#heolagampa3
Heolagampa had calmed down. The people no longer paid attention to this stranger who had come to brave them. Jean had plenty of time to wander through the narrow streets, even the narrowest and most remote streets of the city.
Here and there, colorful shops displayed their riches. Others, looking more austere, showed only an endless queue of barges. All the inhabitants certainly did not have the same standard of living. Nothing was to be perfect in this world. All the cultures, all the societies with a social vocation, a little bit evolved, which covered this damn planet, had modeled themselves on each other. And for generations, they had fought each other, without really knowing each other, without really recognizing each other. The mysteries of these fratricidal wars escaped these brave men a little, whom a certain power had designated for the slaughterhouse.
The ramparts of Héolagampa stood up well for a good reason. It was not so much to defend himself from a possible aggressor, but to hide what was most abject.
At the corner of one of these dark alleys, Jean discovered what the wise men would not admit: the failure of their social mode. No society being perfect, it presented the same misfortunes as the others. Poverty, disease, isolation, marginalization, and exclusion of what tarnishes the image of a civilization dedicated to the worship of truth, beauty and health. To hide the failure, and to make believe to the barbarians that they too treat their children in the same conditions of mental, moral and spiritual poverty. Failure of the plan which aims to make believe the right cause. But they, the outcasts of society, they have no choice but to survive, and when we must survive, the rebellion takes second place. The man who, in his greatest distress, is no longer able to feed himself, can not feed his hatred and rebellion. On the sidelines, in the low-pit bottoms, far from the light of the haves, he tries to survive on the filth of the society that saw him born ... There was the Truth of Heolagampa. Jean no longer had to look for superior knowledge. The distress of men, his knowledge, is a beginning of fortune. Knowing how to solve the problem, and if it's possible, it's the beginning of misfortune.
Nothing stopped him. Neither these men and women with traits marked by various diseases, nor the stench of the bowels of Heolagampa. Walking in the shit, it brings good luck. For the case, he would be happy for eternity ...
It is in this filthy filth that Jean learned the most about the origins of the city. Some of the interlocutors he met told him what their ancestors had taught them. Tales and legends mingled with the truth. Loss of oral memory, transformation of language, and history was connected only by tiny bits of facts that did not really agree anymore.
They had lost the memory of the first stones that were buried in this rocky land. The ancients spoke of the foundation by the gods. Others thought that the city had appeared one day without anyone being responsible. Finally all kinds of realities that were fiction. But at the bottom of each story was a piece of Truth. She was shining for herself, waiting for more informed eyes to find her. This one, he had to harvest as a goldsmith, the hopper of his brain in the center of the flow of words.
It was then that Jean understood what Gabriel meant when he spoke of the box. Truth shines only for itself. She is her source and her fruit. The beginning and the end. Nothing outside, nothing inside knows what it is. She is !
Little by little, he was going towards the center of Heolagampa. Each time, the same questions. Endless quest for Truth. The stories changed with the social classes, but the background remained the same. Nobody knew the truth about the history of the city.
Meanwhile, the wise men were informed of Jean's progress. They knew where to find him and who his interlocutors were. It was as if they knew about him. They did not intervene in the open. Inheritance of a culture whose intentions they deliberately ignored ...
Jean had stopped at what looked like a popular tavern terrace. The hubbub of public rumors animated the neighborhood. They spoke in words, but Jean knew what was the subject of the conversation: He!
He kept his eyes on his pint. Only his ears were awake, old reflex instinct conservation.
"Have you found what you are looking for?"
The man who had greeted him was standing in front of him. The sun in his back made him look like a shadow from beyond the grave. The populace had suddenly become silent. All eyes were on the two men. Fear and curiosity had taken over ... Jean was still at the bottom of the pint. Sandstone walls between his hands. He was as absorbed. He and his senses outside, and his mind like a fly in the center of a spider's web. Trapped. But, who of the spider, who of the fly was the prey of the other?
"Have you found what you are looking for? Repeated the man."
Jean slowly raised his eyes and said:
"What should I look for? I do not really know anymore. All this time spent with the people of Heolagampa, and no certainty. Yet this city holds in her the continuation of my destiny."
"Your destiny is bound by your name, Sckrall tell ey. This city is only a gateway to another world."
Jean rolled his eyes. Another world ... One more who believed in it. Like Gabriel. Like the others ... doors! More doors, and no one with the keys. Damn road. A fucking labyrinth where the open doors close immediately, without the keys remaining in the possession of the questor.
