Over there in the distance there was that guy again walking just beyond the spot where the trees end. You know, next to old cabin which has been falling apart ever since anyone can remember. When my father was alive he had told me on several occasions about seeing what I was seeing at that exact moment, except that time and reality had been changed ever so slightly. As if I were somehow expected not to notice the change, which I knew would happen anyway.

His claims that he was getting closer and closer to the truth were wearing on me more quickly that I had expected. When I compared his situation with the past, it did not seem to me that he had gotten any nearer to the supposed goal he was pursuing. In fact, compared with that very same period long ago, one could honestly say that he had actually distanced himself sufficiently in the completely opposite direction. Hard to believe but true. Blinded by these claims of getting closer and closer, he had unknowingly made an unintentional about-face and was headed in the wrong way. He had missed his objective by a mile, skirted off of it, and flung himself away without even realizing it. Like a truck driver rumbling all his tonnage over a poor passerby without even noticing the slight bump in the road which indicated quite subtly the crushed bones and flattened skull. I felt uncomfortable in this awkward situation, for it was up to me to set him straight or else. As a friend and close companion, my duty spoke to me and now was the time. What made it even more difficult was that by approaching him honestly with this uncalled for predicament, I was risking our longterm relationship in a way that made me hesitate yet another day. The days would pass and then I would feel more and more pressured to speak. But for now, a balanced and honest silence was the better path to take.

Alright so this guy got up and came right over to where I was sitting, right where I am sitting now, this place here.

He looked like he was pretty spaced out, but the truth of the matter was that he was not.

At first he just kind of stared at me and said nothing, but then again I knew that he was thinking about one thing or another, like always.

That was when I recognized his cap, you know, the one that looked all the time like it was about to fall off but never did.

This guy raised his hand, he opened up his hand so that I could see his palm as clearly as could be, although it was kind of getting dark.

This is your future, he told me.

--- My future? ---

Yes, this is your future. Whether you believe it or not.

He moved his hand just a little bit closer, but not quite close enough that I could examine the palm very well.

--- Cough, sigh and whatever. ---

He paused and then went on. If you are not careful, he continued, this is what can happen to it. Your future.

The guy with the cap that looked like it was glued to his forehead closed his hand into a tight fist.

--- My future? ---

Too bad he died the other day.

Let's just say that he could not stop shaking his head back and forth when he heard the news. Again, the same old news. He took to the corner and sat down on the nearest chair, somewhat precluded by the shadow that was not there. They must have told him that a thousand times by now, so it was certainly nothing new. Even though they kept on insisting, he knew they were wrong and that there was a better way.

You see, if it is such a vital part of his personality, one of the core aspects of development, a stage he still has to go through, then why should they expect him to have to get rid of it? Before it even happened? As if ripping out some vital organ because it was not functioning properly could ever be the cure to all his problems. Shame on them for thinking that. Shame on them trying to make him think that also.

Yet every single time he went back they said that he would seriously have to consider removing it completely from his psyche. Rip it out, so to say. Strange how much they insisted, almost as if they were sincerely afraid of the consequences. The so-called consequences to him, to his surrounding, to the things that were and were not there, whatever.

He knew better than that, but he also knew that they would never change their minds. Professionals, well educated and stubborn. Thinking that they knew it better. So he had a plan, and it was a very ingenious scheme, he had to admit even to himself. Not that he liked to brag. Chuckling quietly to himself, he thought out this plan one more time. It would be the very last time. The final reckoning, just like some film that was about to be released for the very first time, a premier. Sitting there on his chair in the corner, he knew that it was high time for action.

And this is what he had in mind. You see, since he could not extricate this core nucleus of his being and survive, it would be necessary to repackage it into another form. The essence would remain the same, but the outer shell would be changed in order for the concealment to work. He compared it to taking a small and invaluable gift, putting it in a differently shaped box, and then to convince them even more, re-wrapping all of it in a completely new and improved wrapping paper. A repackaged deal, what a discount! Fantastic! Forget about the ribbon, that would only give it all away in the end.

So that is exactly what he did. In the end.

That afternoon when they found him lying outside on the ground right in front of the river flowing by, he looked very, very peaceful. Oh dear, what had happened now? Was it our fault? They tried to wake him up, but at first he remained motionless, nothing happened. Finally, he opened his eyes and smiled up at them. Just a bunch of shadows surrounding him and asking all these questions. Questions, questions and even more questions. Never any answers.

He got up and brushed the dust and blades of grass from his pants. He ran his fingers through his hair and readjusted his cap which had slipped ever so slightly over his left ear curling it down. Then he went on and on about how it had been extricated. Yes it had. How it had disappeared with ease, so surprisingly fast. He felt better, and they could see that also. They had never seen him smile like this before. He's cured, he must be cured!

