unlikely that I would have never seen it, that I would have missed it each and every single time I had been in here. And yet there it was, waiting for me to open it.
I made a sudden decision to walk through it, without having a clear thought of what waited on the other side, without a clear anticipation of what I would encounter. I had no real expectations, no urge for discovery. I simply wanted to get away, I wanted to go elsewhere and that was exactly what the door promised. Elsewhere.
I stepped through it and I let it close behind me with a loud clang that resonated in my ears like a gong. I found myself outside, on the edge of the ship, under the dark cloudy night sky, looking at thick ominous waves that battered the ship like amorphous giant demolition rods. There was a hard rain coming down and a strong wind that made me shiver as soon as I stepped out. It felt somewhat good for the cold raindrops to hit my face harshly, tiny water projectiles propelled by the raw force of the wind that seemed to make the entire world shake around me. I shivered and the whole ship shivered with me. It reminded me of something but I couldn't quite place what it was. It wasn't something exactly pleasant, and yet I welcomed it. It was the change I had been hoping for.
There were two men outside with me, standing by the railing, their silhouettes framed by the night and the waves. One was about my age and the other one was much older. As soon as I heard them talking it became clear that they were father and son. It was also clear that they had some kind of official capacity aboard the ship, some kind of authority that lived in the structure of their spoken sentences. It was as if they carried their certifications on their voice and their demeanor. There was no need for badges when you could carry yourself this way.
Like the door I had just walked through, I had never seen them before. It was a large ship, full of strangers, but it still struck me as odd that I would never have run into them. And yet they seemed to be where they were supposed to be, they were in charge of a situation, a situation that involved me.
The older man was dressed in an elegant dark suit. There were golden cufflinks on his sleeves and his shoes were polished to perfection. He had undone his tie and unbuttoned the white shirt underneath it. In the twilight darkness of the outside, I could see a bit of his hairy chest, long white strands of hair that betrayed both his age and his old fashioned masculinity. I found it oddly attractive. I wanted to lay my head on his chest and go to sleep.
The younger man wore a thick white sweater. His pants were a light beige color and they were splotched with water. He seemed just slightly less sure of himself than his father was. But there was a hint of the same elegance in his movements, there was a touch of the same hard earned stability in his stance. His longer hair was a shambles from the wind and the water. The older man's hair didn't seem to move at all. It was as if the whole world couldn't touch him, as if he stood invulnerable no matter what came at him, no matter what violence transpired in the immediate vicinity of his personal space.
They turned towards me as soon as they saw me. Almost as if they had been expecting me, or at least expecting someone from the inside to show some level of interest in what was going on outside.
"We will have to sink the ship. There's no way around it." The old main said it with an air of finality that seemed beyond question. I nodded slowly, unsure if I was understanding correctly, unsure if I was even meant to hear this. Maybe they were confusing me with someone else?
His voice startled me when it erupted above the thunder of the waves. I sensed that I would be ready to believe anything that vibrated in those resonant timbres.
"Don't worry," the younger man said, looking at me with an air of tender nobility, "it's common practice. It's the only thing we can do in this situation. We have done it before. Many times. Everything gets wet but we survive. It's the only way. It's certainly not pleasant but it's the only thing we can do."
"When the boat goes down," the old man said, again with a thick deep voice that seemed the very incarnation of authority, "you will feel a pull on you...a very strong pull. The ocean will rise up around you and pull you down. You will have to swim very hard towards the surface, harder than you have ever swam before. You have to make sure you don't get pulled down. Do you understand? At that point it's important to resist the force that will be pulling on you. Just swim towards the surface as hard as you can, don't follow any impulse to give up. You will be tired, a voice in your head might say that it would be good to surrender to the force all around you. It will seem like a pleasant option. Don't listen to that voice. Set it aside and continue to struggle. Don't surrender. Don't give up. At this particular point, giving up is not a good idea."
Again I nodded slowly. I wasn't sure if I could even swim that hard. I looked towards the tall waves that slammed against the sides of the ship. In the middle of those waves, I wasn't sure that I could swim at all. I wanted to ask questions but they all accumulated at the tip of my tongue and refused to make the final jump out of my mouth. Instead I just looked at the two men and they looked back at me. Our conversation was over. I turned around to go back inside.

