Whispers Through the Veil of Being

Whispers Through the Veil of Being

Contents & Author's Note

The Teacher Part I: Whispers Through the Veil of Being

The Teacher Part II: A Wailing Whitend

The Teacher Part III: The Leaking Veil

The Teacher Part IV: In Search for the Past

The Teacher Part V: Scratching the Surface

The Teacher Part VI: Beneath the Surface

The Teacher Part VII: Facing the Vistas of Emptiness

The Teacher Part VIII: A Soothe of Distraction

The Teacher Part IX: Friday Morning

The Teacher Part X: Friday Evening

The Teacher Epilogue I: The Facade of Existence

The Teacher Epilogue II: The Ward

The Teacher Epilogue III: The Final Pages

The Man Part I: The Man

The Man Part II: The Older Man

The Man Part III: The Figure

The Man Part IV: The Wise Man

The Man Part V: The Conversations

The Man Part VI: The Center

The Man Epilogue: The Pain

The Island Part I: Innumerable Manifestations of Truth

The Island Part II: The Early Truthologists

The Island Part III: Ailments of Revealment

The Island Part IV: Collateral Effects of Understanding

The Island Part V: Blessings of Distraction

The Island Part VI: Formulation Against the Impossible

The Island Part VII: The Subjective Sense of I

The Island Part VIII: A Spiraling Descent Through the Illusions

The Island Part IX: Phenomenology of Truth

The Island Epilogue I: The Revelation

The Island Epilogue II: The Consequences

Copyright

Contents & Author's Note

*

Teacher

Facade of Existence: Veil of Being I

Man

Futility of Rebellion: Interlude

Island

Phenomenology of Truth: Veil of Being II

*

Author's note:

This was meant to be a real book.

The Teacher Part I: Whispers Through the Veil of Being

*

Part I: Whispers Through the Veil of Being

*

Lochson was sitting at his desk, reading a book in silence. The book covered a considerable portion of french history, beginning from the revolution, then ending in Napoleon's failed conquest of Russia and his subsequent exile to the island of Saint Helena. The book was well-written but heavy reading, so he was deep in thought when he heard the sound. He paid no mind to it at first – only after second time, when it seemed to emanate directly above him, he felt the need to turn his head up in search of it. There was nothing, of course, but when the sound repeated itself for the third time - behind him this time - he closed the book and stood up. He felt deeply distressed for no apparent reason. The sound seemed familiar somehow, as if he'd heard it before but hadn't paid attention to it. He tried searching his memory for previous occurrences of it but found nothing. Only a disquieting, clear clarity of his mind being aware of its own self at this very moment filled his consciousness. He sat down and tried to concentrate on the book once more, but the attempt proved in vain.

*

Lochson stared at the tree outside through the kitchen window. At least there's no ravens this time. The storm must've chased them off. He turned around, drank the last of the coffee from his cup and noticed it cold already. For how long I've been standing here? He glanced at the livingroom clock through the doorway. The old clock was hidden in shadows, but he guessed the time at least midnight.

  He put the cup down, next to the other dirty dishes, and walked into the bathroom. He approached the sink, thinking he'd only wash his face and then retire for the night. As he turned the faucet on he felt his eyes forced to glimpse the mirror. He quickly averted his gaze and turned to leave, but then noticed the razor he was holding. He put it down and left the bathroom, making sure the door clicked shut. 

*

As the harsh rays of the morning sun woke Lochson he felt fatigued, unsure whether he'd fallen asleep during the night at all. He got up and, with stumbling legs, walked to the window to shut the blinds. Didn't I make sure they were shut? After shutting the blinds he clothed himself and walked to the kitchen, intending to make coffee. The cabinets were empty. Great, just what I needed.

  Lochson though about skipping the day, but then decided to muster the strength - It's the last day after all. Perhaps I can make it. He walked to the hallway, put on his shoes and exited the apartment.

  He made his way down the stairs and stepped outside through the double-doors of the apartment complex. They were left hanging ajar as he walked away, and for some reason this felt hilarious for Lochson. Just like my mind these days. Always hanging ajar, not keeping anything in. He found his car from the parking lot and headed for the school.

