Chazzie: Part IV

Awakening

The familiar simulated sunrise lit his eyelids, gently welcoming him to consciousness. As he came to, a cute bird chirp sound bite toned, as if to greet him with a ‘Good Morning’. There was a soft, low hum emanating from the ship’s systems, perhaps the heat pump: it was comforting to him. The floor felt a bit cooler this time, though a nice way to be called to his feet, as he anticipated what this day might bring.

“But first, something to sip on.” he thought. Moving his way into the kitchen, one of the touch panels presented him with a few options: ‘Simple’, ‘Semi’, ‘Full’. His request the other day had been remembered, and the ship presented things to him in his language, with a sort of “interpretive” approach. It seemed to be anticipating his understanding of its functions and features. Not feeling terribly committed, and in need of something that might resemble coffee, he opted for the ‘Simple’ configuration, which he reckoned might be breakfast.

“Dead on.” he congratulated himself. A small hutch unfolded from the built-in cabinetry, revealing something you might see in an upscale hotel suite of 20th century Earth: a few glass blown containers, sieves, with some decorative brassy cups which matched a small box-shaped machine beside them. “Great!” he thought. Now, he started looking for the ‘stuff’ which, after a minute of searching, it yielded nothing. “Okay, where’s my damn coffee” he panicked slightly as he realized the ship might not actually be stocked with anything edible. With feigned composure, he began button-mashing, going straight for the ‘Full’ configuration to see if it might spill out a culinary revelation. Lots of impressive ornamentation and kitchenry, yet, nothing that resembled food to him, nothing. “Well, alright then.” he resolved.

Using the loo, he showered, shaved and got himself freshly prepped. He even managed to identify what was clearly a washing machine. “Okay, I’ll be doing that later.” He carved out 10 minutes in his captain’s chair to perform a brief meditation so that he might be as receptive as possible for the day’s adventures to come. He sat there, tuning into his body, his calming nerves and to the minor traffic of his mind. About halfway in, the name “Enchanter” dropped into his emptied intellect. Sitting there in the centre of this headspace, he knew better than to grab onto it, or decipher its meaning. Instead, he observed without judgment… but he did have a hunch about it.

Making his way back to the Athenaeum, he figured he’d be able to find something representing sustenance. His old seafaring friend (whose name he found out to be Gi’ush (pronounced ghee-oosh) was there, ready with his philosophical quip of the day. They rowed over, discussing a bit of the Athenaeum’s history. If his deduction was correct, Chazzie understood that the tree itself was grown specifically for the building. The terraforming, of course, being the first step of it all. It suggested a fairly long timeline, which led to his wondering about Gi’ush himself. “This will have to wait,” he told himself. “It’s time to revisit that portal they call the Aeonic Athenaeum.”

Aeonic Arkanum

Stepping back inside, the library felt fresh, yet familiar. It looked just about the same as his first impression had been, with a few noticings in the finer details of the woodwork, and discretely tucked publications. As yesterday had revealed, his sparkly-eyed receptionist was nowhere to be found, but he was partially relieved to find a guest book there on the countertop. Yet, was it “The” guestbook? It appeared to be slightly smaller, and the script therein didn’t look to be quite the same as the hypnotic gestures She had placed therein, just a day before. “I need to find her…” spoke the man of his seeking heart. He wanted that experience once more, if not just to fix it firmly within his knowing. Just then he heard her familiar gentle, jubilous titter, like an audible buzz from within his body:

“Is that so?”

He smiled to himself. “Okay, so it was you.”

“Of course, My Dear” she teased back, echoing his chivalrous address from yesterday. “Look upstairs, second level: red book with gold.” she instructed.

“Noted,” he nodded. Heeding her guidance, Chazzie focused on his new mission, hoping to quell the rollercoaster of emotion which had started up again.

“Take your time,” she returned.

Having climbed the stairs, he did so now, observing the circular railed walkabout which lined the perimeter of the room. Looking down into its hollowed centre, one could easily see the front desk, the entrance and much of the downstairs. He had a sense of the comings and goings of the Athenaeum and its visitors over time: imagining the varied characteristics of the individuals who come here. What would they read? Where are all these books from? He sensed that, somehow, his mind was developing a richer ability to welcome and take in, new information by virtue of his mere ponderance within this space. The books, themselves, seemed to leak their knowledge like waterfalls spilling onto the wooden, red-carpeted floors as he waded through the heavy mists of their content. It was both hypnotizing, yet, sobering. He felt, both more connected to the heavens yet increasingly rooted where he stood in this physical reality.