"Follow me, he told him. It's a place you've certainly heard about but nobody really knows. It's the Temple of Numbers. He stands in front of you, in the center of Heolagampa. It is inside this temple that you will find what you are looking for. When you have found his teachings, you will know what you are really looking for. Few of the mortals had hope to enter this temple. Few have emerged victorious. But, be careful, because once again you will have to choose between two ways. One of these ways leads to death and the other to life ..."
Doors to open again and again, without knowing what is behind. But again, Jean would go to meet this test. Even if he did not feel ready.
The priest accompanied him to the entrance of the temple of numbers. He continued to talk about what had been the quests of some who had faced it.
"The opening of this door is very difficult. There were many who thought they could enter when they did not have the necessary education. The key, they did not have it, but tried to force the lock ... They used stratagems, forcibly, but nothing happened. For those, it was death waiting for them. The temple of numbers can not be defeated like that ... Wisdom. Only wisdom can give you the key ..."
They had reached the door of the temple. The lintel was richly adorned with strange allegories, as well as signs whose interpretation remained mysterious. Even for the old sage who did not remember their senses anymore.
Jean remained silent. His eyes were searching for some indications. Nothing but the silence of a sphinx in need of question ...
He turned to his companion. He, as dumb as a carp, could only shrug his shoulders.
"You have to do it now. I can not tell you more. You stay alone in front of the door. The key is somewhere. The sphinx of numbers knows it. He will question you. Be patient. The only thing I can tell you is that you have to remember the teachings of the rainbow-eyed messenger. She was able to show you the way, as well as things with veiled forms. What you are looking for is in this place, preserved since time immemorial."
Jean was still listening, without saying anything. He remembered what Gabriel had said. Whenever he needed it, someone would be on his way to continue his quest.
The only question was the key. Where could he find her?
"This is what you learned during this time spent among us who will make you find this key. Never use cunning, but discernment. Do not fashion a key to operate the lock. One lock, one key. She can be anywhere in this city, just as she can be at your feet right now ..."
Mechanically Jean looked at his feet, but nothing was there. He nodded. And if at this precise moment of his life was his lucky day, that the key was there at his feet ... The chance to seize! Nothing ! He looked up to see that the sage was nodding his head. No, the key was not there yet!
Jean smirked.
"It was to laugh, he said."
He now knew that the quest for the key would be the most important thing in the days to come. With courage and determination, she would let herself be found if Jean agreed to follow all the indications of the sage.
Many people had fought against the city for this key. This temple was the treasure of a civilization several thousand years old; but the key was not found. The only ones who could access the temple had used cunning or strength and had perished.
Jean's years of research numbered fourteen. Fourteen years to walk the streets and question the inhabitants of Héolagampa, without this damn key finally showing up.
During this time, changes were felt within Héolagampa. The outward mode was like a convulsion. The arrival of Jean in the city had triggered a countdown. The mission of Heolagampa was ending, and the inhabitants of the city had not noticed it. Only some concern.
Jean had ended by learning from the sages and elders of Héolagampa that their people had been the prey of incessant struggles, and that in the world it had been so for all. All wanted to know this secret that they had jealously guarded for centuries and centuries. These peoples, Jean had seen the remains before the walls of the city. They were the weakest of the conquerors. But others had managed to escape, returning to their countries saying that they had found the key ... Jean could not imagine what deep reasons had pushed these people to tear each other in this way . They were all advanced in their degree of evolution, but were seeking absolute power to be conferred by the temple of numbers.
After all, who was to blame? Certainly this people who had created this feeling of envy in others. The violent poison of jealousy and power, when it would have been so simple to share this knowledge ...
This notion of fratricidal warfare turned him away from his research for a time. He wanted to know everything about these wars, these fabulous battles. He was returning to those who still knew what had happened. As he listened to the elders, he saw how men were no longer aware of the legacy they had been tasked with making fruitful.
Everything rested only on the notion of material power. Each one goes from his primary egocentrism, not derogating in this from the law of individualist free will. In this misguidance, they seemed to have ignored the measure of the quest for power. When men deal too much with material power, they lose an important part of their souls.
Certainly, in the past, men rose to fight this plague. But, power, individualism was stronger than the virtues of the soul. It was in the name of the sacrosanct idea of Freedom of Mind and Body that some locked up theirs in prisons worse than hell. This prison was the thirst to possess.
Every people, every civilization, had their prophet promising them the realization of a better world ... As long as the people obey. Provided the people follow this providential man. As long as they obey this law that comes from elsewhere ... The role of the prophet is to say the words from elsewhere. Yes, they came with good intentions, but hell is paved with good intentions. Thirst for power, even in the detachment of the purest ascetic. Pride of asceticism that leads to nothing but the ruin of the soul without compassion for other beings. Disciple, listen to my voice, she is the expression of Truth. In truth, the only thing that emerges is the desire to subjugate the poor souls, and to reign forever over the fate of men.
