The White Archway
The thick orange curtains hung heavily in the downstairs bedroom, blocking out every morsel of flickering light emanating from the bright street lamp outside the window. Everyone had gone to bed, and the house was silent. Black bin bags full of clothing and other belongings choked the floor around the bed; just attempting to get out of it to use the upstairs bathroom was a tripping hazard!
Darkness pressed in from all sides, and he couldn't see a thing.
That's strange, he thought. Where did the bed go? I could feel my head pressed against the pillow only a few seconds ago.
Why did he now feel like he was floating? Where had all of these strange flashing coloured lights and images suddenly come from? Only a couple of minutes prior the room had been in complete darkness, but now it was like being at an illegal rave — except it was totally silent, and he was the only one there.
Although his body was lying perfectly still, he could travel anywhere he wanted, guiding his journey with his mind and the pinch of a thumb and index finger. It felt like he was in two places at once.
After talking a brief trip to the local quarry, floating up the stairs, and watching everyone sleeping in their beds, he made his way back downstairs to his still body lying on the bed.
In front of him he saw a white archway. Perhaps this is the entrance to the night club where the disco lights are coming from, he thought. He had no tickets and no money, but that didn't stop him from stepping through.
To his surprise, the room was empty, devoid of ticket booths or security. Instead, he found himself in a stark white space where two sets of low-rising steps ascended to an elevated platform.
I wonder if anyone else is here or am I the only one? he thought.
He walked up the steps to the platform. The only structures present were two walls forming a right-angle corner on his left, and a narrow entrance leading into a tunnel on his right. Driven by curiosity, he stepped through the opening to see where it led.
Driven by a sense of adventure, he followed the tunnel's slight curve, only to find that it led straight into a dead end.
"What is the point of this place, and why have the architects stopped chiselling?" he wondered aloud. His voice didn't echo. The porous, unfinished walls seemed to swallow the sound whole, offering no answers.
The excitement was short-lived; the tunnel led nowhere. Disappointed by the abrupt end to his adventure, he felt an overwhelming urge to press his forehead against the wall. After a few seconds — maybe thirty-three — he found himself in a completely different place, with zero recollection of where he had just been.
In that moment, his consciousness left the unknown tunnel and the memory of a dark downstairs bedroom in rainy North Wales. He had been transported through time. Now, he floated above an old marketplace enclosed by towering, sandy-brown walls, watching merchants barter for goods below.
The journey was brief, and once again he found himself floating above the bed.
It's good to be home again, he thought. At least this place makes sense.
Though he finally remembered his surroundings, the mysterious white archway loomed ahead, beckoning him back inside for another ride.
Let's have another go, he thought. After all, what else is there to do?
He slipped back through the archway, climbed the shallow steps, and entered the tunnel on his right. Choosing the opposite wall this time, he pressed his forehead against the stone. Thirty-three seconds passed. Suddenly, he was drifting down a sandy track in an unknown desert, suspended between rows of Bedouin-style tents.
He came to a halt in front of an Arabic gentleman sitting outside one of the tents, dressed in traditional white Bedouin clothing and a matching head covering.
Who is this man, he wondered. And why is he acting like I'm not even here?
The seated man ignored him at first. Yet, the moment he stepped inside the tent and took up a position behind him, the man whirled around and stared straight at him, his face frozen in utter disbelief!
So, he really can see me, he thought.
The white archway was still beckoning when he returned from his second journey. Accepting the invitation, he decided to have one more go.
However, this time, instead of entering the narrow tunnel to his right, he pressed his forehead against one of the walls forming the right-angle corner to his left. After what felt like another thirty-three seconds, he passed straight through the solid structure, falling a few cubits before landing on a black-and-white chequered floor in a dimly lit, empty expanse.
Was this King Solomon's dance floor? The place where Hiram Abiff and his loyal Masonic acolytes like to bust a few shapes? he asked himself. It could explain where all of the flashing coloured lights were coming from!
A couple of years later, the young man was visited one night by a matriarchal, off-world group of human-looking beings and their queen. They informed him that he was royalty.
Me, royalty? he thought. How is that even possible! "Of all the people you could have contacted, why did you contact me?" he asked them.
A bearded man in an all-in-one padded blue overall stepped forward. "We didn't," he replied, the yellow stripe across his chest catching the light. "It was you who contacted us."
Several days later, whilst out walking the dog, the young man was approached by a lady who lives six doors away and was asked what he was doing on the roof of his house a few nights prior.
"What were you doing on the roof of your house the other night?" she asked. "I looked out from the bedroom window before going to bed and I saw what looked like a silent helicopter above your house, and there was someone stood on the roof. I thought it was you."