Presently, there were five people on this floor, which consisted of a few enclaves connected to the walkabout. The walk itself was lined with walls of well-stocked bookshelves, tracing its curved path. Two of the visitors were well-ensconced in cozy chairs, already in deep trance with their paper universes. The three others, were about the business of scanning for their next literary treasure. Perhaps they, themselves, hoped to be discovered by the books meant for them. Chazzie conversely, was on a hunt. The number of books per-shelf was enumerable, so he didn’t bother trying too hard to spot this needle in a haystack. Instead, he allowed his eyes to relax into a sort of soft gaze, letting them sweep across the sea of publications, like a tailwind pushing him onward. As he sailed through, he noticed that he had adopted a slow, swaying stride which had a meditative quality. You might imagine it to be as the walk of a flamingo, or of a heron: carefully placing each deliberate step, and making way for its lissome successor.

There were many red books lining these shelves; tones of greys, blues, greens tans, yellows, whites, and blacks accompanied them. Thus, it wasn’t an obvious search, and a bit more like, perhaps, an Easter egg hunt. That aside, Chazzie’s stomach was beginning to show signs of rebellion, grumbles of protest pierced the sacred silence of his vicinity. “Fair”, he figured. “I’m going to need to do something about this first.”

The staff, as it turned out, did exist. Returning to the front desk, he found a helpful gentleman, who presented as quite effeminate yet, with a distinctive suave that only a masculine figure could pull off. His charcoal grey complexion and chiselled pointy facial features caused Chazzie to recall a museum he had visited, where they displayed stone arrowheads made by early hunters of his planet. His dress, was a sort of flared formal wizard’s gown with reflective reds, browns, purples, and golds, and patterns which seemed to trick Chazzie’s perceptions. The steward’s striking features were made more so with white glowing eyes, which beamed through what must be thin eyelids. It seemed, however, that they remained forever shut. Contributing to his suave demeanour, was a fabulous grey shoulder-length hairdo (with purple iridescent highlights). It had a casual feel to it, though it wouldn’t have surprised Chazzie to find out that it took hours to get it this way each day. He wondered as to this individual’s history; what did he do when he wasn’t at the Athenaeum?

Chezniukunik thought of the remaining family he had left on his home world, and imagined how he would describe all of this to them. His daughter, in particular, hadn’t seen him in person for years. His stomach twisted with a new grumble when it finally hit him: that he may never be going back. Chazzie mused: “I know he has answers, and then I’ll have my coffee, and all will be well.” Thankfully, it seemed to be a standard for the staff to be familiar with an array of languages (including his own); this made things easier. He collected himself, and tuned back into the coming words of this suave Aeonic soothsayer.

With a natural vibrato in his voice, Elleesh (Elle-Eesh) informed Chazzie that there was a cantina of sorts in the outside botanical gardens; he should be able to find something edible for humans there. “Yes. Now we’re talking!” Chazzie exclaimed aloud. Elleesh appeared a bit puzzled by the expression, cocking his head, but understood the positive nature of the comment, responding with a charming signature smile. Chazzie figured that his was the brightest row of Chiclet-shaped teeth he’d ever seen.

Patience & Nourishment

A food cart, is what it was. Unstaffed (or so it was for the moment) with an apparent honour system of ‘Take your things, and show someone your printed order ticket later’. “Fine by me”, he resolved. He could sort the subject of payment when the time came: maybe the sultry voice in his head would have something to say about it. Amazingly, he saw something in a gold packet, which, he instinctively knew, would be the closest thing he’d find to coffee. He correlated the small emblem upon its label with a stamping he had seen on his kitchen machine that morning. Chazzie had made major gut decisions in his career, some which affected the lives of millions: and it was with this instinct that he would stake his hunch about the “coffee” drink here.

