The Journey to Eternity · A serialized book by Nurit Rozenblat
↑ Book index · עברית · ← Chapter Twenty-Three — She Who Crossed the Door · Chapter Twenty-Five — The Choice →
Chapter Twenty-Four — What Was Before the Beginning
For the first time since I left my body, I dreamed.
I did not know if it could be called a dream. I had not slept, I had not closed my eyes, and I had no brain in which images could form. And yet, I found myself in a place I had not chosen to reach.
I was standing in my childhood room.
Light came in through the window, and on the floor lay toys whose existence I had already forgotten. I heard sounds from the kitchen. Someone moved a chair, water ran in the sink, and a woman sang quietly to herself.
I knew I was a child.
But I was not a child.
I stood there with everything I knew now, and all the years I had lived seemed so distant, as if they belonged to someone else.
I wanted to go into the kitchen.
I wanted to see the woman's face.
I took one step, and the room changed.
The walls disappeared.
The toys disappeared.
The sound from the kitchen too.
Only the window remained.
Beyond it there were no sky, trees or houses.
There was darkness.
And within it, a single point of light.
I approached it.
The closer I came, the farther it moved away.
Then I heard a voice.
"What are you looking for?"
I did not see who was speaking.
"The beginning," I answered.
"Of what?"
I thought for a moment.
"Of everything."
The voice was silent.
Then it asked:
"And what if there was no beginning?"
I found myself again in the garden outside the city.
The tree stood before me.
The distant lights moved between the buildings.
Everything looked as it had before the vision, but something inside me had changed.
I could not stop thinking about the question.
What if there was no beginning?
Throughout my human life I had grown used to everything having a beginning.
A person is born.
A tree grows from a seed.
A house is built on land that was there before.
Even when we did not know how something was created, we assumed there was a moment when it did not yet exist.
But if we try to go back to the very beginning of the universe, what will we find before it?
And if there was something before it, did it too have a beginning?
I felt the question was leading me to a place where human thought struggles to continue.
Not because the question is meaningless.
But because almost every way I tried to answer it assumed in advance the existence of time.
I found Liara in one of the library's high halls.
She stood before an ancient record, in which branching lines could be seen.
"I want to ask you something," I said.
She turned around.
"You sound as if you have returned from the farthest place you have ever been."
"Perhaps from the closest one."
She smiled.
"What happened?"
I told her about the childhood room.
About the window.
About the point of light.
And about the voice that asked what would happen if there was no beginning.
Liara listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she said:
"There is a place you should see."
I looked at her.
"Another place?"
"Yes. But this time I do not know if you will find an answer there."
"I no longer expect to find an answer in every place."
She smiled.
"Then perhaps you are ready to reach it."
We left the city through a passage I did not know.
It had no stairs or gates.
Liara asked me to let go, for a moment, of the sense of distance.
"Do not think of a place you want to reach," she said.
"Then what should I think of?"
"Of what you want to understand."
I thought of the question that troubled me.
Of the beginning.
Of what preceded time.
The space around us changed.
First the buildings disappeared.
Then the lights.
Finally, even the sensation that we were moving disappeared.
I did not know whether a moment had passed, or a long time.
Then a huge structure appeared before us.
It did not look as if it was built of any material.
Its walls were made of transparent layers, and within them moved shapes I could not identify.
Some resembled galaxies.
Others, living cells.
There were also shapes that changed so quickly I could not make them out.
"Where are we?" I asked.
"In a place called the Archive of First Possibilities."
"Who created it?"
Liara looked at the structure.
"That is one of the questions on which there is no agreed answer."
At the entrance a tall figure waited for us.
She had no clear age.
Her face changed slightly every time I looked at it, as if my memory could not settle on how it looked.
She wore a dark, simple garment.
"Liara," she said.
"Eren," Liara replied.
The name sounded similar to the name of the man I had met in the City of Consciousnesses, but this was a different entity.
The figure turned to me.
"You are the one who ate of the fruit of the Tree of Eternity."
