Make IT Real!, Sander R.B.E. Beals [uplifting novels .TXT] 📗

call thought the basis, others consciousness, but I saw the full picture of it, and it was awesome! I thought myself a very lucky guy, special, but not better than anybody in any way. To me however, having been allowed to clearly see both the static and dynamic structure of the Cosmos made me a very happy guy indeed.

Over time I've told these stories to many a human being, with varying results. Some just look at you blank, other really seem to get it, but only few have yet shown to completely understand what I'm talking about. And that's not because they're dumb, but because my powers of expression are just no match for the awesome beauty of the All. Well, maybe this novel, when it's finished, will be the first attempt that I'm really happy with.....

But of course the full extent of my neural net, like it is for any of us, is way beyond what we are able to express in the world around us. We literally are icebergs, submerged below the ocean of consciousness for the larger part. This novel is just my honest attempt to increase my buoyancy, to show a little more than what is usually seen.

Thus, to make sure I could tell the whole story, I had to resort to an alias. Some of you may not be able to swallow such an effort at concealing the truth. But let me ease your minds: throughout the story, there are numerous hints and clues as to the real identity of me.

Most of it is highly autobiographical, and as such readily recognizable. Even the title page holds a proper clue.....

4444AD, Day 227, 21:12, Home

Call me quaint, but I have this thing for ancient music: to build an atmosphere to give the opening of the pyramid a bit of flair, I play a bootleg recording of Rush's 2112, a story about temporal discovery as well. Actually, the young man singing has found an ancient guitar, and is trying to make his fellow men discover just what this marvelous thing can do....

Having just opened the pyramid on its one side, I sit there and look inside it for a moment. Then I change my mind, and call out for Selina, who was busy minding her own business within hearing range. She comes, curious to know just what I'm so anxious about. She's seen me come in with it about an hour ago, but I never breathed a word about where I got it, and what it was.

“Hey you sneaky little bastard, what have you been hiding from me?”, she laughs. I explain about my old home, and tell her this was hidden on the roof, and seems to have withstood the fangs of change. Together, side by side, we peer into the marble pyramid, with its one side opened onto the table top....

It seems to be separated into three compartments, each one smaller than the one below it. The top compartment, right below the locking mechanism of the capstone, holds only one single item. It is a crimson big-bellied Buddha, and I know that little guy from somewhere: he was given to my past self by his daughters, when they returned from a vacation away from him. As Selina reaches in to retrieve it, she quickly finds out it's anchored to the marble shelf that it sits on. Apparently it was stuck to its shelf with three wads of some sticky substance, to prevent it from tumbling all the way through its cramped space, when the pyramid was handled. As my love breaks its contact, and lifts the Buddha out, an even smaller object drops out from under him: apparently, it was hollowed out to specifically hold the other item. A small plastic tag, with four golden slits on one side. No way into it, just that plastic thingy and the few golden contacts.

My scanners are picking up micro-miniature electronics, and a single chip with a very orderly configuration. I figure it to be a memory device of some kind, but cannot immediately pinpoint the weird contacts. Luckily enough, there's always the Google Vision Search: I snap a picture of the blue-gray chip, and send it through. Not half a second later there are half a million hits, pinpointing our find to be a MicroSD card of 4 gigabytes.

We decide to leave the contents of the stick until phase two of the discovery, and focus on the lower two shelves of the pyramid. “What's that big box at the bottom?”, my lovely one wants to know. I take it out, stuck to the bottom just like the Buddha, and examine it up close. It measures about seven by twelve by twenty-five centimeters, and it appears to be a wooden box with a lid, which has three millimeter thick sides.

A quick Google Vision Search reveals that it is a Dutch cigar box, which held fifty of the lung-threatening brown sticks. People used to smoke them, or to say it more clearly, they lit them up, and then inhaled the smoke into their lungs, thereby inadvertently shortening their life spans. As I open it up and look inside, there is a bunch of papers there, all handwritten in neat, flowing letters.

Since it is paper, the sheets have not quite survived the ravages of time: as I take them out of the box one by one, I notice that ink has faded, and in some cases the chemicals used in producing the paper have eventually made the paper develop a nice tan, which isn't quite beneficial to its readability. Among all the handwritten stuff a printed message sticks out. It is in Dutch, and luckily my past involvement with the language allows me to read it. Three deaths, mere days apart, all in the same home. I gather it to be a home for the elderly, because the humans written about all reached very respectable ages for the time they lived in.