*

The day passed in a typical, clouded haze. Lochson didn't pay much attention what he was doing or lecturing during the classes. It didn't matter much these days, as the children never listened to him anyway and even less cared.

  Lochson suddenly found himself in a room especially familiar to him - it was the one where he teaches history, and it was usually the last lecture of the day. He was already thinking himself out of the school when he heard a voice, different from the others. It was one of the girls, and even though the room was in full cacophony as usual, this one got his attention;

Are you alright Mr. Lochson?

The girl's voice was the usual high and cheerful, full of youthful energy, but now with a hint of genuine worry. It was that hint that got his attention. He answered to the girl;

Yes... I- Sorry. What was I saying before?

You were telling us about Napoleon and his conquest to Russia but then...

Yes, yes. Sorry about that. I didn't sleep well last night.

Lochson made a poor attempt at smiling and continued his lecture – if only for the sake of this singular girl who had paid attention to his ramblings. A thought occurred to him; If not for her I might've killed myself already.

*

The bell rang and the children began rushing out. Lochson looked about the now empty classroom – then his eyes happened upon the girl who was still sitting at her place. Lochson asked, confused as to why the girl hadn't followed the other children out;

Why are you still here?

The girl was a little shy, as usual, unsure what to say. She looked outside, to the yard, where the other kids were running towards the bus-stop. She looked back and said;

You... you're a good teacher. Not like the others who...

She turned her head away again and continued;

But something's not right, is it? What's wrong?

Lochson tried to smile but knew his face must've looked horrible with those sullen, tired eyes, messy hair and hazy gaze. He hadn't showered in weeks. It's not like he hadn't wanted to, he simply couldn't muster the strength for it. Every ounce of his will was used to getting up in the mornings and dragging himself to work. The girl persisted;

Have you talked about your problems to anyone? The school counselor might listen...

I don't have time nor strength for this. Lochson cut her short;

Look, Yen. It's nothing, trust me. You should go run with the other kids now. The school is over, summer is here.

The girl was about to say something more, but sensed the conversation going nowhere. She put her books into her bag and walked out the classroom, sighing in resignation.

*

Lochson slumped into his teacher’s chair eyes closed and rubbed his forehead. He was shaking with cold tremors. How much longer can I take this? He reached for his backpack and, after searching for a few moments, found his Walkman. He put the headphones to his ears and turned the volume up to near maximum. Rob Halford offered some semblance of peace, and Lochson stood up to leave this wretched place some called school.

*

As he walked out the front doors some of the other teachers were standing there, next to the smoking area, gossiping. One of them glanced at Lochson's direction but paid no further attention. I can smell the contempt emanating from them like dark cloud. Lochson wondered how he still had this job and whether he still would have it after the summer. Not that it matters much. He continued walking. 

*

When he got to his car he noticed it had been sabotaged - the tire being poked through, a screwdriver sticking out the puncture as an obvious insult. He didn't know who'd done it but didn't really care. It could've been any one of them. He looked around, more out of habit than actually thinking he could spot anyone - and sure enough the parking lot was empty. Lochson sighed, turned around and started walking away from the car, not even bothering to remove the screwdriver.

*

The distance to his apartment wasn't that long, only a few kilometers, but it felt longer now without a car. Lochson rarely walked the commute, instead preferring to drive or sometimes ride the bike when the weather was good. This morning it still had been raining a bit in an aftermath of yesterday's storm, so he'd used the car.

  When finally stepping inside his apartment he wished he had taken the bike, then thought it have been best to not go at all and skip the day. Then he glanced at the rope hanging from the ceiling fan and thought the third option might've been the best.

*

He was still standing in the hallway, contemplating on the third option when the phone on his desk rang. He answered;

Who is this?

Hello and good day, I'm calling on behalf of Bestcare Industries, we have excellent news for you my friend-

No thank you. A pause. Although...

There was a moment of confused silence from the other end. He then continued;

Although you might've saved my life with this call, so thank you for that, I guess. Good day.

He hang up without waiting for a reply.