"Yes."
"And you have come to ask who created creation."
I looked at her.
"How did you know?"
"Most who come here ask a similar question."
"And have you found an answer?"
Eren smiled.
"We have found many answers. That is one of the problems."
We entered a vast hall.
It had no table, chairs or shelves.
At its center hovered a round shape, so large I could not see all of it.
On its surface appeared millions of points of light.
Some connected to one another.
Others drifted apart.
Every so often a movement formed that resembled the expansion of a universe.
"What am I seeing?" I asked.
"Attempts to understand how reality can begin," Eren replied.
"Are these real worlds?"
"Some are descriptions of worlds that were observed. Others are models built to test possibilities."
I came closer.
I saw a tiny point expanding.
Out of it, spaces were created.
Light.
Matter.
Movement.
Slowly, more complex shapes appeared.
"Is this the Big Bang?" I asked.
Eren looked at me.
"That is what humans in one of the worlds call the early expansion of their observable universe."
"So that is what happened?"
"There is strong evidence that the universe you know was once very hot and dense, and that its space expanded. But that description is not necessarily an answer to the question of why reality exists in the first place."
I gazed at the expanding light.
"And what was before that?"
"It may be that the word 'before' does not fit."
I looked at her.
"Why?"
"Because if time itself is part of the reality that developed, one cannot assume there was an earlier time without examining that assumption."
I thought about that.
"But something must have caused it."
Eren did not answer at once.
"Why do you think so?"
"Because everything has a cause."
"Everything you know has causal connections within time. But do you know that this rule also applies to the very existence of time?"
I was silent.
I did not know.
Eren led us to another part of the hall.
There, three small structures hovered.
In each of them a different reality could be seen.
In the first, the universe began from a single point and expanded.
In the second, a vast space contracted, reached a very dense state, and then expanded again.
In the third, there was no single point of beginning. Cyclical processes appeared in it, each arising from a process before it.
"Are these three possibilities?" I asked.
"Three out of many."
"Which of them is correct?"
"We do not know whether any one of them describes reality in its entirety."
"But you have existed for so long. Surely you have seen things that humans are not yet able to see."
Eren nodded.
"We have seen much. But age does not grant us automatic access to every place and every time."
She pointed to the first structure.
"Even if a consciousness can exist for millions of years, that does not mean it was present at the beginning of every universe."
"And if it was?"
"It would still have had to understand what it saw."
I looked at her.
"Meaning, even direct testimony is not enough?"
"It can help. But one who observes an event does not necessarily understand all the causes that led to it."
I thought of the record of the door.
I saw the decision being made.
I heard the voices.
I knew who voted in favor and who objected.
And yet, I could not know with certainty what would have happened had we chosen otherwise.
Even when I stood before the past, part of it remained unknown.
"Then perhaps it is impossible to know everything," I said.
Eren looked at me.
"Perhaps. But the important question is what you do with that possibility."
"What do you mean?"
"There are consciousnesses that stop searching the moment they understand they may never find an absolute answer. Others become convinced they already know, because they cannot bear the uncertainty."
"And is there a third way?"
"To keep investigating, without turning what we do not know into proof of what we want to believe."
I felt the words were aimed at me.
Throughout my human life I had often asked questions about creation.
Sometimes I found scientific explanations that convinced me.
Sometimes I read philosophical ideas that broadened my thinking.
And sometimes I wanted to believe there was a great consciousness that understood everything.
Not because I had proof.
But because that possibility was comforting.
"I want to ask you another question," I said.
Eren nodded.
"If there is a Creator, who created him?"
Liara looked at me.
Eren smiled slightly.
"That is one of the oldest questions that reach here."
"And is there an answer?"
"There are several ways to think about it."
She raised her hand.
Before us appeared a long chain of points of light.
Each point connected to the one before it.
"One can assume that everything has a cause, and then ask what caused the first cause. If it too requires a cause, the chain continues backward."
The points receded until they vanished from sight.