* * *

I ran back to the small cabin I shared with Vicky. I felt dizzy with apprehension and a sort of aimless confusion that didn't give me a firm footing on which to stand. As soon as I had changed out of my wet clothes, I started to put my papers and jewelry into plastic bags so they would not get lost or ruined. I sealed each one carefully, moving as fast as I could manage. I tried to not get bogged down looking at these things, but every once in a while I would stop to focus on one, a ring, a necklace, a tiny photograph, a little clay figurine. I would remember where I got each one, who gave it to me, who sold it to me, who was there when I got it. I would remember the incident that surrounded each item like a cloud of blurry images circling around an empty sun, a tiny thing that couldn't be grasped, a vortex of longing that didn't have a clear conclusion, a distinct end. Most of these things were basically worthless from anyone else's perspective, and yet they still held some kind of value for me, some kind of weight. I wondered if this would be the last time I would ever see them, the last time I would ever see anything at all.
I put all these little bits of property inside a small blue backpack which I placed next to my bed. My mother had given it to me when I was preparing for this trip. At the time I couldn't think of why I would need it. Just as I finished arranging the backpack and all the things inside of it, Vicky walked in. She was still wearing the uniform we had all worn for the party. Her long blond hair was a mess and there were raindrops on her face and jacket. She had been outside like me, maybe she had walked through the same oval door I found on the wall of the kitchen. I didn't ask her about it.
She closed the door behind her and started to undress. As she changed, she talked to me without turning in my direction. She talked in an exaggerated whisper. I looked at her naked back as I listened and I felt a mixture of worry and excitement coming from her voice.
"They are digging a grave for the boat on land. The captain radioed ahead to let them know what is happening. This is probably the last time we'll be together in here. Anything you want to save, you better hold on to it."
I pointed to the backpack and she nodded. I wanted to say more but it all seemed pointless. She was putting on a tight rubber outfit, the kind used by divers and surfers. I didn't know she had this kind of equipment. I had no idea where she got it from. There was obviously a lot of things I didn't know. Was my whole life a long line of avoided questions? A pattern of avoiding obvious clues even when they sat right in front of my face?
Up to this point, I hadn't uttered a single word while Vicky explained the procedures we would follow. She was being very detailed and methodical in her explanations. I listened as carefully as I could but suddenly I couldn't hold it any longer.
"I was not aware that there was even a remote possibility that I could die on this trip..."
She turned around and looked at me with wide eyes. She stopped in the middle of getting dressed, and just looked directly at me. I looked up at the few rain drops still shining on her cheeks. The yellow light of the cabin made them shine and shiver, like tiny stars on her face.
"There is always a remote possibility, at least a remote possibility. There's no such thing as total safety. Nowhere. Never. You should know that already. You should definitely know that from now on."
Again I nodded. These things seemed so self evident, things a child should know, things I should have been taught when I was growing up. But who would have taught me? I had never thought about the underlying possibilities before. If I had, I didn't remember. I had certainly never confronted them face on, I had never looked into the bottomless abyss that lurked under all my seemingly innocent choices.
"Did you give your parents a way to call you?"
I shook my head.
"Maybe you should call them. Just in case..."
I looked at her and then at my cell phone resting on my night table. I hesitated. Maybe it was better to not call. Maybe it was better to not know what was happening, maybe it was better to remain innocent just a little longer. Maybe it was better to find out until the crisis had passed and a resolution had emerged, whether good or bad. I couldn't imagine listening to my mother's voice while those huge waves kept crashing against the side of the ship, reminding me of the imminent presence of radical change. To hear her voice against that background would break me somehow. It would make me weaker and I needed to be strong.
She shrugged her shoulders as if she could read my thoughts.
"There's another suit in the closet behind you. You should put it on. We might have to swim for hours if we are still out on international waters. There's always a chance we might get picked up fast, but we shouldn't count on it."
I went to the closet and opened the door. I took out the suit that I found there. I had never seen it before. Again, it seemed strange that I had never noticed it. I ran my hand over its contours as if to convince myself that it was real. Were they distributed while I was working at the party? Had it been there all along and I had simply ignored its presence?
I had already changed into jeans and a T-shirt as soon as I came back to my room but now I undressed once again to change into the rubber suit. I felt somewhat embarrassed to have Vicky standing there, looking at me naked. We had both seen each other naked countless times, and yet this particular night I felt more naked than ever before. I felt as if she could look through my skin straight into my insides, straight into the inner forms that I would forever want to hide.
I could hear the waves outside getting louder, the waves beyond the walls of the cabin, beyond the edge of the ship. Outside was the Other. Everything past this wall of pale skin and this head of short dark curls was the Other. Everything. I was scared to be outside, I was scared to lose my limits, I was scared to lose my self. I was scared of it all. I felt small and weak and completely vulnerable, naked in front of the world which looked at me through Vicky's eyes.
All the stories I had ever heard, all the years of memories that I would never have access to, they were all trying to flood into my shaking mind. I didn't want to go outside to meet the Other. I didn't want the Other to come into me, to turn me inside out like an old sock and change me forever, damage what I had come to know as my world, twist it beyond recognition. I wanted to close my mouth tight so the Other wouldn't find an open doorway in the middle of my face, I wanted to close all the gates and tell it to go away, to come back when I was ready. And yet I wasn't sure that I would ever be truly ready. Not for this. Not like this. Not for something so utterly final.