*

Lochson felt tired and went to bed. After rolling around for a while, not being able to fall asleep, he got up and went to his desk to look for his journal. Sleeping is out of question... again. He unlocked the upper drawer and produced a small tome with no discernable outside markings. Insides of it, however, were nearly filled with shaky scribbles. He took a pen and began writing.

*

I'm not sure how long this has been going on. My memory is gone – I don't remember even the last week's events clearly. I do know, however, that this condition has been getting worse. It's evident, if not solely by my own perspective, but by the fact that I've consistently been treated worse and worse by people around me. It's like I'm sick – not physically, and I don't think mentally either, but somehow... it's more deeper than that. Other teachers don't greet me anymore, they avoid me like plague. I'm not sure their actions are conscious. It seems more like that they feel something is wrong with me – something contagious perhaps, but not realize it on a rational level, so they simply avoid me and only have contact when absolutely necessary. 

It's not just teachers. The kids tread me like air, too. It's not like that's new though – I've never been a good teacher, but lately it's like they barely remember to attend my classes and during them they pay absolutely no attention to anything I say. It's like I'm not even there and they have the hour free to do what they please. I've long since ceased all efforts to keep any semblance of discipline. There's no point and I'm too tired anyway. The sole exception seems to be that one girl whose name I barely even remember (Yen?). She seems to notice me, pays attention to my pathetic attempts of lecturing and sometimes asks if something's wrong with me. It's both sad and funny at the same time – the only person that takes any notice of me is a girl who's my pupil. I should be the one taking care of her problems. I don't mean... she's obviously smart... but she's only a kid. If she's the only one caring whether or not I off myself then I don't think my chances are too good. If she's the only one that would even notice -

*

The phone rang again. Just as I was beginning to forget, damn phone, should've unplugged it. He got up and answered;

Who is this?

It's Mia. Thomas has been in an accident. Said the female voice.

Lochson stood still for a second. He tried to remember who Thomas or Mia was. Then the realization hit him.

What- how? Where's he? Is he okay?

We're at the hospital. I- Yes, he's alive. Sleeping... I don't... I'm not sure...

The voice felt off, like someone speaking through a loudspeaker giving some kind of trivial announcement after a long day at work. She was obviously in shock.

I'll be there. Lochson said and hung up.

*

Lochson ran up to the parking lot and was reminded that he had left the car at school. He cursed and ran to the bus-stop. Checking the notice board he realized it'd take too long for the next bus to arrive. He looked around for a solution, in vain, and started running.

*

It didn't take that long to run to the hospital which was only a kilometer away, but for Lochson it seemed like a dozen at least. He glanced at his wrist, having forgotten he no longer wore a watch. He took a few breaths at the main doors, collecting himself, then pulled the doors open and walked in.

*

The hospital was crowded with commoners as usual. Lochson saw no staff anywhere and the reception booth was empty as well. He ran towards the ER-wing. Along the way he spotted a nurse sitting in a small breakroom. He asked about Thomas and continued.

  Soon he arrived at the closed door of Thomas' room and suddenly felt like backing up, not wanting to go inside. Not because he didn't want to see him, but for... there's no explaining it. It was simply a feeling, a deep sense of dread – something very wrong was residing in that room. It was like a curse or disease, not physical nor mental, but something deeper, stemming from the very core of being itself – not a condition of the body nor the mind... but a condition of... something else.

  If he wasn't in such a general state of disarray Lochson might've examined the condition more closely and notice the similarities of this affliction between him and Thomas, but he was too nervous, too exhausted to think clearly. He pushed the door open and stepped in.

*

Mia was quietly conversing with a white-jacketed physician next to Thomas' bed. An old, tall man with a long white beard – the name Harrison read on the label of his jacket. He seemed stoic and understanding while Mia seemed distant, her face still, a single lock of red hair in front of her left eye. Lochson looked at Thomas, who was lying on the bed.

  What a mess, what in the world has happened to him? All kinds of contraptions and bandages covered his body, only a small portion of the face left free underneath it all. His head seemed swollen – it was obvious he had been in a hasty surgery recently and he was soundly asleep, perhaps in coma. The doctor turned to Lochson and greeted him, stepping forward to shake his hand.