The last one seems of particular interest: Jacob Narroway is said to be a wordsmith, a poet. Might this box have been his legacy? But what might he be with regard to my past self? I flow back into my past, attempting to resolve the issue. No such luck, it'll have to wait till later. But I'm confident I'll be able to pick it up after having let my mind freewheel a bit about it.

As I later discover, reading the poetry wouldn't be half as difficult as it seemed to be, because my 21st century self had the foresight to scan all papers before closing the pyramid, and putting them onto the MicroSD card also. I later spent quite a few evenings enjoying the humorous adventures of Jacob Narroway, and those around him.

As Selina talks about turning in early, not because she's tired but because she plans on going elsewhere in her dreams, I follow her beautiful form to our bedroom. It doesn't take her long though, to reach the vast expanses of Dreamland. I on the other hand am wide awake, and decide to spend some more time in the novel I'm currently reading. I momentarily doubt whether to continue in Going Within, or whether to start in the new novel that was on the second shelf of the pyramid. Well, I did start Going Within first....

'the Shopkeeper'

Beneath, outside the spherical dwelling, we briefly discuss the route to take. We decide to circle the hill that the house is on, which will amount to a five mile walk. Joyfully, we follow Jane's lead, down the hill in the direction of the Elders' house. I suddenly notice that the birds' song here is even more delightful than it is topside. Much more variations, more intensity, a real concerto of Nature. Of course I cannot let this slide, and mention it to my companions. All the surface dwellers agree with me: it's been a long time ago (if ever) that they heard birds sing so delightful.

Then, as we reach the circular pathway that leads around the hill, Kayim points out a shop to us. It is not a shop in the outer worldly sense, since there is no money down here. No, to 'buy' something here, you must part with another of your possessions. Therefor, you will find no price tags in this store. It all depends on what the shopkeeper thinks of your belongings. We enter the building, which harbors a very diverse collection of items. Not just lifeless items, but also some peculiar animals. Valerie is particularly taken by a parrot-like bird, sitting on a perch in the middle of the store. It is not tied down or anything, but just sits there, free as the proverbial bird, staring back at my eldest. But then, the funniest of things happens: as Valerie talks to her younger sister about the bird, it interrupts her in fluent Dutch!

Apparently it is capable of speech, but much more eloquent than our outer worldly parrots. When asked, the shopkeeper admits that this is a so-called Thesaurus parrot. It has a highly developed sense of language, that dwarfs the abilities of the Universal Translator that became so popular due to Gene Roddenberry's Star Trek series. It speaks all dialects spoken both inside and outside of our globe. Valerie turns to me, with those big puppy-dog eyes: “Can we get it, Dad?” I tell her that if she wants it, she will have to deal with the shopkeeper. Timidly, she approaches the bird first, and asks it if it wants to go with her. It hops onto her outstretched hand, and gently she places it on her shoulder. With the object of her affection, she then asks the shopkeeper if there is anything that he might wish in return for the bird. As I watch, she closes her eyes, half fearing that he'll name something that's priceless to her. “I want to give my little daughter a present”, the shopkeeper says, “and I've been searching for a nice bracelet to give to her. The one on your wrist seems adequate payment for the bird.” Valerie sighs with relief. She hands over the bracelet, and also throws in the matching necklace, ecstatic as she is, to be let off this easily.

While all this was happening, my spying eye also spotted a nice souvenir for home: a globe like the ones we have up there, only this one can be split in half, and reveals the Inner Earth. I approach the shopkeeper, offering him my carbon pocketknife, but he resolutely refuses: “You'd better keep that knife for a while longer. I'm quite sure you're gonna need it pretty soon!” Flabbergasted by such a revelation, I stick the knife back in its sheath, and join the others to leave the store, forgetting my intention to buy the globe.

As we circle the hill, enjoying the luscious green surroundings, I feel I'm being stung, like by an insect. I quickly check my leg, but nothing seems to be amiss. We continue our walk back home, returning just in time for a fabulous dinner.

That night, the itching of my leg gets worse. Checking again, I find a black spot, the size of a tea mug on my leg. I show it to Sinan, who identifies it as the handywork of the Obuchi Beetle. Its bite is not dangerous to males, so I'm in no apparent danger. Sinan does check my coat however, to see if the beetle has taken refuge there. He does so mainly because the sting of the beetle is far more dangerous to females, and there are quite a few in the house. However, we do not find the little culprit.

Next morning, it appears that it was still there: as Gina steps into her shoes, that are parked next to mine, she feels something crawling onto her foot. Before she can shake it off, the irritating sensation of the Obuchi beetle's sting enters her nervous system. Kayim is quick to corner the scurrying beetle, and locks it in a