‘What it would take you to believe that you have found
the ultimate Truth?’ His interlocutor asked our protagonist.
That was the stupidest question he ever heard, he thought. Yet,
his initial impression, of the obviousness he thought the answer had, faded
away when he couldn’t find any words to form it.
‘Well, everyone’, he heard himself say, without being sure of what his next sentence would be, ‘has different standards to that question, influenced by their character, their environment and their experiences. No one can really be objective. I don’t even trust what would convince me as the ultimate Truth. In order to really make a believer out of me, I have to have multiple people’s accounts; people that I will know every little detail about them.’
Hearing himself say that, he realised how that gaze of his interlocutor
penetrated the deepest corners of his brain, enlightening parts that his ego
had left in the shadows. Up until now, he thought that he despised other
people’s opinions. He felt that he was one of the special ones; he had set
the quest for the ultimate Truth as his life purpose, and everyone else was
just an opportunity to gain information or experiment on. Common, simple
people, that don’t seem to appreciate his dedication of the only goal that
really mattered. They were just marks upon his treasure map, with the big X
being replaced by the ultimate question mark. I guess he never read Douglas
Adams. He only read history books. He had dedicated his whole life in the
search of the Truth, studying worldwide history and anthropology.
This gaze upon him, had such a great impact; he suddenly
realised that he must have been just a mark on somebody else’s map. That his
‘mission’ was not as personal as he thought. That the call for this quest was
universal, spreading across all times and places and peoples, probably in all
possible dimensions.
‘You mentioned that you’d need to know everything that
has ever influenced them. How do you imagine that? Elaborate your thoughts.’
‘I don’t know. It’s so hard to describe reliably any
memory, or feelings. Even if there was a way to solve the issue of the amount
of information, from multiple people’s accounts, I would still doubt the
accuracy of it.
‘So, what if you, yourself, would live to be these
different people? And, at the end of them (are 9 enough?) having the memories
of them all, what if then you’d have found a common component. Would that be
enough for you to believe that you have found the ultimate Truth?
He hesitated a bit, but he thought that this was not time
for hesitations.
‘Yes.’
He then immediately felled so stupid. It was clear, though
he wasn’t sure how, it was so profound, that his interlocutor was in total
control of the situation, all his superiority feelings turned now into fear and
panic.
He thought that this conversation was pointless. He was
probably dead anyway. For sure he was dead. The most plausible explanation of
this conversation’s purpose was to torture him. He was interrogated for some
abstract ideas, instead of being explained his current and future state. He
could sense that his opponent knew what he was thinking, but at that point he
couldn’t care less. All his panic turned into nihilism with a hint of hate.
‘I’ll give you what you’ve asked for,’ said casually
the voice of the penetrating gaze.
Nihilism gone.
‘What?’
‘I’ll give you 9 lives; that you can choose. In each of
them you must keep looking for a common Truth. I will let you sustain the
memory of this aim.’
Our hero didn’t know where to start. Let alone choose 9
lives. He raised his eyes, for the first time, to see his opponent. He could
sense his gaze before, but he didn’t dare to look straight up. Still the
spotlight on him didn’t really let him see clearly.
He envied his opponents position. Plus, history had taught
him that there is some kind of karma law, that seems universal. Justice could
be the Truth. He heard himself talk again.
‘Let me be a judge. Investigate the Truth in principals
and the law.’
‘That’s a terrible idea,’ was the last thing he
though.
….
‘Well. What have you found as Truth in this first life?’
‘Justice? No! Very inefficient. I was sending to prison a
father for self-medicating, because it was the law.. only to have his son
brought to me some years later. So many fathers.. so many sons. No that can’t
be the ultimate Truth.’
‘Fair enough. What’s next?’
‘Compassion. Giving. Relationships. This is what these
sons needed.’
‘See you later then.’
….
‘Welcome again.’
‘This is ridiculous. Trying to care for others, I forgot
to take care of myself, and I became bitter, and resentful and then feeling
guilty all the time. Also, I couldn’t really communicate with anyone in deeper
level, not anyone else seemed to actually communicate with or trust anyone
else. Let’s try fortune.’ If the Truth was universal, he might as well
search it in comfort, he thought.
