8. The Place
I look at this keyboard...
QWERTYUIOP
ASDFGHJKL
ZXCVBNM
...26 letters. There is no combination of these letters to explain what I see. No words, no phrases. But as inexpressible as it is, this is what I see as constrained by these pitiful 26 letters on my keyboard
QWERTYUIOP
ASDFGHJKL
ZXCVBNM
...26 letters. There is no combination of these letters to explain what I see. No words, no phrases. But as inexpressible as it is, this is what I see as constrained by these pitiful 26 letters on my keyboard
??:??, Saturday, 27 April
I stand in awe.
A rainbow of colors swirls on my tongue.
A symphony of sounds explodes in my nose.
I stand in awe.
I hear the tranquil music of sweet nectar.
I smell the fresh scent of bird songs.
I see the vibrant color of fragrant trees.
I feel the silky softness of the sky's azure crown.
I taste the refreshing flavor of the breeze.
I stand in awe.
A sparkling flash of brilliant orange and royal blue catches my eye. It's a beautiful sunbird. I see its wings beating as though slowed a million times. It hovers like a flying jewel above a plant with long pitcher-shaped flowers that looks like they have been covered in gold. With exquisite precision it dips it's long curved beak into the flowers and I hear the song of the flowers sweet nectar singing their welcome.
How long I stand and look and inhale and listen to this scene, I do not know. Time has no meaning and the senses never have enough.
Before me soft grass, that looks like a royal carpet of green, stretches out. A burst of colorful roses and wildflowers dance in the sea of green. Sparkles of sweet scent arise from each flower dancing in the air like a million jewels.
Meandering through the carpet of grass, like liquid crystal, is a beautiful river. A million rainbows dance on its surface. Along the sides of the rainbow river majestic trees reach heavenwards. Their large boughs gracefully dancing to the unseen symphony of the breeze. Each of them is laden with a golden fruit that sparkles as the tree moves.
Following the sparkling river upstream my gaze is met with a most awesome sight. A sight that reigns supreme over this inexpressible vista. A huge, mighty waterfall plummets from an unseen height into the river below. The towering cliff it plummets from looks like a gigantic throne with two large peaks on either side. From this mountainous throne the waterfall cascades.
Yet it is not just the sheer size of this waterfall plummeting into the carpeted valley below that astounds, but the sound it makes. It does not roar but sings a liquid song. A song of life. A song of praise. A soft spray rises from the mighty falls like a silky veil that bursts into a million rainbow gems crowning the river as it flows away.
The air is alive with sound. Sounds of song. It seems that not only is the song coming from the birds, but from the flowers, the trees, the river, the waterfall. The song rises in perfect harmony from everything I see, smell and touch. It is a symphony of song and color, united in one.
I take my shoes off. I want to feel this royal carpet of green. I want to touch this place. Immediately life, vigor, peace, joy coarse through my body. I want to sing. I want to join the harmony. I am walking across the soft grass. I am drawn towards the river. It's crystal song enfolds me.
Reaching the river’s edge I fall down wearily on my knees and look into its sparkling rainbow flow. Its gentle movement reflects my face cast in diamond. I start in surprise. I look so young. So vibrant. So full of life. So...so not me. The tired stressful recently aged face is gone. It reflects a me I have never seen. A me I could have been.
“What is this place?" I ask out aloud. "How come I have never heard of this place? This is crazy. Have I finally gone totally mad?"
I am lost. Lost in thought.
"Hello Malo. Here, put this on."
My reflection shatters into a million crystal pieces as I turn around and look up to see who spoke.
He stands just behind me, beaming a huge smile at me and looking at me with sparkling, expectant eyes. He’s holding a shirt and a pair of shorts out to me. I realize mine are gone, ripped and shredded in my passage through my grave. I’m standing here nearly naked.
I scramble to my feet. "Uh, thanks," I reply, "I, um, I didn't expect anyone else to be up here. Um...do I know you?" I say accepting the clothing and quickly putting them on. He continues to look at me for a moment with his searching gaze. A gaze that seems to penetrate to my inmost being. A gaze I feel I know, or have known, or should know…or…
"I know you," he says.
I look at him in surprise.
"I saw you earlier while you were sitting under the tree." My mind races. Sitting under the tree? Oh yes, before lunch with Dana. But I didn't see anyone. Maybe he is hotel staff.
"Oh," I reply, "and you are?..."
"You can call me Yesh."
He pauses.