He felt a bit torn, like this was back-peddling slightly from his book-seeking mission… but he knew that going to his ship and sorting out the realm of his stomach was what to do now. As he passed through the lobby, Elleesh gave him an approving nod. Chazzie pointed to the package with a sort of “Are we good?” gesture. Elleesh waved him on as if to say, “Go, go, we’re not worried about it.” Which was good because Chazzie wasn’t about to slow down. Back at the dock, it appeared the old man didn’t live on the boat after all. What may well have been his younger apprentice was instead at the helm. He didn’t seem to speak the language but offered a thoughtful smile, and began immediately with his rowing duties. This satisfied Chazzie, as there was business to attend to. Back on the ship, he returned to his still-open ‘Full’ kitchen. With focused fervour, he tapped the ‘Simple’ button, preparing the altar for this holiest of sacraments, and rubbed his hands together in victorious anticipation.

The machine seemed to be roasting whatever this substance was right on the spot, and then mixing it with hot water from the kitchen’s main line. The scent was… nothing short of fantastic. Earthy… yes. But also, something quite sweet about it. The roasting process was seeping what smelled like freshly baked chocolate buns into the cabin with what he could only describe as an enchanting scent. Unable to help himself, he opened the bedroom door as well as the one which led to the bridge, and quickly found their ‘stay open’ functions, letting the scent waft into the ship’s spaces. This wasn’t just food, it was INCENSE.

He returned to the machine, churning out its amazing nectar as he gleefully became aware of this ship, himself inside it, the kitchen, the tree house library and his entire situation. Feeling a sense of gratitude and possibility for the starship he’d been given, he wondered if it was now ‘his’, or was it perhaps lent to him by someone? In either case, seeing as it is now his “home”, he waited no longer to give it a name: “The Enchanter”. He spoke it aloud to its walls. To his surprise, the panel lights on the doors, and kitchen surfaces made a momentary sequential light flicker and a series of computational sounds formed a 3-second happy jig. “Well, then it’s settled, my friend.” he replied to his trusty vehicular co-conspirator.

A satisfying ‘ding!’ marked the end of the brewing process, and he poured himself a cup of this dark, surprisingly coffee-like elixir. “Here goes nothing.” he chanted as he took a sip. It was… green and effervescent at first (certainly not how it looked), and then, the Earthy part came in sort of on the back of his tongue. A sensation of a sizzle, accompanied the whole experience, it was almost as if the grinds were still percolating in his mouth. Then, the existing flavours vanished for just a moment, to leave a sweet, aftertaste of brown sugar. Bizarre… but wonderful! He focused for a moment on the sensations in his body as it went down — partially cognisant that this substance may not be entirely agreeable for human bodies. He gave it a minute, and to his delight, he wasn’t dead, poisoned or otherwise… and it felt GOOD, like a balm for his weary gut. “This WORKS.” he declared aloud.

Triumphant, he topped up his cup once more and scurried to the bridge to sit in his favourite chair, placing the brew on the upper floor before he climbed the ladder. Coming to rest in his seat, his mind returned to its former Zen state. He felt he had a moment now, to really sit with everything. He thought about his daughter, once again, the book he was to find, the ‘coffee’ machine (he’ll have to learn the real name for this stuff), and the voice… the voice of his esteemed semi-existent stewardess. It seemed that somehow it must all come together. Why was he being shown these things? Was he on track, was it all just fine, or did he miss anything along the way?

Searching for Red

Back at the treehouse, things had gotten quite a bit busier, he counted at least 33 people throughout the main and second floors… he wanted, eventually, to revisit that third floor he originally fell asleep in. The magical brew had certainly accelerated his senses, and his thinking; he felt as though he could easily scan each of the books (and their titles) one-by-one and end up in one of those cozy corners in no time, uncovering the mysteries he had been pointed to. “I have this now…” he spoke, intending his message for Her. What was her name anyway, did she even have one?

“Don’t stop now.” she whispered.

What must have been about 40 minutes later, he realized the depth of the volumes and collections were not apparent at first. The books were organized such that they were layered, revealing more books as the seeker approached that particular collection. Shifting to the left or right, seemed to show a new facet of the shelf, with its waving, irregular row of publications. Insisting on his patience, Chazzie continued his search, until finally, he felt a bit duped.

“It is here, yes? …or is it not?” he called out to her under his breath.

“Larger than life, and more real than a dream: yes, it’s here.” she responded cryptically.

Mildly annoyed, he wondered if he was understanding the message.