* * *

I was standing next to Vicky, overlooking the open grave that would be the final resting place for the ship we had lost at sea. People had gathered around the dark moist hole, waiting for the broken bits to be moved in, broken remains of what had been a proud seagoing vessel not too long ago, a place to dream, a place to wonder, a place on which to stand and look out at the vast blue emptiness.
"It was a hard choice, to sink the ship, but it had to be done. There was no other way around it... you know? It could have been some other ship, it just happened to be ours. That's the way things are."
Vicky said it offhandedly, as if she knew I needed her to talk and she just grasped at the first thing that came into her mind, regardless of whether she really believed it or not. I felt vaguely grateful for her words, even if I couldn't understand them, even if I couldn't walk straight into them and make them my home.
I looked at her and she looked at me. Her blonde hair was still wet. My own curly black hair was wet as well. I could feel cold drops of sea water running down my neck, slipping over my shoulders to slide down my back.
Her blue eyes were even clearer than I remembered, as if they held the essence of hope within them, a kind of gentle hope that drifted easily over calm waves of doubt. We were both shivering even though the sun was already shining high in the sky, already slowly burning our skin, already slowly evaporating the remains of our cold midnight swim.
We looked at each other intensely for a moment, two sets of eyes wide open and staring, each looking into the Other, each exploring the wide open mystery that was hiding behind the Other's eyes.
What is it even possible for me to stare into the reality of her and not the illusion created by my memories? The question seemed more urgent than ever. The moment in the cabin, the moment when I stood naked before her as the ocean battered our ship into submission, that one moment had opened up wounds that I didn't even know I had, it left me with burning questions I couldn't quite formulate, doubts I couldn't raise past the boundary of my eyelids.
Was there really a Vicky out there or would I soon wake up to find that she had only been a dream? If there was no Vicky, was there a "me"? Was this "me" the thing I most cherished? The ship that took me through the oceans of reality until I came to let it sink into the turbulent vortex of the void?
And when it was finally gone, what would be left behind? Would I know when it was time to sink the ship, or would it surprise me like a little open door I had never previously noticed?
Vicky smiled at me as if to tell me to give up my questions. I smiled back but the questions persisted, even as she put her arm around me, even as I smelled her sweat, even as I momentarily believed that she was real, that she would remain steady and firm and I would continue to smell her presence as the years went by. I rubbed my nose against her skin and she giggled. A tear rolled down my cheek but she didn't see it.

* * *

That night I dreamt I was in the middle of a big feast but I was not a waitress. I was walking among all the guests completely naked. They all stared at me with big invasive eyes in the middle of blank faces that said nothing. The fact that they all looked at me without any clear reaction made me even more embarrassed, more humiliated to be so completely naked in front of all of them. So many strangers, so many people I didn't know, so many people I didn't want to know.
If at least one had tried to say something, if one had approached me with interest, wanting to caress my body, wanting to kiss my lips, if some of the women had laughed, if they had made a comment, any comment at all no matter how mean or off-handed... but there was no reaction at all, not even a whisper, not even a sigh. I just walked naked among them, unable to even cover myself with my hands.
I wanted them all to go away, I wanted them all to disappear and take away their wide open eyes.
I wanted them all to stay and talk to me, I wanted them all to be my friends, to love me, to want me, to cherish me, to hold me.
Their presence and their absence, both frightening, both desirable, both recurrently impossible.
I wanted to be gone but I was afraid to leave.
I wanted to vanish but I was afraid of the emptiness.
I woke up alone and covered in sweat, the wet sheets stuck to my skin. I looked up at the ceiling and thought about the waves that I had been so afraid of, the waves that surrounded me from all sides no matter where I was standing, the waves that would eventually take everything away. I could hear them crashing against the walls, I could hear them eager to come in to release me.
I was naked in my bed surrounded by water. No shirts, no old men, no jokes and no shoes, not even a wall. Just water everywhere, getting everything wet, taking all forms away and leaving me with nothing.