All have suffered this temptation. They did not know how to beware of the warning that The One Who Knows professes. They wanted to be higher ones, in soul, to others. Their name left in the history of the worlds was the foundation of their revelation. Eternity for them alone ... Fall of the worlds, fall of the prophets, loss of eternity. Truth has no name. She is !
The search for Truth can not be done if we forget for a moment the reasons for our origin. As a result, there would be no people who are an elected people over another. What all peoples wanted to obliterate from their memory is the meaning of their origin. The only thing left to them is a nebulous sense of the words spoken by unfortunate prophets. Failure of the speech. Failure of the idea force.
The search for light is not easy for those who enjoy materialism. It is necessary for the one who wishes to free himself to rise above all the usual concepts taught by persons or groups of so-called intellectuals, who basically seek only their own valorization. It is from this unreason that despots and tyrants are born. They promise mountains and wonders, the absolute power of their people over others. Then is born the greatest thirst for power and servitude ever conceived. Slaves of speech become the proselytes of mental slavery. Time passes without anything else changing. No more slaves until the world is trapped in this suffering of untruth. And then comes the end of a reign, of a word without foundation that the archaisms rehashed over the centuries. Transvestite Truth One in the name of the One Power. Only the tales and legends of a better world remain. Land conducive to a new culture that will strive to regain this golden age. The age of truth, where peoples lived in total harmony. Ruins of truth, stones of spiritual foundations eroded by time, the establishment of a luminous search is only served by darkness.
The human being did not know how to evolve towards the light, he remained prisoner of his material yoke. Who can blame him? The only way for him to attain this immortality promised to him is the path of posterity.
Those who live on this quest for posterity do not know that their story is written by The One Who Knows. It does not matter to him the actions of these men and women who are power hungry. He does not care about their actions, they are his. The author of the great story is him, and no creature can claim its copyright ...
Jean was tormented by all the revelations that were made to him. He thought the task ahead was beyond his strength. Yet he had the feeling that he had to continue his path, and that something extraordinary would happen later.
He had come to understand the whole story of this people, and felt ready to face the door of the temple of numbers.
When the day came, the old sage stood in front of the temple. He was waiting...
Jean saluted him with all the deference befitting this kind of personage.
"Does the temple contain anything that could harm me? Despite everything I've learned, fear is still in me. I do not know if it's the fear of discovering what's hidden in the darkness of these walls, or something else, maybe the fear of not being up to it ... Yet, more than any other, I wishes this mission to be well conducted and as soon as possible. Unfortunately, I do not think I hold this key that you once spoke to me about. If the force that pushed me was not so great, and did not overwhelm my whole soul, I would have dropped this whole story for a long time ..."
The two men looked at each other in silence. The wise man judged Jean's decision.
"Nobody knows the exact content of the temple. It has been sealed for many years and banned in the eyes of ordinary people. Your doubt is legitimate, and I understand that this enigma is bothering you. But if you feel the strength of The One Who Knows, then go ahead, whatever it must cost you, your destiny is the success of this mission. The knowledge you have received must serve you. Only one who is destined to enter through this door can do it. The key is there, within your reach. Remember what I told you. You must never use cunning but the wisdom accumulated during these many years of patient research ..."
Jean listened to the wise man. Gabriel's words mingled with those of this other venerable old man. The time had come to make a decision.
"What is the key? Where is she, he cried, looking around him?"
All these years of research, and the key was still missing. No clues no one knew where to look. How much longer, uncertain waiting? To wait, again and again, and the years that passed by without anything evolving ... Rage and despair ...
The sage left him in front of the heavy bronze doors. Alone, again.
The day was waning, and Jean's face was lit only by the glimmers of the torches that marked the streets of Heolagampa.
The solution had to be elsewhere. He knew he could count on his dreams to find a solution. The rainbow-eyed messenger would surely help him find the solution.
The night was shattering his hours, and Jean could not sleep. A few fleeting memories came to the surface, but nothing obvious. And then, suddenly, one of his dreams resurfaced.
He had gone to the stars, circled the constellations, and after that journey he had fallen back to earth. A large well was standing next to him, his big gaping mouth seemed to want to suck it. What was done.
Followed a vertiginous fall that was to last a long time. Then, just as suddenly, it emerged from it, as ejected. Instead of falling back to the ground, he was heading toward other stars that were no longer as familiar to him as at the beginning of his dream.