Mr. Lochson, I assume? His voice was calm.

Yes, I am. How does it look?

Well. The doctor looked at Thomas and continued;

Broken ribs, some internal bleeding, bruises and the like. The usual that follows crashes of this magnitude. All in all, he took it quite well. Nothing life-threatening at the moment. His head, however, is another story. A short pause.

We did an emergency surgery to relieve the building pressure as his left hemisphere was filling with blood. We don't have a brain surgeon  in the hospital – he's on his way from Tammerfors. Can't tell much more until he arrives. Another pause, and when Lochson said nothing the doctor continued;

He's alive, yes, but it's impossible to determine true extent of his wounds at this moment. I'm sorry.

Lochson tried to collect his thoughts but couldn't really make sense of it all. He looked at Mia, who was still staring at Thomas with blank eyes.

How long until the surgeon arrives? Lochson asked.

It's about two hours' drive, so he should be here any moment. You can stay here and wait until he arrives and examines him, but it could still take a while. The doctor coughed and added;

Although you should wait outside and let him rest. In fact, it's against regulations for both of you to even be here now. The standard wait period-

I understand. Lochson said and turned to Mia.

You want to get something to eat or drink... coffee maybe?

Mia's eyes were still hazy but she nodded.

*

They went to the cafeteria to pass time. Even though the hospital was crowded this area was nearly empty as most of the people were in the lobby, waiting for their turn to see a doctor. As it's usual the case in small towns such as this, the hospital was understaffed and the waiting times were atrocious, though most people had gotten used to it a long time ago. Lochson fetched coffee for them from the machine and they sat down. After some time of silence Lochson started the conversation with a preceding cough;

So, what happened?

Mia took a sip from her cup and stared in the distance, not focusing her eyes in anything in particular.

He was... I was waiting for him. He was supposed to pick me up.

Considering his words carefully, Lochson asked what had happened. Mia answered after a short pause;

Another driver hit him from the side. Driver's side... his side. He was just crossing the lights when it happened. The other guy - it was red lights for him. He's now in the custody. The police took him in away after he was briefly examined here. He was drunk.

It did not take long for Lochson to put all this into a mental image; Thomas starting to speed up after the lights turned green. A drunk idiot charging through the traffic full speed, perhaps noticing the lights had turned red, perhaps not. Doesn't matter. The car hits the driver's side, Thomas only having a thin, sheet-steel door in the way of the oncoming vehicle. He hits his head against the glass, hard, and all goes dark.

  Lochson thought but couldn't remember when an accident like this had last happened. There'd been drunk drivers before of course, but they usually kept their speed low and drove into ditches, injuring only themselves. A guy speeding through traffic in broad daylight was unheard of. He wondered who it could've been.

*

Mia had asked something but Lochson missed it. He pardoned and asked what the question was.

Thomas had informed you about our wedding, right?

Lochson searched his memory. It was useless – his head had been in scrambles even before all of this and now it was like poking at low-viscosity soup in hopes of finding any concrete substance. He answered;

No, no he hadn't, I'm sorry... at least I don't remember. I didn't even know you were in town. I didn't even know who you were.

Mia sighed and drank the last of her coffee, then continued;

I can't believe he said nothing to you. You were supposed to be our bestman. The wedding is scheduled... was, scheduled, for the next friday.

Lochson assumed that most likely Thomas had called him and informed of this upcoming event. My head must be in worse condition than I thought. He had no recollection of any wedding, even less of him supposed to being a bestman. Tried as he might, there was no way around the fact that his mind was just a big, messy amalgamation of random thoughts these days.

  Minutes passed, Lochson wasn't sure what to say next. Mia was staring at her empty coffee cup with unseeing eyes.

Well... it seems you have to postpone the wedding, at least for a few days now.

The words held a clumsy semblance of optimism. Lochson understood that most likely it would be a miracle if Thomas would wake up in months - if at all. Mia did not take notice of this thinly-veiled facade and replied;

Yes. I think so too.

*

The Teacher Part II: A Wailing Whitend

*

Part II: A Wailing Whitend

*

Why would they do that? Jack asked. The men were standing by the car, looking at the mutilated tire.