"Come, follow me," he says starting to walk along the river. I quickly follow him, almost as if my feet have a will of their own. My mind is still racing. Everything that has happened; this place, my life, it's confusing me.
"Where are we going?" I ask as I follow Yesh along the edge of the softly flowing river.
"I want your help with some work I'm doing," he says.
"Huh! I don't think I'm the guy to help. I'm not very good at most things. In fact at the moment I think I might not be good at anything."
"I'm looking for someone to help me with some animation," he says as he suddenly stops.
I am not sure which surprises me more. The fact that he wants an animator or the carved wooden table and bench that he's stopped at, which I am sure wasn't there a moment before.
"Animator? What? Are you an animator?" I ask.
He turns and looks at me, that same piercing gaze.
"Yes, I suppose you can call me an animator."
"Wow, that's amazing," I say. "It's unusual to meet a fellow animator. Where did you learn?" I ask, growing in confidence as we get onto things that I’m knowledgeable about.
"From my Dad," Yesh replies.
"From your dad? Oh. Was he an animator?" I ask, a little perplexed by his answer.
He's silent for a moment as he stoops down and picks up some soft mud from the side of the river.
"My dad is many things. He is the greatest sculptor," he continues as he begins molding the mud.
"Yeah, sure," I think to myself as I watch his nimble hands working with the mud, "I suppose he has statues in the Louvre along with Michael Angelo," I inwardly laugh.
"Michael Angelo was good," he says much to my surprise, "but not original. He copied my Dad's masterpieces." Once again I am not sure if I am more surprised by his coincidental mention of Michael Angelo or the matter-of-fact way he seems to believe what he just said.
I look at what had been a lump of mud just moments before and am astounded to see him holding a perfect sculpture of a turtle. It's bumpy, mottled shell. A leathery neck holding a spotty head with two dark eyes.
"Wow!" I exclaim. "That is amazing. Wow!" I say again as I continue to look at the turtle. "How did you do that so fast?"
"My Dad is a great teacher," he replies with a smile, "I only do what he shows me." With that he bends down and gently places the mud turtle next to the river.
"Wait!" I exclaim, "Don't leave it there! You could fire and glaze it and sell it. It is very realistic."
"It is realistic, isn't it?" he says looking at me. I glance down at the mud turtle, but it is gone. I look around thinking maybe he put it somewhere else but there is no sign of it.
"Where is it?" I ask as I continue to look around.
"Here, come get a brush," he says walking towards a box next to the table. As I follow him I catch a glimpse of something beneath the water, it looks like a turtle swimming. But it's probably just the light playing tricks.
He takes a large piece of paper out of the box and lays it on the table. Then he pulls out a single fine paint brush and an artist's palette with a beautiful array of water colors on it.
"Do you live here?" I ask, "I mean up in this mountain?" I say sweeping my hand around to indicate what I mean.
"Yes, this is our home," he says as he hands me the brush.
I look confusedly at him but he offers no further explanation. He simply says "Paint it," as he walks and sits down on the river's edge.
I look down at the large piece of white paper spread out on the table, the paint palette lying next to it and the brush in my hand. "Paint what?" I ask, but I get no reply. Yesh seems lost in thought as he gently swirls his hand in the water causing diamond effused rainbows to dance upon its surface.
One of the things I enjoyed most about my studies was painting. Sure the computer work was fun, and you can achieve so much more precision. But painting is free. Free from constraints. It is not bound by a screen size. It is not tethered to a desk. It is not restricted to mouse clicks. It is a dance of color and movement that leaves behind a symphony of sight. Randle could never see why I so enjoyed our fine art classes. When we were studying animation in college together, he was always complaining about fine art.
"Why do we have to do this stupid subject? We have computers now," he'd say slumped over his canvas with a bored, mischievous look on his face. This was normally the precursor to some prank. On one occasion after just having been given a fruit bowl still life assignment by our aged, and partially blind teacher, Randle said, "Mrs. Deliah," I am finished."
Somewhat taken aback Mrs. Deliah shuffled over to Randle. All that he had painted was a small dot in the middle of his canvas. "Where is it?" she asked in her quavering voice. "What do you mean?" Randle replied with feigned confusion. "There it is," he said pointing at the spot in the middle of the canvas. "But that's just a spot Randle," Mrs. Deliah said. "No it's not! This is Quantum Art. I've created a miniature version of the still life in exquisite detail. Can't you see it?" Randle replied in a most earnest sounding voice.
Mrs. Deliah leaned forward and squinted intently through her thick coke bottle glasses. "Um, deary..."