In this unknown universe, he was moving towards a planetary system where eighteen planets were located. His speed of movement was going down. The orbits of the first seven planets were traversed without hindrance. Arrived at the eighth, he felt like put into orbit. End of the trip, beginning of the wait ...
From above, this planet looked very much like the one he had left, but strangely it did not seem to him that it was inhabited. Before he could understand anything, he was thrown to the ground ...
A moment of forgetfulness, an eternity, perhaps, and the memory of an awakening. He was lying on the floor. His body was vibrating as if he had a high fever. Something came from the center of this world, and took possession of his body.
His eyes wide open could not distinguish anything. The planet seemed real, but everything it contained did not seem to have any consistency. Mists and vapors, mirages and illusions. No movement. Silence and immobility ...
Jean was trying to discern something. These waves coming from the ground had to be the fruit of some entity.
Nothing ! Nothing but the throbbing beat of the waves. A series of eight, then a series of sixty-four, then another one of five hundred and twelve, and so on. His mental calculation ability was not enough to complete this account. Strangely, as he counted, the waves seemed to take shape. A kind of plasma was floating beside him. Other strange shapes were formed as the vibrations became more pronounced and the proto-forms multiplied. Then, all of a sudden, they turned into a blinding light, encompassing all that this world could count ... A lightning leaving behind a huge black hole ...
Awakening with a start, his body moist, he shivered as if he had a high fever. All around him was flickering as if illuminated by the fragile flame of a candle ready to go out. His eyes were looking for familiar objects. There he was never so scared. All he could observe was reversed.
He was not sure if he was in a dream world or if he was in a different reality. Strange impression of being on the border of two worlds ...
It was only by force of will that he managed to regain his senses and put everything back in place. He did not know where he came from.
The streets of Heolagampa were deserted. The shadows on the walls were like the ghosts of his dreams. Was it a dream?
A cock crowed announcing golden dawn.
The streets grew quiet. Jean was still at the door of the temple of numbers.
The wise man, warned by some secret messenger, approached Jean.
"You have proof of what I told you the other day. You must not try to find out what is behind the mirror. You might lose your head. Do not look for solutions in your dreams. The key is in our world ..."
He leaned over Jean and took him under his arms. The rising he said to him:
"In spite of this error of course, which surely has exhausted you, you knew how to draw a force which was at the bottom of your being. Only this force could make you return to reality. Without it, you would have lost yourself forever in the gates of the universe. He who knows must have good reasons for having given you this strength. Certainly he needs your help, as you need his ..."
"But, the key ... where is the key? Jean was shaking the old man."
"The key?" He put his hand on Jean's heart.
"Have you not understood that the key is He who knows! She has always been in you and you did not know it. He granted you a favor that few have received and you, blind as you are, you could not understand."
Jean lowered his eyes. He did not know what to answer. The wise man said nothing. Everything had been said.
Back to back, everyone would continue his way. Jean disappeared into the gloomy alleys of Heolagampa ...
One morning, the sage had invited all the people of Heolagampa to approach the door of the temple of numbers.
They had to see what some of their ancestors had seen. A man would defy the bronze doors, and disappear forever in this dreaded building.
As usual, the people went about their invectives and jeers. Many of them knew Jean. The bets were going well. Thousand against one that he would not escape alive ...
Then, silence. Jean crossed the crowd, like a champion, like a king ...
He was in front of the doors. Nothing interested him anymore. He put his hands on one of the doors. He caressed her, as if to tame him. Cold and hot at the same time.
Always this heavy silence. Then he turned to the mute crowd. A last glance, like a bravado against this people who had wanted his loss, and who on that day was certain that he would never see him again.
Another look at the sage, to reassure himself. He laid a cordial hand on his shoulder, the last sign of a blessing before the final test.
Nothing could hold Jean back.
Without forcing the palms of his hands, the doors opened. A dull clamor rose from the people. Jean rushed into the crack of the doors.
All Heolagampa covered his head as a sign of mourning. Everything was finished. No dragon had come to take Jean's flesh. No untoward event had destroyed the city. But a sort of order from the bottom of each of them had scattered them. They would go home and make their packages. Heolagampa was smoking golden dust raised from the ground by this teeming population. The gates of Heolagampa were opened, and each crossed them without looking back. Each family was a rose petal which, on the wings of the wind, went to other horizons. The power of the rose had come to an end. Naked, she could not attract the laborious bee and dispense her sweet nectar. The bee was in the center of the temple, and the nectar of the gods flowed in his bowels.