Little did they know that the form, the thing, the core of his inner being, the glob of hardened clay, that corner of the shadow over in the far distance, was still there. In the same place, in the same dimension of time, but it had taken on a new and pleasing form which concealed itself quite nicely. Concealed and yet ever present, if they looked.

They also felt happy for him as he walked away in the distance. They were relieved they would not have to continue repeating the same thing to him over and over again. Save some money, a fine discount indeed!

The man thought some more, turned the corner and went his merry way. No longer would he have to try and save this part of him from being taken away.

The true reason that he had entered the church in the first place was not very clear to him, only that in the end he had chosen to turn right rather than left which is what he had always done. Until this moment in his life at least.

Inside it was rather dark and smelled somewhat of stagnant water which had been dripping on the stone slabs below him for ages and even longer. The slabs were in fact markings of fine folks of days past with an inscription about this and that and some numerals etched in at the very center above the very same cross of death. There was not a single person in the whole place, although if he listened very very carefully he could discern distant steps from another day or a hidden whisper over there around the corner or something else which at the moment he could not quite make out.

Some beams of sunlight shone in through the variegated shards of glass, and there was this shadow of a flying creature which glinted from left to right with an amazing sense of grace that was unfamiliar to him. At least not until this moment in his life. There it went never to be seen again.

Because there was this slight heaviness pressing down on his shoulders, he took a seat at the very front which in his mind had been reserved for him since the day he was born. There was indeed a sense of urgency to it all and he could do nothing less the follow this feeling. In order to get there he had to cross the center aisle which meant that if he were not to anger that fire-breathing god over there behind the altar he would have to kneel and cross himself. No way that they are going to make me do that he mumbled to himself, but he did it anyway just in case.

Time passed by, perhaps an hour or even more, and it started to get dark.

After sitting there for just under two hours, just thinking and looking around and meditating a little, he knew that it was time to go. But he also knew that he would never ever be returning to this place again, at least not until this kind of moment occurred in his life once more, just once more. Virtually impossible but still ever so slightly possible nonetheless. The time would be different and he would not be exactly the same, but surely he could do something about it if he really wanted to.

He stood up and spun around slowly on his right heal. Someone could throw an awful spear at him from behind and it would pierce his chest from the back through his heart and out the front of his sternum, blood splattered all over the place. He walked backwards for fear of being struck down if he were not careful enough all the way to the rear until his back scraped against the wooden door which was not only meant to keep people out but to keep everyone inside as well.

The big iron ring was cold to the touch and he pulled it open and continued outside.

Back to the same corner where earlier he had turned right he decided to turn left again as always. The sun was starting to shine and the glint off of the church windows caught his attention as he walked by this time on the other side. And when he finally got to where he was going, though he knew perfectly well that that could never really happen not in the strictest sense of well-being which each and everyone of us is familiar with, he rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand.

The same hand which now smelled like rusty metal from the door ring he had touched so nervously about thirty minutes before. Sweat and rust and ancient metal which in time had all melted together.

After some thought followed by a few fleeting random memories of dreams, he decided that yes it could be possible again much earlier than allowed. Say in a year or slightly more, but definitely not longer than that. Let's make it ten months just for the heck of it, he thought to himself. And then after that say nine months, and then eight and then so on and so on. Until there was no more time inbetween, no more time left to do what he was supposed to do, a sliver and then nothing at all, in a last burst of awareness that he knew would be coming sooner than he had hoped and expected.

Better start preparing myself now, he thought to himself, and then just for good measure wrote it down on a piece of paper.

Better start preparing myself, but not just yet.

When it was time to wake up again, he realized that almost everything around him had changed. Almost everything. The differences between the moment of going to sleep and the moment of awakening were barely discernible but they were there nonetheless. Subtle changes to the this and the that shifting and moving in a different time frame. Ascending and descending at the same time. Another dimension to explore. The long thin wire was still there for some reason, and the flow of electricity through it hummed in the distance. He could hear it very clearly. If he concentrated hard enough he could actually feel the slight heat as it flowed along. Something sliding and emanating and pulling him along further. They had told him earlier with a very convincing look that this was impossible, but he knew that this was not and could not be true. Even if their tones of voice then became louder and more threatening. Now if he could just do something about that wire then life would be so much easier. Wouldn't it? He knew that the wire had to remain in place lodged deep and unseen by anyone except himself. All he had to do was roll over pretending to himself that some day it would go away. That is what he did just before he stood up and walked over to the window. And what an amazing view it was that waited for him over there. Thanks to the wire that is. Thanks to the way he was thinking.

He regretted not having known about it earlier for it would have saved him much trouble and energy, making his life much easier than it had been. However, not until he had become older could he have known about it at all.

