The Journey to Eternity — Chapter Seven: The Missing Sound

Chapter Seven of my book, The Journey to Eternity, shared here chapter by chapter as I write it. Earlier chapters: Chapter One · Chapter Two · Chapter Three · Chapter Four · Chapter Five · Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven: The Missing Sound

I stood at the room's doorway and looked at the woman who looked exactly like me.

She stood beside the table, her hand resting on an open book. I could not see her face well, but I knew her movements. The way she tilted her head slightly, the way she leaned on one leg, even the movement of her fingers on the page's edges.

I had a strange feeling I was looking at myself from outside.

"Who are you?" I asked.

The woman raised her head.

For a moment it seemed to me she was about to answer.

I took a step into the room.

And then she vanished.

There was no flash of light and no sound was heard. One moment she stood there, and the next moment only the open book remained on the table.

I went to the window.

Outside stretched a wide garden with trees of silver foliage. A stone path wound between them and vanished behind a low wall.

I saw no one.

I turned to the table.

The book was large and heavy-looking, bound in a dark, soft material. There was no name on it, and only four thin lines were etched in the corner of the cover.

Three short ones and one long.

I touched them with my fingers.

They reminded me of the sounds I had heard in the expanse of consciousnesses, but this time no melody awakened in me.

I opened the book.

On the first page appeared a drawing of a tree with a silver trunk.

I recognized it at once.

The Tree of Eternity.

The drawing was astonishingly precise. The same wide branches, the same thin leaves, and the same golden fruit that had drawn my gaze when I stood before it for the first time.

Beneath the drawing appeared a sentence:

She reached the tree at the hour when the last light left the skies.

I read it twice.

That was exactly how it happened.

I turned the page.

I saw myself standing beside the tree, and next to me the silver bird.

But something in the picture did not match my memory.

Beyond the trunk stood an additional figure.

It was blurred, almost transparent, and I could not identify whether it was a woman or a man.

I came closer to the page.

I was certain no one had stood there.

I remembered the tree, the bird, the man with the pocket watch. I even remembered the way the light fell on the fruit.

But that figure I did not remember.

I turned the next page.

In it appeared a drawing of a path winding between trees, and at its end a dark door.

Beneath it was written:

She found the way only after she stopped looking for the place from which she came.

I did not know that path.

I continued leafing through.

The rest of the pages were empty.

I set the book on the table.

For a moment I felt as if something small had changed inside me.

Since I had bitten into the fruit of eternity, I had grown used to thinking that the world around me is full of mysteries, but at least what I have already experienced, I know.

And now before me was a drawing that contradicted my memory.

Did the additional figure truly stand beside the tree and I did not notice it?

Or did someone draw an event that never took place?

I looked at the first page again.

The tree looked exactly as I remembered it.

Precisely because of that it was hard to ignore the detail I did not know.

I closed the book carefully.

I wanted to take it with me, but something made me hesitate.

In the end I left it on the table.

I knew I would be able to return and look for it.

At least so I thought.

I left the room.

The woman who had stood earlier in the corridor was no longer there.

The corridor itself had changed too.

It now stretched in both directions, and along it stood doors different from one another. Some were tall and wide, others so narrow that I did not understand how one could pass through them.

Through one door came a blue light.

I opened it.

Behind it stretched a city.

I stood on a wide balcony from which could be seen transparent bridges, narrow streets and tall towers that looked made of milky glass.

The skies were dark, but the city was lit by a light that rose from within the buildings themselves.

On the bridges moved figures.

Some walked, others hovered slightly above the ground. They passed one another calmly, as if there is nothing unusual in the world in which they live.

Beneath the balcony flowed a river of light.

Within it moved small forms that changed incessantly. For a moment I saw a face, then a house, and then a wide field that vanished before I managed to look at it.

I wanted to go down to the street, but decided to stay close to the doorway.

I approached one of the figures passing on the nearby bridge.

She was tall and thin, with skin in a pearl hue and dark hair that moved around her as if she were underwater.

She noticed me and smiled.

I smiled back.

"Excuse me," I called to her. "Can you tell me where I am?"

She stopped.

For a moment she looked at me with curiosity, and then pointed at the city.

"Here," she replied simply.

I laughed.

"Yes, that I see. I meant to ask what this place is called."

She looked surprised by the question.

"Why does it need a name?"

I did not manage to answer.

She smiled again and continued on her way.

I stood another moment on the balcony.

I thought how natural it was in my eyes that every place must have a name, as if the name is part of the place itself.