"But one can also argue that there is a fundamental reality that needs no external cause. Some call it a Creator, and some propose that it is a basic structure of reality."
"And how does one know which possibility is correct?"
"It is not enough to give a thing a name in order to explain it. One must ask what the claim says, what follows from it, and what could support it."
I gazed at the chain of lights.
"But if there is something that was not created, why not say that the universe itself was not created?"
Eren nodded.
"That is a worthy question."
"And if the universe was created out of something else, we return to the same problem."
"Correct."
I felt I was going in a circle.
"Then perhaps the question itself is built the wrong way."
Eren looked at me with interest.
"Perhaps."
She led me to a smaller space.
At its center hovered a single point.
There was nothing around it.
"What do you see?" she asked.
"Light."
"And what is around it?"
"Emptiness."
"Are you sure?"
I looked again.
I saw nothing.
"Yes."
Eren moved her hand.
The point disappeared.
"And now?"
"Nothing."
"How do you know?"
I looked at her.
"Because I see nothing."
"But you are still here. You are still thinking. You are still able to distinguish between a state in which you saw light and a state in which you do not see it."
I felt I understood her meaning.
"Meaning, even when I think about nothing, I still assume there is someone thinking about it."
"Yes."
She paused.
"The absence of a particular thing is not necessarily the absolute absence of all reality."
I thought about the word nothing.
How many times had I used it without asking what it meant?
If there were no matter, no light, no time and no space — could one still speak of any state at all?
And if there was not even a state, how could one say that something began out of it?
"I want to know why there is something and not nothing," I said.
Eren looked at me for a long time.
"So do I."
I was surprised.
"You?"
"Yes."
"How long have you been investigating this question?"
She smiled.
"Longer than you could measure in human years."
"And you still have not found an answer?"
"I found partial answers. I discovered things that changed the way I ask. But I have not found an answer I can present as a final truth."
I looked at her.
"Is that not frustrating?"
"Sometimes very much."
"Then why do you continue?"
Eren approached the window.
Beyond it, distant lights could be seen.
"Because every partial answer lets me see something I had not seen before."
She paused.
"And also because I love the search."
The last words surprised me.
There was no great promise in them.
No secret.
No revelation.
Only love for a thing that may never end.
I thought about my human life.
About books I had read.
About things I had learned out of curiosity, without knowing whether I would ever use them.
About the joy I felt when I discovered something new.
Perhaps part of my desire to live forever was born of the fear that I would not have time to learn.
But now, when almost unlimited time stood at my disposal, I understood that there is a difference between the possibility of continuing to learn and the assumption that one day I would know everything.
"And what about consciousness?" I asked.
Eren turned around.
"What about it?"
"Was it created out of matter, or did it exist before it?"
Liara came closer.
"That is a question we still argue about among ourselves."
I looked at her.
"But you exist without a body."
"True."
"So does that not prove that consciousness does not depend on matter?"
Liara thought for a moment.
"It proves that our existence does not depend on a human body as you knew it. But one can still ask what the substrate is that allows us to exist."
"Meaning, here too there is something that holds consciousness?"
"We exist within a reality that has a structure and laws. We do not know whether it is possible to exist with no substrate at all."
I thought about that.
Since I left my body I had felt free of the laws of the human world.
But here too there were limits.
There were gates I could not pass.
Memories I could not see.
Consciousnesses I could not understand.
Even my eternal life existed within a reality I had not created.
"Is there a first consciousness?" I asked.
Eren gazed at me.
"What makes you think there must be one?"
"Because if there are many consciousnesses, perhaps there was one from which they all began."
"That is a possibility. But multiplicity does not prove a single source."
"And if there was one?"
"Then we would have to ask how it was created, if it was created, and what it means to be first in a place where time itself may not be as we understand it."
I smiled tiredly.
"Every answer opens another question."
Eren smiled back.
"Often."
"That is almost cruel."
"Why?"
"Because we want to understand."
"And perhaps the very possibility of continuing to understand is one of the great gifts of existence."
I did not answer.
I stood before the lights.
