I remember writing this, now, when I’m writing it again…
   My hand is writing it, now, writing what was written by my dreams so long ago.
   Everything is silent around me. All the sounds of the night and the day are quiet, speaking only in my mind.
   Clarity is surging through me again. It’s amazing how everything… fits.
   A leaf falls to the ground somewhere. I see it. I see thousands of leaves rise from the ground, before they ever fell from the branches. Fate is pre-determined… right, different from destiny that is desire, direction, belief? The Book of Fate, the book right in front of me, right now, turning its pages in my presence speaks in brief about giants walking the Universe, about dragons spitting their more than intense fire on all the upturned stones there are, burning what was hidden, was Shadow, revealing it for all to see and experience.
   Sorcerers, seekers in Shadow write their books, their notes of the Other World, of what’s Hidden. They touch the infinite and eternal and bring pale darkness to illuminate everybody, also those who don’t want to open their eyes to the world.
   I know what the sun and the moon looks like and feels like. I’ve stared it in the eyes, faced it close enough to burn. I remember that feeling well, how small I felt, reminding me how big I feel now, when I look at my face from the other end.
   The Book of Fate is no mere Book of Shadows, written by a mere seeker of the unknown. It’s writing itself, or at least it seems to be. When you enter the room that isn’t a room nothing visible or tangible is turning its pages or holding the pen levitating above what looks like old, decrepit paper. The pen’s point touches only air, but words still appear below, not on one page but billions times billions simultaneously. The book isn’t in only one place, but all places, all times. I’ve read it for some time, but understanding kept eluding me.
   Then, suddenly I knew, knew what I hadn’t been able to grasp:

   There’s one entity, one dragon that isn’t just mentioned in passing, one human being that isn’t just mentioned on a few more pages here and there… but on all of them, every single sheet of paper and mist that ever is. Stunned for a few seconds I realize the undeniable truth, what virtually everybody denies to themselves:

   I know who I am.

  

  

Back to Main Page