Chazzie: Part III

As he stepped in, it was indeed a different world. Each element interwoven, entwined and interelated with the tree they inhabited was gracefully lit by golden pot lights, lamps, and wax candles. Vaulted ceilings of ancient branch and root held each wall, mantle, and shelf like the supportive embrace of a mother cradling her babes. A strangely bright daytime light permeated the windows, casting a natural glow into the entrance and stairwells of this botanical shrine of knowledge and wisdom. Chazzie didn’t bother to guess how this particular phenomenon was made possible, but instead allowed himself to be enveloped by the quietude of the moment. Scanning his surroundings, he concluded that to simply call it a library, would feel demeaning at best. A mossy, musty scent directed his attention to the books, tomes, and scrolls which lined its warmly lit walls, like colour-tinted segments of ancient bark.

“If this is only the entrance…” he mused.

Sensing someone looking at him, he peered to his right: Her long, wavy golden auburn hair, draped upon a medieval-style maiden’s dress, she cast upon him the most adorably sincere and quizzical smile, with a sparkling gaze he had no defence for. Radiating, she said nothing — as it would have likely been too much. Her energy spoke volumes, deeply appreciative, stabilizing and welcoming. Chazzie could not recall the last time he had felt bashful (if ever), or so closely studied for that matter. He had moderate experience with romantic ventures and its roller coasters, but this wasn’t the same thing. His trusty fallback, (his inner military man) offered nothing but an emotional shoulder shrug. Truthfully, he was captivated. He managed only to let out a sort of cracked murmur. “Hello…”

“Greetings, it’s lovely to see you here today. What may I ask has brought you to this exquisite Sanctuary, General?”

“GENERAL!” he exclaimed to himself. “Okay, is this whole universe in on some kind of cosmic prank? Do they all know me? Am I in a simulation? Did I ever leave? Maybe… an interrogation chamber plugged into a machine? Am I still in the military?? Wait, my jacket! It’s a dead giveaway… hold on, no, I’m not wearing it right now.” He was having serious doubts about his reality. Yet, when he checked in with his survival instincts, the feeling he gets in his solar plexus… he knew he could trust what was happening. If that was wrong, there was no hope for him anyway.

He managed to squeeze out another statement, “I… um yes, retired now, Miss-?”.

She offered a more complete smile, now, and with just a hint of a chuckle. Ignoring (or not noticing?) his request for her name, she declared: “I’ll be signing you in today.” Her level of charm needed a different word — there was nothing in his vocabulary to describe it. Chazzie had seen and been through situations most wouldn’t conceive of, let alone handle. Yet, as it turned out here, his greatest ‘foe’ was no foe at all but an all encompassing feeling of embrace, which seemed to permeate every cell of his biology.

“Ok…” is all he came back with. At this point, his motions, and speech were involuntary. As if drunk, he was only a witness to his actions, which was fine because she took care of everything.

He noticed the sizeable tome before him sitting on the live edge countertop. She proposed: “This guestbook is written in the native language here, which, I’m guessing, you’re not familiar with… so perhaps I’ll write your name in on your behalf, do you agree?”

“Please.”

“Good, I’m going to make this a bit easier for you, today, my dear Seeker…”

He took notice: There it was again, ‘Seeker’: just a trendy greeting, or …?

She continued: “… I will mark you in as a Venerable Guest, this will provide you with access to everything. Something tells me you like to go deep into your questions, and we would rather not limit that, am I right?”

“Uh — yes, thank you. It’s Chezniukunik.”

“Oh, that is a name rich in history, I sense; we shall have to explore its meaning sometime.” The guestbook appeared to be facing Chazzie, from what he could make out from the characters pre-written. He thought to turn it around for her, but before he could act, she began to draw his name in this beautiful cryptic script which appeared to be a sort of gothic cursive. Only, she was writing it to match the same orientation as the other entries above it — upside down to face him. He was mesmerized, observing her hand loosely holding the feathered quill, which smoothly donated its ink to the page’s watermarked surface. Almost as the ritual movements of a Japanese Geisha performing Temae, she was completely present, taken with the richness of the moment.

In a feeble attempt to profile her, he thought: “So, she’s a super charming, scholastic prodigy…” and promptly quit, realizing he had a moment to collect himself.

“You're good to go, Chezzz— ”

“Chazzie is fine, my dear.” he stated confidently, beginning to regain his natural wit, and chivalrous grace.

She let out a discernable giggle this time, as if to be observing a puppy playing with a toy.

He chose to ignore the nuance and chocked it up to a positive, accepting, perhaps, that he had no real reference points to understand his position.

Branching Out

It was a little while before he figured he could settle into a cozy corner and just observe. Chazzie had first felt, instinctively, that he needed a lay of the land before he could truly feel at ease. He spent a while, exploring what he figured was about 90% of the Athenaeum’s library wings, the outer gardens (which were spectacular) and finally, the quiet upper spaces which seemed largely unoccupied.