Suddenly I thought of something else.
"If there is a Creator," I said, "must he be good?"
Eren's expression grew serious.
"It does not follow from the mere ability to create that the creator is morally good."
"Then why do humans so want to believe the Creator loves them?"
Eren looked at me.
"Perhaps because the thought that all of existence rests on something benevolent gives them security. And perhaps they have experiences that lead them to this belief. I cannot know what moves every person."
I thought about the human world.
About beauty I could not explain.
About love.
About children being born.
About people who devote their lives to helping others.
But also about illnesses.
About wars.
About loss.
About the pain of those who did nothing to bring it upon themselves.
"If there is a good Creator, why is there so much suffering?" I asked.
Eren was silent for a long time.
"That is a question I would not want to answer lightly."
"Why?"
"Because every general explanation of suffering may sound very different to one who is carrying it now."
I thought about the imprisoned consciousnesses.
About the woman who told me of the war.
About the young voice that asked to come out.
I did not want to tell them their pain existed in order to teach them something.
I did not know that.
And even if suffering can sometimes lead to learning, that does not mean it was necessary or justified.
"But perhaps there is meaning in the hard things too," I said.
Eren nodded.
"We can find meaning in the way we respond to them. But one must be careful of the claim that everything hard happened for a good purpose."
I looked at her.
"What is the difference?"
"If a person loses someone they love, they may in time learn to live differently, help others, or discover strengths within themselves they did not know. But it does not follow that the loss was needed for all that to happen."
I thought about my brother.
About my mother.
About people I had lost.
About everything I would give to hear their voices again.
I did not want anyone to tell me that their death was necessary so that I would learn something important.
I could learn from the loss.
But I would not have chosen it.
Liara came close to me.
"You are quiet."
"I am thinking about the people I lost."
She nodded.
"Do you miss them?"
"Very much."
"Even now?"
"Perhaps now more."
I looked at her.
"I thought eternal life would let me understand death better."
"And it did not?"
"It let me see things I did not know. But it did not take away the longing."
Liara stood beside me.
"Understanding does not always heal pain."
I felt the words.
"Then what does?"
"Sometimes connection. Sometimes time. Sometimes the possibility of continuing to live alongside what was lost."
Eren led us to the last space in the archive.
It was relatively small.
It did not hold millions of points of light.
Only one window.
Beyond it a dark space could be seen, and within it a faint light.
"What is here?" I asked.
"The boundary of our observation."
"What does that mean?"
"The place where the records stop providing us with information we can verify."
I came closer.
The light beyond the window seemed very far away.
"And what is beyond it?"
"We do not know."
"Can one not cross?"
"Some tried."
"And what happened?"
"Some returned with no clear information. Others did not return."
I felt tension.
"Did they die?"
"We do not know."
I gazed at the window.
For a moment the desire to cross rose in me.
Not out of courage.
Out of an almost uncontrollable curiosity.
If I managed to reach beyond this boundary, perhaps I would find something no one had seen.
Perhaps I would see the source of creation.
Perhaps I would understand what lies beyond time.
But then I thought of the disconnected consciousnesses.
Of Nera.
Of Eliya.
Of the woman who had returned to my home.
Of everything I had not yet finished understanding and doing.
"Do you want to cross?" Eren asked.
I looked at her.
"Part of me does."
"And the other part?"
"Wants to go back."
She smiled.
"Why?"
I thought for a moment.
"Because there are people waiting for me."
I stayed before the window a while longer.
I did not feel I had given up the search.
I knew I could return here.
Perhaps one day I would try to understand what lies beyond the boundary.
But for the first time I understood that the possibility of reaching farther does not obligate me to set out at once.
Not every door must be opened the moment it is discovered.
And not every question must take precedence over the life taking place around us.
On the way back I asked Liara:
"Do you believe there is a Creator?"
She thought for a long time.
"I believe there is more in reality than we understand."
"That is not an answer."
She smiled.
"It is the most precise answer I can give."
"But what do you feel?"