So, he became a Stock market agent, at the time of the stock
market crash, in 1929, with an ‘inexplicable’ hunch.
In the beginning that went well.
….
He was back again. He wished the nihilists was right about
afterlife; but there he was, again.
‘Don’t really want to talk about it. I want out. You know
that I killed myself. That must be enough to break the deal, I guess. Just
leave me alone.’
No response.
‘Love is not for sale. Money won’t help.’ He
concluded.
‘Thus, Truth is not to be found in fortune and comfort?’ I’m
stuck here; waiting for your reports. You must be willing to communicate with
me in order for this to work.’
That was rubbish. He could sense that his interlocutor knew
everything.
‘There is no such thing as comfort in life! Don’t you get
it? No matter how much money you have you can’t eliminate struggles, and you
can’t buy love. I want out. Nothing matters anyway.’
‘What would your next life be.’
He knew there was no way out, so he said:
‘At the end beauty will save the world, as Dostoyevsky
would say.. maybe. What kept me going -well, at least till I killed myself- was
the trees and the sunsets; the flowers and the birds singing. Art. Art must be
the answer. Societies are operating on dead ideas, on long dead people’s ideas.
Artist are the only ones that see that. The only ones that watch when they see
and listen when they hear. I want to be an artist. Test if that would confirm
as Truth.’
….
Back again.
‘Welcome to the other side.’
‘Many self-indulgent artists are perverts. No universal
Truth can be in there. Let’s try science.’
….
‘How did science go?’
‘No ultimate Truth. Mostly theories. I need to double
check. What if I live a life based in tradition? Would I say after such a life
that science is the universal Truth?’
…
‘So?’
‘That was so so bad! I was only just following instructions;
science never even came to my mind again. I became a monk, and at the end the abbot was prosecuted for harassment
and the monastery was shut down. I read a lot of books that claimed they had
the ultimate Truth though.
I am
getting tiered of this game. If there is Truth that is so ultimate.. let it
come to me. Tell her that I’ll be at the first Woodstock. I’m going to party
this time.’
….
‘Hello
party boy.’
‘Wow.
Not sure who you are mate, but I’ll tell you one thing. We are all connected in
a cosmic soup of matter and energy, in a collective consciousness, that
manifest itself, creating stories and.. I have to go back. I have to tell
everybody. I will be the hero, I will free the people from the illusion of separateness,
I will fight the Dragons of Chaos and restore Order to the degenerated
civilization, sharing the treasures of the Dragon with all the peoples, uniting
all Nations..’
‘OK, OK!
Bye.’
….
‘Why so
silent this time?’
‘Emmmmm.
I might have killed my wife because she was cheating on me with my best
friend..
‘Oh.’
‘War.
Could it be war? Maybe it was the war..’
‘What?’
‘Well I
wanted to fight dragons and stuff, I thought I was the only one who was
Connected.. That doesn’t even make sense now that I say it out loud. I couldn’t
bring Peace by War. How did I even think that would work?
Peace
that would be a nice Truth to be ultimate.
Yet..
you know something. None of this make any kind of sense. There was no Truth
that was so ultimate to manifest itself in all of my lives. There was only Me.
I was the only something that was common in these lives. It was only Me..’ he mumbled. ‘It was only me’ he
whispered.
‘You
know what?’ he
continued with renewed strength. If it is Me, the only common in my lives,
the only constant, the only thing universal, for my last one.. I choose to be
You!’
He was
surprised with his own words. He paused to check for reactions. He raised
finally his eyes strait up, looking for his interlocutor, who seemed to stay
perfectly still. But this time he didn’t turn his eyes to avoid the spotlight.
He kept looking till his eyes got used to it and he could start to see behind
the light with increased clarity. He was finally looking at those eyes that had
molested his soul, those eyes that gave him nine lives, those eyes that..
.. was his! It was his eyes. It was his face. It was him!
‘Him! I was him the whole time. The other.. was him. He
was..
‘Wait. What?’
….
The end
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