"Notice how I have done the apple with the reflection too," Randle added as Mrs. Deliah brought her nose almost touching the page.
"I can't quite see it,” she replied uncertainly, “but I'm sure it's very nice. Maybe next time you can do a life-sized version," she suggested.
"Definitely," Randle replied with his characteristic mischievous grin, "although I may have a future in this quantum art."
I look down and I've been painting a city scene. Tall buildings dominate the painting. And one building in particular - the glass edifice of Platinum Investments International. Why in the world would I choose to paint this. Why? Is this what my life is about? Failure? I could have painted anything, but I paint the icon of my failure.
Why?
I am clutching the paintbrush like a lifeline to sanity.
"You need life."
Once again I am startled by Yesh who is leaning over my painting.
"What do you mean "I need life"?"
"Your painting, it needs life. You're an animator aren't you?" he replies.
"Here, give it life," he says as he places a lump of mud in my hand."
"What? What must I do with this?" I ask somewhat perplexed.
"Make something to give your picture life," he replies.
"Sorry, I may be OK at painting but one thing I was never good at is sculptures. In fact I am not even sure I am able to paint anymore."
However Yesh has already returned to sit by the river leaving me alone with my mocking painting and a lump of mud.
"What in the world am I doing? What am I doing here? My life is a mess and I'm losing my mind in some who-knows-where place with some who-knows-who guy. I should get back to Dana. I need to pull myself together before I totally lose it. I am probably having a nervous breakdown."
Yet once more my hands, like my legs earlier, have betrayed me. I look down and find I have already started making something. It's small delicate form is taking shape in my clumsy hands. The body, the fine beak, the delicate legs. In moments a mud sunbird lies in my hands.
I am still looking at it, a little surprised that I could make one in such detail, when Yesh says, "Well done, now put it in your picture."
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"Put it in your picture," he replies.
I slowly lean forward and place the soft sunbird onto the painting that is lying on the table. Yesh sighs. All of a sudden there is a flash of orange and blue and the sunbird is gone. I look around, confused. "Where's my sunbird?" I ask scanning the floor in case the wind blew it off. And then I see it. It has not gone. A beautiful orange and blue sunbird is sitting in the tree, in my painting, outside Platinum Investments International.
"Yes, that's better," Yesh says behind me.
I immediately spin around to face Yesh. "What in the world happened? Is this some kind of trick? Illusion?"
"What you see is not real," Yesh replies, "but what you don't see, that is real." With that he starts walking away. "Come, I want to give you something."
I am still a little stunned by what just happened, and take a moment before I get up and follow him.
A rainbow of colors swirls on my tongue.
A symphony of sounds explodes in my nose.
I stand in awe.
I hear the tranquil music of sweet nectar.
I smell the fresh scent of bird songs.
I see the vibrant color of fragrant trees.
I feel the silky softness of the sky's azure crown.
I taste the refreshing flavor of the breeze.
I stand in awe.
A sparkling flash of brilliant orange and royal blue catches my eye. It's a beautiful sunbird. I see its wings beating as though slowed a million times. It hovers like a flying jewel above a plant with long pitcher-shaped flowers that looks like they have been covered in gold. With exquisite precision it dips it's long curved beak into the flowers and I hear the song of the flowers sweet nectar singing their welcome.
How long I stand and look and inhale and listen to this scene, I do not know. Time has no meaning and the senses never have enough.
Before me soft grass, that looks like a royal carpet of green, stretches out. A burst of colorful roses and wildflowers dance in the sea of green. Sparkles of sweet scent arise from each flower dancing in the air like a million jewels.
Meandering through the carpet of grass, like liquid crystal, is a beautiful river. A million rainbows dance on its surface. Along the sides of the rainbow river majestic trees reach heavenwards. Their large boughs gracefully dancing to the unseen symphony of the breeze. Each of them is laden with a golden fruit that sparkles as the tree moves.
Following the sparkling river upstream my gaze is met with a most awesome sight. A sight that reigns supreme over this inexpressible vista. A huge, mighty waterfall plummets from an unseen height into the river below. The towering cliff it plummets from looks like a gigantic throne with two large peaks on either side. From this mountainous throne the waterfall cascades.
Yet it is not just the sheer size of this waterfall plummeting into the carpeted valley below that astounds, but the sound it makes. It does not roar but sings a liquid song. A song of life. A song of praise. A soft spray rises from the mighty falls like a silky veil that bursts into a million rainbow gems crowning the river as it flows away.