He noticed two rooms in particular, which were quiet, unoccupied areas. One, larger than the other, was more of a lounge space, with crescent-shaped seating lining its edges, and fantastic views through large, rounded windows. The other seemed suited to a quieter, more intimate scenario, perhaps a special reading nook. The larger, seemed to say ‘stay a while’. This one, feeling more expansive, called to him. Struck by an overwhelming urge to pass out on one of the cozy-looking surfaces for a while, he walked over as if by reflex to one of the couch-like benches. He rationalized it wouldn't be deemed inappropriate if he didn’t make himself too comfortable.

Laying down on a velvety milk chocolate-coloured bench with throw pillows fluffing his restful sojourn, he sank into it as he would a bed. “I suppose I’m in more need of rest than I think.” he admitted, feeling heavier yet. He marvelled at the incredible artwork and design of the ceiling and its connected walls and windows, gently contemplating the design intent behind it all. He resolved to learn more of it once he regained some energy. Perhaps, he could communicate with some other visitors, who might also magically know his language. And… what he wouldn’t give to be able to read the many alien-written books here. Could there be… might there be something scribed in his own? Is he perhaps not the only one from his universe here? At this point, nothing seemed off the table, and with that, he was out.

Transition

A bright, rich feminine voice: “It was a pleasure meeting you Chazzie, I’m delighted you’re here. Listen: you’re done now with your old life, it’s time for you to take all that you were and what you’ve become and pour it into something new. It’s alright if you can’t quite place your hands on it yet, but it’s already looking at you now. It knows you, and it’s waiting. I’ll be available to you, as our dialogue has just begun.”

He woke up suddenly, realizing he’d been spoken to. He was sure she was there, literally beside him, but he saw no one. The lingering energy was strong. “Is this just me?” he asked. “Why can’t I seem to tell exactly what is material and not? Is it a factor of this universe, this place or… ”.

There were no available answers, but he did hear someone walking up the stairway to his vicinity. This time, an ultra-tall, non-human looking female with pink skin and hair, entirely blue eyes, and a long white gown peeked into his space. “Mushqu bi’er gah la tah” she declared with a flat soprano voice. This seemed to be a prompt of some kind. “Um” he groped for words or some kind of action. She continued: “Gree sha bell tu oh bish cial ki le’ham”.

It wasn’t landing. Taking a moment to fully wake up and compose himself, she waited patiently. She didn’t seem upset at all, but more like she was asking a simple question, or making a friendly remark. The more he sat with the energy of her presence and comments, the more he felt he might actually have understood exactly what she was asking. He decided to go with his gut and suppose that she was inquiring about whether she was disturbing him or not: and whether it was alright to be in the space, or if somehow it was private (or belonged?) to him. He mentioned with a nod and swooping open arms for her to come in, that she is welcome. She lit up with what he knew had to be a smile, a minor shape change to what was a very tiny pair of grey lips).

She sat carefully at the end of his bench: a move he felt was somewhat intimidating for a first encounter - afterall, he’s a strangeling from another universe. Peering at him with intent, she issued another statement “Gri’shah” which seemed to be a revisit of what she mentioned before. Immediately, he got it: she’s introducing herself as she did earlier for politeness. He came back swiftly with “Chezniukunik” applying his hand to his chest. She grappled with the pronounciation for a moment, but to his delight, nailed his full name with a rather pleasant accent.

The following exchange was almost entirely psychic: with vocal contributions, almost as a mere formality. He kept checking in with himself, noting his amazement at what was unfolding here: He was ‘speaking’ with someone in a language he doesn’t know, using one he does. They were both clearly excited about it. He also caught onto the fact that the more accutely he focused on the feelings of what he was trying to communicate, the more apparent it seemed to be to her.

They ended on a strongly positive note, with an obvious “ I’ll see you later ” bookmark for this first chapter of their dialogue.

Easy Come, Easy Go

Chazzie felt he’d had enough for today. Tired, yet anticipating his next hangout session at the Athenaeum, it was time to get back to his ship. As he walked back downstairs, offering respectful nods bidding ‘adieu’ to some passing patrons, he noticed something peculiar. The front desk was no longer attended by the woman who first greeted him, nor was the guestbook out. Had they closed shop for the day? Are there even business ‘hours’ per se? As he stood there a moment, his new friend in the white dress passed by him once more and noticed his inquiring expression. “Are you puzzled by something?” he ‘heard’ her say. He conveyed the story about the clerk, and the sign in book. “I am unaware of a desk person with such a description, nor do I know of a physical guestbook, my darling.” she returned.

He thanked her, and let her know that all was well and to never mind. He expressed his appreciation and his looking forward to when they meet again and made his way to the front door.

The old man was already there, waiting reliably with his boat. As he got in, the man expressed: “Well, here we are, aren’t we.” A peculiar turn of phrase. “Indeed are we are.” Chazzie, returned as a part joke, which he understood just then, wasn’t… not at all. He had just spoken the man’s language — his philosophy, his understanding…

It was definitely time to get back to the starship.

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