Not unless his mother had happened to have seen it, while giving him a bath as a baby, registering this unique object in her head, and remembering it for later to tell him when he was old enough to understand. Not what one could call a coincidence that the average mother would even notice. Nothing in comparison to the miracle child splashing water and giggling with untouched happiness. But this had never happened and unfortunately it was never meant to happen. His mother was not interested in seemingly trivial things like spots or beauty marks or other blemishes on his pristine body.

Strange how things turn out that way.

You see, his discovery was totally random and took place early one morning in the bathroom after having taken his daily shower. Seventy-four years and getting younger, he would tell everyone with a comical though somewhat cynical smirk on his face. He could have never seen it unless he had had the significant hair loss, the balding scalp to which until now he had never paid that much attention. As he bent down to apply the shaving cream to his face, the mark came to life in the random and unique way the light-rays from the row of lamps above fell upon the top of his scalp, scattered and reflected.

What is that?

Upon closer inspection and with the help of a second smaller mirror he could inspect it more closely. And what did he see? It was a small brown mole perfectly round and perfectly positioned at the top of his head. What was it doing there? And to think of the miracle of having this message from God positioned at the exact topmost point of his head pointing upwards and a perfectly round disc with a radius equal to one.

Upwards to heaven and a direct connection.

He decided to inspect the reality of the situation more closely, taking measurements, writing facts and values and correlations down on paper. And these were his conclusions. Yes, if he stood up straight, God's mole lay proudly at the topmost curvature, the very top, perpendicular and proud. In fact, placing a flat surface at the exact tangent of this point on the spherical surface resulted in a so-called vector.

An extension of his mind.

This vector pointed straight up, everywhere he walked, every day of his life, and it was a miracle no less. Straight up to heaven, his one and only connection, a channel through which to communicate, allowing the thoughts to enter and the resulting thoughts to emanate upwards again after they had been collected, processed and transformed.

A couple days after this wonderful discovery, the old man was getting used to the infinite possibilities that had been opened up to him, the new medium, the long-drawn thread of awareness strung tightly between the here and the now. At first he had to concentrate with all his energy, in order to aim and direct, as if this were necessary when it was not. He had four years to go, but he would make the best of it. Too bad he had found this out so late in his life, but that was the way it was meant to be. Might as well make the best of things now. See what he could get out of it these last few years, maybe even accelerate the path and go on more quickly.

This was indeed a gift from God, a unique and heavenly vector.

There are monkeys all over the place, and they are making a bunch of noise. Quite the party-makers they are. Have a look yourself and tell me what you think. Isn't it ironic how it is we who are behind the bars but do not realize it? The very first time that you told me about it, I refused to believe it. An emphatic no with my head shaking back and forth. The monkeys stopped for a second and watched me, imitating me with the same motion of their heads and a cackling sound to match. Just didn't make sense at all, and that was the period of my life when making sense of it all was the name of the game. A long period of denial (those monkeys are in the cage not us), followed by anger (those dirty bastard monkeys), followed by slow acceptance (yes but I guess it could possibly be true), and at last complete surrender (those monkeys are such beautiful creatures). You see, we have been torturing those innocent creatures for much too long and we must be taught a lesson. That is why you and I now find ourselves behind the bars. The law of retribution, no one will escape. Yes we are inside the cage, time to observe and learn from inferior beings with more soul-power than we can ever imagine. The bars are hard as steel and cold and there is nothing to do about it. Just sit back and wait for the next meal. You know, they are having a heck of a time, swinging and jumping and flying through the air never once colliding but instead slicing through upside-down water. Let's call it a day for now, sink back to where it is comfortable. Tomorrow is yet another day to watch all of the monkeys again and learn from them. Hopefully they will stop multiplying as quickly and stop growing before it is too late. What was it that you mentioned to me the other day? It was a deja vu within a deja vu. Yes, so you can remember the exact words? Alright, tell me them again and I shall gladly respond as spontaneously as I can. Go ahead and tell me. Pause. Pause and listen. Deja vu all over again.