The air is alive with sound. Sounds of song. It seems that not only is the song coming from the birds, but from the flowers, the trees, the river, the waterfall. The song rises in perfect harmony from everything I see, smell and touch. It is a symphony of song and color, united in one.
I take my shoes off. I want to feel this royal carpet of green. I want to touch this place. Immediately life, vigor, peace, joy coarse through my body. I want to sing. I want to join the harmony. I am walking across the soft grass. I am drawn towards the river. It's crystal song enfolds me.
Reaching the river’s edge I fall down wearily on my knees and look into its sparkling rainbow flow. Its gentle movement reflects my face cast in diamond. I start in surprise. I look so young. So vibrant. So full of life. So...so not me. The tired stressful recently aged face is gone. It reflects a me I have never seen. A me I could have been.
“What is this place?" I ask out aloud. "How come I have never heard of this place? This is crazy. Have I finally gone totally mad?"
I am lost. Lost in thought.
"Hello Malo. Here, put this on."
My reflection shatters into a million crystal pieces as I turn around and look up to see who spoke.
He stands just behind me, beaming a huge smile at me and looking at me with sparkling, expectant eyes. He’s holding a shirt and a pair of shorts out to me. I realize mine are gone, ripped and shredded in my passage through my grave. I’m standing here nearly naked.
I scramble to my feet. "Uh, thanks," I reply, "I, um, I didn't expect anyone else to be up here. Um...do I know you?" I say accepting the clothing and quickly putting them on. He continues to look at me for a moment with his searching gaze. A gaze that seems to penetrate to my inmost being. A gaze I feel I know, or have known, or should know…or…
"I know you," he says.
I look at him in surprise.
"I saw you earlier while you were sitting under the tree." My mind races. Sitting under the tree? Oh yes, before lunch with Dana. But I didn't see anyone. Maybe he is hotel staff.
"Oh," I reply, "and you are?..."
"You can call me Yesh."
He pauses.
"Come, follow me," he says starting to walk along the river. I quickly follow him, almost as if my feet have a will of their own. My mind is still racing. Everything that has happened; this place, my life, it's confusing me.
"Where are we going?" I ask as I follow Yesh along the edge of the softly flowing river.
"I want your help with some work I'm doing," he says.
"Huh! I don't think I'm the guy to help. I'm not very good at most things. In fact at the moment I think I might not be good at anything."
"I'm looking for someone to help me with some animation," he says as he suddenly stops.
I am not sure which surprises me more. The fact that he wants an animator or the carved wooden table and bench that he's stopped at, which I am sure wasn't there a moment before.
"Animator? What? Are you an animator?" I ask.
He turns and looks at me, that same piercing gaze.
"Yes, I suppose you can call me an animator."
"Wow, that's amazing," I say. "It's unusual to meet a fellow animator. Where did you learn?" I ask, growing in confidence as we get onto things that I’m knowledgeable about.
"From my Dad," Yesh replies.
"From your dad? Oh. Was he an animator?" I ask, a little perplexed by his answer.
He's silent for a moment as he stoops down and picks up some soft mud from the side of the river.
"My dad is many things. He is the greatest sculptor," he continues as he begins molding the mud.
"Yeah, sure," I think to myself as I watch his nimble hands working with the mud, "I suppose he has statues in the Louvre along with Michael Angelo," I inwardly laugh.
"Michael Angelo was good," he says much to my surprise, "but not original. He copied my Dad's masterpieces." Once again I am not sure if I am more surprised by his coincidental mention of Michael Angelo or the matter-of-fact way he seems to believe what he just said.
I look at what had been a lump of mud just moments before and am astounded to see him holding a perfect sculpture of a turtle. It's bumpy, mottled shell. A leathery neck holding a spotty head with two dark eyes.
"Wow!" I exclaim. "That is amazing. Wow!" I say again as I continue to look at the turtle. "How did you do that so fast?"
"My Dad is a great teacher," he replies with a smile, "I only do what he shows me." With that he bends down and gently places the mud turtle next to the river.
"Wait!" I exclaim, "Don't leave it there! You could fire and glaze it and sell it. It is very realistic."
"It is realistic, isn't it?" he says looking at me. I glance down at the mud turtle, but it is gone. I look around thinking maybe he put it somewhere else but there is no sign of it.
"Where is it?" I ask as I continue to look around.
"Here, come get a brush," he says walking towards a box next to the table. As I follow him I catch a glimpse of something beneath the water, it looks like a turtle swimming. But it's probably just the light playing tricks.