She looked at me.
"Sometimes, when I see how different consciousnesses manage to create a connection without losing themselves, I feel a great wonder."
"Wonder is not proof of a Creator."
"True."
"Then why did you mention it?"
"Because not everything of value in life is proof of something else."
I thought about that.
She continued:
"I can feel wonder before existence without claiming I know who created it."
When we returned to the city, its lights seemed familiar to me.
I did not know how long we had been in the archive.
Perhaps a little.
Perhaps a lot.
But I knew something in me had changed.
I had not found the secret of creation.
I had not discovered who was first.
I did not know whether time began or had always been.
I did not know whether there is a Creator, and if so, what his nature is.
But the questions no longer stirred in me the same sense of urgency.
Not because I had stopped wanting answers.
But because I had begun to understand that even if I did not find them, I would still have a life to live.
I entered the library.
Adara stood by the passage table.
Eliya was beside her.
Sahar examined the records.
When they saw me, they raised their heads.
"How was it?" Eliya asked.
I thought about everything I had seen.
About the endless chains of causes.
About the possibility that time itself needs no beginning in the human sense.
About the questions that remained open.
"I did not find what I was looking for," I said.
Eliya smiled.
"And are you disappointed?"
I looked at her.
"A little."
She laughed quietly.
"That sounds like you."
I smiled.
"But I am glad I came back."
Adara came closer.
"We found something you will want to see."
She opened a transparent panel.
On it appeared a new structure of a passage.
It was narrow, and at its two ends separate circles could be seen.
Between them passed a thin line of light.
"We think we have found a way to keep the connection open even after the exit," she said.
I felt excitement.
"Really?"
"We have not yet tested it with a living consciousness."
I looked at the structure.
"But it is a possibility."
"Yes."
Eliya came close to me.
"Nera agreed to help us test the connection from the outside."
I looked at her.
"And the young consciousness?"
"She is still thinking."
I nodded.
"Good."
I stood before the panel.
A short while ago I had gazed at the boundary of knowledge about creation.
Now I gazed at a small passage, meant to allow one consciousness to choose whether to leave a place where she had been imprisoned.
The difference in size was enormous.
And yet, I did not feel the small passage was any less important.
Perhaps even the opposite.
It was connected to someone I could speak with.
Hear her fear.
Understand her wish.
I did not know whether we would succeed.
But we could try.
At that moment I understood something I had not managed to put into words before.
For many years I had searched for meaning in the great things.
In creation.
In eternity.
In the universe.
In questions that have no end.
But perhaps meaning does not depend on the size of the thing we are trying to understand.
Perhaps it can also be found in a small decision.
In a conversation.
In a promise we keep.
In the way we treat those who depend on us.
I thought about the girl I had been.
About the woman who had raised children.
About the one who stood before the Tree of Eternity and asked to live forever.
I did not want to give up any of them.
They were all part of me.
But now I wanted to add to my life something I had not known how to ask for at the start of the journey.
Not only more time.
But a way to use it.
I went to the window.
Beyond it the lights of the city could be seen.
I thought about the question I had heard in the vision.
What if there was no beginning?
I did not know.
Perhaps I would never know.
But for the first time I did not feel that this possibility emptied my life of meaning.
I looked at the table where Adara, Eliya, Liara and Sahar worked.
They were trying to open a passage for those who could not come out.
None of them knew whether they would succeed.
And yet they continued.
I returned to them.
Not because I had stopped searching for the secret of creation.
But because I understood there are things that can be done even before it is found.
And perhaps one day, if I reach the edge of all possible knowledge, I will discover there is no single answer there explaining why we exist.
Perhaps I will find only another space of possibilities.
More questions.
More life.
But even then I will know one thing I did not know when I began the journey:
I do not need to understand why the world was created in order to know there is meaning in the way I choose to live within it.
End of Chapter Twenty-Four
↑ Book index · עברית · ← Chapter Twenty-Three — She Who Crossed the Door · Chapter Twenty-Five — The Choice →