And perhaps here there was no need for names.

Before I returned to the door, I noticed a small detail.

Along the balcony's edge ran a thin strip of blue light. It blended into the floor almost completely, and only when I looked at it from the side could I notice it.

The strip continued to the nearby bridge and vanished beyond the buildings.

I gave it no further thought.

I returned to the door.

But when I extended my hand, it had vanished.

In its place was a smooth wall.

I passed my hand over the wall.

It was solid.

I tried to imagine the door appearing anew.

Nothing happened.

I concentrated on the corridor from which I had come and tried to pass to it in thought.

For a moment I felt that same familiar lightness that preceded my earlier passages, but I remained in my place.

I tried again.

This time I found myself at the other end of the balcony.

I looked around me.

I was not frightened, but I understood I stood before a problem I had not known until now.

I could fly.

I could move by thought.

And yet, I could not return to the place from which I came.

I approached the wall again.

I tried to recall the moment when I opened the door.

I saw in my imagination the corridor, the blue light and my hand pulling the door.

Nothing changed.

I moved away from the wall.

Perhaps there is no point continuing to look for a door that no longer exists.

I looked at the city.

It continued to exist around me without relating to my difficulty. The figures passed on the bridges, and the river of light flowed beneath them.

I sat on the balcony's edge.

I could continue trying to pass by force of thought, but I had already seen that these attempts lead me nowhere.

I decided to look for something I had not noticed before.

I surveyed the balcony slowly.

The transparent railing.

The smooth walls.

The floor.

And then I saw the blue strip of light again.

I bent down.

It was so thin that it almost swallowed into the pale stone.

I passed a finger over it.

The light strengthened slightly.

I remembered I had seen it even before the door vanished.

I stood up and looked in the direction to which it ran.

The strip passed along the nearby bridge, wound between the buildings and reached a round structure standing in the distance.

I smiled.

Perhaps the way back had not vanished.

Perhaps it simply is not in the place where I looked for it.

I spread my wings and rose above the balcony.

The round structure was lower than the towers around it, but different from them.

Its walls were made of dark stone, and upon them were etched thin lines that met at its center.

I landed beside the entrance.

There was no door there.

Only a wide opening that led to a quiet hall.

I entered.

At the center of the hall stood a large bowl made of a transparent material. Within it hovered hundreds of points of light, and each moved in an orbit of its own.

On the floor around the bowl ran thin lines.

The blue line that had led me from the balcony ended here.

I approached.

When I stood before the bowl, one of the points of light came toward me.

Within it I saw the corridor.

I recognized the doors and the pale walls.

I extended a hand.

The point receded.

I tried to approach it, and it receded again.

I looked at the bowl.

I noticed the points move in fixed orbits, but each of them changes its direction when it approaches the vessel's edge.

I waited for the point in which I had seen the corridor to pass before me again.

When it approached, I placed my hand beneath its orbit, without chasing it.

The point descended slowly and rested above my fingers.

The light within it widened.

For a moment I saw the corridor at natural size.

And then I felt a light movement around me.

When I opened my eyes, I stood again before the blue door.

It was closed.

I looked back.

The corridor stretched behind me, quiet and empty.

I breathed a breath I did not need.

Not out of fear, but out of relief.

I had managed to return.

This time not thanks to a new power, but because I noticed a small detail, followed it and understood how to use what I found.

I looked at the blue door.

The city was still there, beyond it.

I did not know whether I would be able to enter it again in the same way.

But I was glad I had not given up.

I continued along the corridor.

I passed many doors, but this time I did not hurry to open them.

The book still occupied me.

I thought about the additional figure that stood beside the Tree of Eternity.

I tried to reconstruct that moment.

I remembered the bird.

I remembered the fruit.

I remembered the quiet that prevailed around the tree.

But the more I strained to remember, the less clear the memory became.

I stopped trying.

I did not want to invent a memory for myself only because I saw a drawing.

I continued walking.

At the end of the corridor I noticed a simple door made of dark wood.

It had no handle.

There was no sign on it.

I approached.

Something in it drew my attention, though it was not especially different from doors I had seen in the past.

I placed my hand on it.

The wood was warm.

For a moment a thin line of light appeared on its surface.

And after it two more.

Three short lines.

I waited.

The fourth line did not appear.

I tried to open the door.

It did not move.

I concentrated on it.

Nothing.

I looked at the three lines.

They reminded me of the mark on the book's cover.

Three short ones and one long.

I closed my eyes.

I listened.

The first three sounds appeared within me at once.