Confused, he took a moment to gather his thoughts. He replied, "A silent helicopter above my house, and someone standing on the roof? No, it wasn't me. I don't know what you're talking about. I've got no reason to go on the roof..."
Darkness pressed in from all sides, and he couldn't see a thing.
That's strange, he thought. Where did the bed go? I could feel my head pressed against the pillow only a few seconds ago.
Why did he now feel like he was floating? Where had all of these strange flashing coloured lights and images suddenly come from? Only a couple of minutes prior the room had been in complete darkness, but now it was like being at an illegal rave — except it was totally silent, and he was the only one there.
Although his body was lying perfectly still, he could travel anywhere he wanted, guiding his journey with his mind and the pinch of a thumb and index finger. It felt like he was in two places at once.
After talking a brief trip to the local quarry, floating up the stairs, and watching everyone sleeping in their beds, he made his way back downstairs to his still body lying on the bed.
In front of him he saw a white archway. Perhaps this is the entrance to the night club where the disco lights are coming from, he thought. He had no tickets and no money, but that didn't stop him from stepping through.
To his surprise, the room was empty, devoid of ticket booths or security. Instead, he found himself in a stark white space where two sets of low-rising steps ascended to an elevated platform.
I wonder if anyone else is here or am I the only one? he thought.
He walked up the steps to the platform. The only structures present were two walls forming a right-angle corner on his left, and a narrow entrance leading into a tunnel on his right. Driven by curiosity, he stepped through the opening to see where it led.
Driven by a sense of adventure, he followed the tunnel's slight curve, only to find that it led straight into a dead end.
"What is the point of this place, and why have the architects stopped chiselling?" he wondered aloud. His voice didn't echo. The porous, unfinished walls seemed to swallow the sound whole, offering no answers.
The excitement was short-lived; the tunnel led nowhere. Disappointed by the abrupt end to his adventure, he felt an overwhelming urge to press his forehead against the wall. After a few seconds — maybe thirty-three — he found himself in a completely different place, with zero recollection of where he had just been.
In that moment, his consciousness left the unknown tunnel and the memory of a dark downstairs bedroom in rainy North Wales. He had been transported through time. Now, he floated above an old marketplace enclosed by towering, sandy-brown walls, watching merchants barter for goods below.
The journey was brief, and once again he found himself floating above the bed.
It's good to be home again, he thought. At least this place makes sense.
Though he finally remembered his surroundings, the mysterious white archway loomed ahead, beckoning him back inside for another ride.
Let's have another go, he thought. After all, what else is there to do?
He slipped back through the archway, climbed the shallow steps, and entered the tunnel on his right. Choosing the opposite wall this time, he pressed his forehead against the stone. Thirty-three seconds passed. Suddenly, he was drifting down a sandy track in an unknown desert, suspended between rows of Bedouin-style tents.
He came to a halt in front of an Arabic gentleman sitting outside one of the tents, dressed in traditional white Bedouin clothing and a matching head covering.
Who is this man, he wondered. And why is he acting like I'm not even here?
The seated man ignored him at first. Yet, the moment he stepped inside the tent and took up a position behind him, the man whirled around and stared straight at him, his face frozen in utter disbelief!
So, he really can see me, he thought.
The white archway was still beckoning when he returned from his second journey. Accepting the invitation, he decided to have one more go.
However, this time, instead of entering the narrow tunnel to his right, he pressed his forehead against one of the walls forming the right-angle corner to his left. After what felt like another thirty-three seconds, he passed straight through the solid structure, falling a few cubits before landing on a black-and-white chequered floor in a dimly lit, empty expanse.
Was this King Solomon's dance floor? The place where Hiram Abiff and his loyal Masonic acolytes like to bust a few shapes? he asked himself. It could explain where all of the flashing coloured lights were coming from!
A couple of years later, the young man was visited one night by a matriarchal, off-world group of human-looking beings and their queen. They informed him that he was royalty.
Me, royalty? he thought. How is that even possible! "Of all the people you could have contacted, why did you contact me?" he asked them.
A bearded man in an all-in-one padded blue overall stepped forward. "We didn't," he replied, the yellow stripe across his chest catching the light. "It was you who contacted us."
Several days later, whilst out walking the dog, the young man was approached by a lady who lives six doors away and was asked what he was doing on the roof of his house a few nights prior.
"What were you doing on the roof of your house the other night?" she asked. "I looked out from the bedroom window before going to bed and I saw what looked like a silent helicopter above your house, and there was someone stood on the roof. I thought it was you."
Confused, he took a moment to gather his thoughts. He replied, "A silent helicopter above my house, and someone standing on the roof? No, it wasn't me. I don't know what you're talking about. I've got no reason to go on the roof..."
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| The "Eternal Now" |