The Western Gate

The day started well, until I realised what day it was. This was the day that a time traveller was going to make themselves known to me. It was a fool proof plan. I had previously wrote a letter, ” Come visit me on this day when you have learnt to travel back in time with some proof that you are from the future, tell me the football scores the following day, so that I know you are, indeed, from the future.” This note I kept in an envelope that I was to give to my daughter and from her onwards through the generations until such time-warping technology was possible, and the note could be revealed, and the test was assured.

The time proposed came. Elapsed. No-one came. With that I decided to discard the worthless note to those failures in the future.

I tied it to a boomerang and by means symbolically to show the universe how easy it were to return from whence it came I threw the damned thing, so hard the throw it surpassed the speed of light exactly and thus killed me before I threw it.

In that moment of death I were not physical, and by that, so time did not exist in linear form. Where I were, was where I thought. Light and sound and odour merged within each other as the same dance, and yet touch were not possible in this subtle surpassed kingdom, all I touch merged within as a hand of water into the lake born of the very same substance. Everything there indeed was love, not by some fanciful design or as a quaint saccharine prize, but that everything were as one thing, just as colour and sound and odour merged to one constant, so all the beings there I met, was as if looking into a mirror, and I knew each one, and each one knew me.

“Return I must”, I began to think, and reborn was I, but of course back to the physical where all things were separate, back again I was in duality and thereby, I were not looking at the universe as a mirror that I knew, but a blank canvas, and the start of life again began. In blissful ignorance, once again to learn and seek to know, for this is the game, we cannot be ‘That’ for then we could not be ‘This’, it were a paradox and a confused loop that ate itself as soon as it were born. If I am Not That, and know I am not This. I don’t exist, so here I am.

Image: The Archetypes of the Universe: Taken from Elsewise Magazine front cover Issue 4.
“Carry the Message On” ~ Wenborn