This time when she woke up, she was not quite sure where she was, where she had been, nor from where she was coming. There is that moment of acclimation which gives the sleeper just enough time to come back, to reiterate, to reshuffle the confusion and try to make sense of it all. Most of the pieces fall together, but some do not. When her thoughts crystallized and finally became clear, she realized that she had been away again. It had happened for the third time that day, this last week with an increased frequency that was worrying her. Faster and faster like a blur appearing, that is what it seemed like. A little bit like dying a little again, and then at the very last minute being allowed to come back again. She found it confusing and did not dare tell anyone else about it. Just look at where she was at the moment! The last time she had confided this secret information, they just laughed and laughed and finally locked her up. At least they "tried" to lock her up. Surely it is a crazy world in which we live, but it was never meant to be like this, she thought and could not understand. The truth of the matter was that these excursions into the unknown did not happen during her sleep, that is not at night while she was lying in bed in deep slumber. No, they occurred completely randomly during the day, and only when it was light. Not even shadows were allowed. At the breakfast table, walking to school, running on the playground, sitting in front of the television, away from the shadows of the trees, not behind the lamp where there was no light. Whatever, so this is how it happened, she would think. Could not put it into words. Her physical body would just continue like an automated being while her mind went off elsewhere, some other doorway unseen but off to the side. The split was painless, like two clouds of nothingness blowing apart by a gentle breeze which forked. Time branched and she went this way while her body went that way. Out of the body to who knows where. This was not the usual day-dreaming episodes which are so typical of a young child of her age, bored in the classroom or just fantasizing games. It was something more serious, something much more magnificent than she could possibly explain. An amazing event, perhaps even a miracle. Often during the first few moments after the gentle split, there was a soft flash of electricity or the sound of static, like dry paper crackling. These were the warning signs, signals which she knew and she was always prepared to accept. Acceptance was the key, pure acceptance and surrender. Off she went, first to the side, then up high and then whisked away for good. Timelessness caught in the air, frozen ice cubes left behind on the table next to her chair. The chair creaked as that excess weight was lifted and the body stayed seated there. During the initial flight, she was always fully conscious, but when it was all over there was no recall at all. Just the feeling, an acute awareness of what had happened, but clearer than any physical thought could re-enact. At least not in the logical way where things make sense, and that is what got her locked up in the first place. They would never understand. And that was where she was now, the locked place of the now. She has been away again, so they were in the end unable to lock her up. Not even locked up in her body. Time crackled and then the flash and then the cycle continued. This time she decided that she would not come back. Not time to die but to live on and on. Not bad for an eight year old girl they would have to admit was right.

For some strange reason, the whirls and whorls below his bare feet were driving him completely crazy. Not as if he were forced to look at them and agree, because if he really wanted to, he could easily look the other way. No problem really or at least one might assume and hope. However, when he attempted to raise his head, turn his eyes and focus on some other inanimate object over in the far corner, some invisible attractive force pulled his view back down and "made" him look at the many whirls and whorls. Again and again, and they were moving he was sure. Mesmerized he saw movement whereas he knew that there was no movement at all. No way that that was possible but it was. And yet the intertwining shapes and patterns and convoluted curves were exactly the reason for his catatonic fascination. Let us just say that he would rather look at them than not at all, it had become an addiction of the mind. There was no inbetween, just extremes to be dealt with, a prison cell to get used to and make more comfortable than it was meant to be. The perseverance and dedication required would take nearly a whole lifetime, but in the end it would be more than worth it. He had been at it for some time, and it seemed like he was getting closer to the end, closer and closer as the time passed him by so swiftly. The hidden messages were meant to be unraveled, the mystery exposed, the answer acquired, and by gosh he would find a way to accomplish this undeserved miracle one way or the other. He was the chosen one. He knew it and I knew it but no one else did nor even cared. Look at all the other people in the room doing nothing, and to think that they too had the very same floor beneath their feet. Though not bare like his. I tapped him again on the right shoulder, this time a little harder than before. In order to wake him from his dream world. He did not budge or seem to notice or seem to care. So I did what I had to do. I purposely stood in front of him in order to obscure his view and hopefully jar him awake from this magnetic quality which had entrapped him. The prison cell which had to get used to. For a few seconds it seemed not to help, but at the exact moment when I was ready to give up all hope completely and leave him until the following day, he sighed ever so slightly while raising his head. "Alright, what is it this time?" he asked me with a robot-like aggravation and slow movements to match. I tried to explain it to him all over again, by now about the hundredth time, but he just did not ever seem to get it. "What do you mean exactly?" he asked. By now I had all but given up every tidbit of hope, but the fact that he had even ventured to pose this simple-mannered question was enough to make me think twice. Make a double-take. The people in the room noticed this and started to stare which gave me an uncomfortable feeling like they were a bunch of soulless fools waiting to pounce on us. And they were. I asked him if this time around he indeed really was interested to know and if he wanted me to show him the way, the one and only way. Not salvation, but a grand escape nonetheless. He spoke ever so softly, as if he were afraid that some passerby might happen to overhear our secret conversation, those other people in the room "You know how I feel about it." To be honest I didn't, but I nodded in affirmation just in case. "You do?!" Of course I did. This made him quiet again, and the silence lasted for some time longer. Perhaps five or ten or maybe even fifteen minutes. At the point when his vision became blurred and the mumbling sounds began, I stepped out of the way. It was time once more to allow the whirls and whorls to take over his life again. I would see him again in a couple of days and give it another try.