Man is an animal. Lochson replied.

Jack seemed confused and let out a short huh?

There's no real reason. They're just acting by their instincts.

Now you've lost me buddy.

Lochson sighed. The explanation was not worth it, but the words demanded to be uttered.

~

They all loathe me but don't know why. They just do so, unconsciously. The hatred runs deep, so deep that no rationale can reach it and thus they act without questioning themselves. If they were to question, they would simultaneously question their very selves, which would lead them to discover that, deep down, their motivations are pure animalistic ones without any deeper meaning. They think they're something bigger, something 'higher' than the base animal they - we all - are. The truth is that man is kept going by the unknown motivators of his life, masked under the illusions bestowed to him via evolution by mere necessity. To question one's motives would be like tearing down the facade of life itself. Thus, they act, but don't think. The hatred acts as a mask and they don't even dare to try tear it down.

~

Jack was silent for a moment.

~

Then he burst into laughter.

~

Lochson sighed.

*

While sitting in the cafeteria Lochson became aware of his general state of degradation and all the foul odors that his body was producing after having neglected for so long the basic hygiene one needs in his daily life. He pardoned himself with a poor excuse of needing to attend to some trivial task that he had promised to perform for his coworkers. Mia did not take notice or care, opting to still stare at her empty coffee cup.

  Lochson felt, at least for the moment, a bit ashamed for leaving the girl by herself, but soon forgot about her situation altogether as getting back home seemed more and more urgent by the minute. He needed some time alone after all these sudden events. It was all beginning to get too overwhelming.

*

For the first time in months Lochson had felt a surge of energy. He was going by pure adrenaline, a sudden spike of invigorating power that would, however, surely soon dissipate. There was no time to waste and he really needed to shower. He rushed out the hospital doors and ran back home, rushing to the bathroom without even taking the shoes off first. He tore his clothing off and jumped into the shower.

  While enjoying the warmth of the running water he already felt the rush of energy fade. He had planned to quickly shower and find some clean clothes – if there still existed any in the piles – and then get back to the hospital, but after each passing minute that plan seemed ever more discomforting to take on. With great effort he turned the faucet off and stepped out. As he walked out the bathroom he heard a loud, deep rumble and when he looked out the livingroom window it had begun to rain.

*

Lochson was startled by a booming sound that seemed to shift the whole apartment complex. After a few confusing moments he realized that it was the thunder - lightning had struck close, the whole building still shaking from the shockwave as he could hear cutlery and miscellaneous items in the apartment clanking about. He walked to the window and examined the yard, trying to get a look where the lightning had struck. 

*

It was now so dark and raining so heavily that Lochson could only decipher running straits of water on the other side of the window. A distant flash of lightning suddenly illuminated the scenery. The vista outside was something he'd never seen before - the town was replaced by a black sea of writhing mass, the horizon a smooth, slightly curved line that of an immense ocean. There was nothing still in this ocean of semi-viscous liquid, however, as innumerable veins, quivering forms and shapes formed endless intricate patterns on the surface of it. When Lochson stared deep into the waves he could see various humanoid faces, struggling to stay afloat amidst of it all. Then, in an instant, the flash was over and everything was dark again.

*

Lochson turned away, the image still haunting his field of vision. Am I hallucinating? Have I finally gone mad? There was no telling – everything blurred together. His own thoughts and this world, this facade of a world, intertwined and formed an unholy union of formless thoughts and ideas. There's no going back he heard someone say. Lochson spun around, looked about the room. It was the livingroom as before, seemingly nothing unusual about it, yet there was something missing. It took a moment for him to notice it, but then the fact dawned on him – the front door was gone. Instead of it, there was a black, perfectly circular hole of nothing.

*

Lochson approached the hole. It was the most curious phenomenon he had ever witnessed – it was nothing on the surface, yet therein seemed to lurk endless permutations of ancient knowledge. All the answers to the questions you can or even cannot think of he heard a metallic voice say – though not exactly a voice, not even a whisper, but more like a passing thought, a fluke in a constant monotone static of an idling, out-of-station FM-radio. That's right – come closer. Man is simply an animal driven by his instincts and