“I sense that this is, perhaps, a bit of a goose chase.”

“No geese here, General.” she echoed flatly.

“There are many red books here… and it seems to me, nothing has stood out.”

“That’s true.” she returned, slightly coy.

“Oh-” he choked, “Okay…you’re not playing games with me, are you?”

“Who plays games, Chazzie?”

He had to think about that one. Did she mean, him, her, was it a philosophical comment?

“I’m at a loss…” he responded.

This time, he heard nothing. He waited… yet still, no reply. “Has she stepped out for lunch?” he thought, trying to humour the beginnings of his frustration. Chazzie stood there, in the library lane, dwarfed by a sea of paper, words, colours, and titles, bewildered. For him, this was a particularly uncomfortable sensation, one he felt he had grown out of long ago, through training and focus. He was used to being in charge: not to be made a fool. For a moment, he felt a bit of an ego attack, as he wanted to reassert control of his situation. It took only a moment to notice his head boiling just a bit, when he told himself to snap out of it. “I’m going to sit down, now.” he resolved. “Forget this book, I’m going straight for that nice little lounge chair in the corner I’ve been eyeing this whole time.”

Already feeling better from this decision, he quickly returned to a sense of ease, as he prioritized his sense of enjoyment. “Look at where I am, these surroundings, and this life situation.” he marvelled as he sat into one of the coziest chairs in the cosmos. Letting out a big sigh… he peered out the window out to the botanical gardens. Observing the misty waterway, he was drawn into its splendour. To think this was designed by someone, was itself, a marvel. The place seemed so “naturally occurring” yet, it could not have been further from the facts. Wanting to catch a bit more of the view as he rested, he reached to grab the front of his chair to see if he might pull it backward a bit, to clear the window’s edge a bit more. Leaning into it, he shifted the chair back, only to discover something on the floor just under his grip. “No, f-ing, WAY.” he said aloud involuntarily (catching a few eyes in the process).

He picked up a weighty, deep burgundy-red coloured book. The spine, predictably thick, had gold-leaf ornamentation. The pages were a deep parchment, gold painted edge, with a thick leathery hard cover. It was a substantial tome: about 25 centimetres high, by about 36 centimetres tall (roughly a foot high). A satin burgundy bookmark ribbon spilled from its lower binding, with grooved thumb indexes cut into the sides of the pages for easy finding. Taking a moment with the experience of it all, he took a deep breath and opened to its beginning page. A simple, bold heading and two decorative subheadings were printed in his visible language, which read:

XYP

Xypaetia (Zeepatchiá)
Our Beloved Mother of Mystic Revelation

The Question: Lived

As he rested with her name, “Xypaetia” (pron. Zeye-pay-shah), he read it aloud.

She responded once again: “Chazzie, I think you’re beginning to see, that finding your answers is not always about solving the question as much as it may be about sitting with them. You see, questions are magnetic: their natural properties can draw revelation itself, to you. In that sense, the question is truly a gift: we might say that they are even more valuable than answers. Because, the longer you can stay with your question (relaxing into its attractive field) the more information you will be able to draw to yourself, without so much as lifting a finger. When you become the inquiry, everything you touch, see, and rendezvous with, becomes part of this resolution.”

“I understand…” he offered.

“I look forward to working with you, Chazzie. You have a character which grounds you where you stand, as you explore the glimmering star of your greater Self. You share this light with many, without even trying. It is my knowing that your influence will extend to the far reaches of the cosmos if you simply permit it to do so. All that’s needed is for you to be true to your most passionate inquiries, allowing yourself to be drawn naturally to them — and them to you. The rest will care for itself. Are you with me?”

He responded, with a deeply felt sense of purpose: “I’m excited we can do this, Xypaetia, and thank you for this gift, your patience and your persistence. I presume it is you who brought me here, all this way into your Realm.”

“Quite so, as I too, will learn much from you. Just as your questions draw your answers, I too, have drawn you through my force of inquiry. As you can see, this power has no measurable limits. I leave you for now with this cozy book exploration: I admit, it’s been awhile since I enjoyed it.”

With a respectful nod, Chazzie returned his focus to the book’s title, settling back fully into his chair. Turning the page, it felt as though he was opening to his own first chapter. Landing upon it, his eyelids became heavy as he drifted into a serene, blissful repose.

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