He takes a large piece of paper out of the box and lays it on the table. Then he pulls out a single fine paint brush and an artist's palette with a beautiful array of water colors on it.
"Do you live here?" I ask, "I mean up in this mountain?" I say sweeping my hand around to indicate what I mean.
"Yes, this is our home," he says as he hands me the brush.
I look confusedly at him but he offers no further explanation. He simply says "Paint it," as he walks and sits down on the river's edge.
I look down at the large piece of white paper spread out on the table, the paint palette lying next to it and the brush in my hand. "Paint what?" I ask, but I get no reply. Yesh seems lost in thought as he gently swirls his hand in the water causing diamond effused rainbows to dance upon its surface.
One of the things I enjoyed most about my studies was painting. Sure the computer work was fun, and you can achieve so much more precision. But painting is free. Free from constraints. It is not bound by a screen size. It is not tethered to a desk. It is not restricted to mouse clicks. It is a dance of color and movement that leaves behind a symphony of sight. Randle could never see why I so enjoyed our fine art classes. When we were studying animation in college together, he was always complaining about fine art.
"Why do we have to do this stupid subject? We have computers now," he'd say slumped over his canvas with a bored, mischievous look on his face. This was normally the precursor to some prank. On one occasion after just having been given a fruit bowl still life assignment by our aged, and partially blind teacher, Randle said, "Mrs. Deliah," I am finished."
Somewhat taken aback Mrs. Deliah shuffled over to Randle. All that he had painted was a small dot in the middle of his canvas. "Where is it?" she asked in her quavering voice. "What do you mean?" Randle replied with feigned confusion. "There it is," he said pointing at the spot in the middle of the canvas. "But that's just a spot Randle," Mrs. Deliah said. "No it's not! This is Quantum Art. I've created a miniature version of the still life in exquisite detail. Can't you see it?" Randle replied in a most earnest sounding voice.
Mrs. Deliah leaned forward and squinted intently through her thick coke bottle glasses. "Um, deary..."
"Notice how I have done the apple with the reflection too," Randle added as Mrs. Deliah brought her nose almost touching the page.
"I can't quite see it,” she replied uncertainly, “but I'm sure it's very nice. Maybe next time you can do a life-sized version," she suggested.
"Definitely," Randle replied with his characteristic mischievous grin, "although I may have a future in this quantum art."
I look down and I've been painting a city scene. Tall buildings dominate the painting. And one building in particular - the glass edifice of Platinum Investments International. Why in the world would I choose to paint this. Why? Is this what my life is about? Failure? I could have painted anything, but I paint the icon of my failure.
Why?
I am clutching the paintbrush like a lifeline to sanity.
"You need life."
Once again I am startled by Yesh who is leaning over my painting.
"What do you mean "I need life"?"
"Your painting, it needs life. You're an animator aren't you?" he replies.
"Here, give it life," he says as he places a lump of mud in my hand."
"What? What must I do with this?" I ask somewhat perplexed.
"Make something to give your picture life," he replies.
"Sorry, I may be OK at painting but one thing I was never good at is sculptures. In fact I am not even sure I am able to paint anymore."
However Yesh has already returned to sit by the river leaving me alone with my mocking painting and a lump of mud.
"What in the world am I doing? What am I doing here? My life is a mess and I'm losing my mind in some who-knows-where place with some who-knows-who guy. I should get back to Dana. I need to pull myself together before I totally lose it. I am probably having a nervous breakdown."
Yet once more my hands, like my legs earlier, have betrayed me. I look down and find I have already started making something. It's small delicate form is taking shape in my clumsy hands. The body, the fine beak, the delicate legs. In moments a mud sunbird lies in my hands.
I am still looking at it, a little surprised that I could make one in such detail, when Yesh says, "Well done, now put it in your picture."
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"Put it in your picture," he replies.
I slowly lean forward and place the soft sunbird onto the painting that is lying on the table. Yesh sighs. All of a sudden there is a flash of orange and blue and the sunbird is gone. I look around, confused. "Where's my sunbird?" I ask scanning the floor in case the wind blew it off. And then I see it. It has not gone. A beautiful orange and blue sunbird is sitting in the tree, in my painting, outside Platinum Investments International.
"Yes, that's better," Yesh says behind me.
I immediately spin around to face Yesh. "What in the world happened? Is this some kind of trick? Illusion?"
"What you see is not real," Yesh replies, "but what you don't see, that is real." With that he starts walking away. "Come, I want to give you something."
I am still a little stunned by what just happened, and take a moment before I get up and follow him.