I waited for the fourth.

It did not come.

I tried again.

The same result.

I opened my eyes.

The door remained closed.

For a moment I wanted to leave it and continue onward.

But something aroused my curiosity.

Why precisely three lines?

And why is the fourth missing?

I approached the wood.

I passed my fingers along the three lines.

And then I noticed a thin groove, almost invisible, in the place where the fourth line was supposed to appear.

I placed a finger on it.

I heard a faint sound.

It did not come from within me.

I removed my hand.

The sound vanished.

I placed it again.

The sound returned.

I stood a moment and listened to it.

It was deep and long, but I could not hear it in its entirety.

I recalled the great melody I had heard in the expanse of consciousnesses.

Each consciousness carried a sound of its own, and together they created something that belonged to none of them alone.

Perhaps I was mistaken when I tried to create the four sounds by myself.

Perhaps I am not meant to complete the melody alone.

I placed both my hands on the door.

I sounded within me only the three short sounds.

And then I waited.

From the other side the long sound was heard.

The four sounds joined.

The wood trembled slightly beneath my hands.

A line of light appeared at the door's center.

It widened slowly.

I stepped back one step.

The door opened.

Behind it stretched a bright expanse.

I saw no walls or ceiling.

Only a narrow path that ran into the light and vanished in the distance.

On both its sides hovered glowing points, distant from one another, as if they were small stars.

I stood at the doorway.

I recalled the drawing in the book.

The dark door.

And the sentence written beneath it:

She found the way only after she stopped looking for the place from which she came.

I looked back.

The corridor was still there.

I could return to it.

But I did not know whether I would be able to do so after I enter.

This time I did not try to persuade myself that every passage would be simple.

I had already learned that one cannot always return by the same way.

I looked at the path before me.

It looked stable, though it was made only of light.

I was curious to know where it leads.

I took a step forward.

The ground was solid beneath my feet.

I advanced a little more.

Behind me a gentle rustle was heard.

I turned around.

The door had begun to close.

I could still make it back.

For a moment I considered doing so.

And then I looked at the path again.

I decided to continue.

The door closed.

I walked along the path.

The points of light around me moved slowly. Some approached one another, others receded, and now and then one of them glowed with greater strength and then returned to its soft light.

I did not know what they were.

I did not try to touch them.

I continued walking until I noticed a round opening at the path's end.

Beyond it I saw daylight.

I approached.

The opening led to a green hill.

The skies above it were blue, and the wind moved tall grass that spread in all directions.

I passed through it.

The moment my foot touched the ground, the opening closed behind me.

I turned around.

There was no door there.

And no path of light.

Only a quiet hill and grass moving in the wind.

I stood a moment and looked around me.

I did not know where I was.

But something inside me had changed.

Until now I had thought of my journey as a way leading from place to place.

From the grove to the tree.

From the tree to the expanse where I met other consciousnesses.

From there to the valley, to the lake and to the corridor.

Now I was no longer sure these places are one after another.

Perhaps some of them exist side by side, even if there is no visible way between them.

And perhaps there are ways that open only when one stops looking for them in the place where one expects to find them.

I began to descend the hill's slope.

The tall grass caressed my legs.

In the distance I saw a row of trees, and beyond them rose a blue mountain.

I wanted to reach it.

And then I heard the three short sounds.

I stopped.

They sounded within me, clear and lucid.

I waited for the fourth sound.

It did not come.

I listened.

Quiet.

I was already about to continue walking, when I heard it.

One long sound.

But this time it did not come from within me.

It sounded behind me.

I turned around.

The hill was empty.

The wind continued to move the grass.

I saw no one.

I listened again.

The three short sounds sounded within me.

And from a distance, beyond the hill, came the fourth sound.

Someone else completed the melody.

I began to walk toward the place from which it came.

After a few steps I noticed something on the grass.

Footprints.

They were clear, as if someone had passed there a moment ago.

I bent down.

The grass was still bent in the place where a foot had stepped.

I looked forward.

I saw no one.

I continued after the footprints.

They led down the hill's slope, toward the row of trees.

And then they stopped all at once.

I stood in the place where they ended.

Before me stretched smooth grass, on which no signs of passage could be seen.

I listened.

The three short sounds sounded within me.

And beyond the trees the fourth sound was heard again.

This time it was closer.

I raised my gaze.

Between the trees I seemed to see a slight movement.

I did not manage to make out what it was.

But this time I already knew one thing.

I was not the only one who had walked this way.

End of Chapter Seven

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