Time to Fall

There is only one place, which is the place that is mine. It is the Obelisk, which I built with the spray of the stars and the air of the oceans-- is the undefinable, the untouchable, and the transcendant. It is the place I found that cannot be touched by any other, where no troubles may follow, and where I am always alone.

The Obelisk is black. It is its definition, a pillar with a top like an beacon pulling fragments of reality down to its base. It is slightly taller than myself, and its corners are smooth so that my hand as it grazes across the surface never comes to an end. It is this motion, my hand on its flowing planes, that wakes it and causes it to create.

There is no limit to that which it might bring into being. The last time I was there, I sought peace from an illness that wouldn't give me a moment's rest. I went to the Obelisk, I touched it and it brought me the wilderness that I could not bring myself to visit. It brought me the thoughtful, gently swaying trees, rippling the sunlight into glass patterns on the ground. It brought me the long grass which is always a home to me, the gentle ocean of movement that comes up to my waist and engulfs me in the familiar. It brought me the green-green smell, freshness personified. It brought me the sun at its best-- not stifling or sweaty but simply warm, comfortable and right. It brought me the scenes of my childhood, the eternal and boundless; impossibly young nature which knows nothing but good. I touched the Obelisk and it brought me to my home. At last, I breathed easy and fell asleep.

The place where the Obelisk lies is not always a place of nature. Sometimes it is a place of science, sometimes an entire world where my children play. It is ever changing and unknowable, and in my fiercest heart I hope that it will never die. But I know it will only last as I do, and the time for both of us grows ever shorter....