RAINBOW BETWEEN US
On the grassy plateau of a hill, I sat and listened to the music. Wherever I looked, I saw endless hills covered with fresh grass where sheep were grazing. From time to time, you could hear their bells sounding. The mountain I was on was quite high, so the clouds were near; some were almost touching me, coming to meet me, and some just passed over me. When I raised my hand, I could feel their practically unreal mass that was there one moment and the next was not. The sky was blue with the noon sun.
At the foot of that hill there was a river, and across the river, there was a neighboring hill. A waterfall gushed out of it and the water droplets and the sun’s rays created a rainbow. No one was near, only an occasional bird flew by chatting with wings and screaming.
I chose that landscape because I had planned to write, after fifteen years, the continuation of my novel The Starfish Follower, and I thought that I would certainly get some ideas on this inspiring hill. I thought it would be good if the Lacrimal Sea had some vital role in the new novel, as well as those pools that evaporate.
I sit, write down ideas, touch the clouds. I look around. I direct my view toward the neighboring hill, and I cannot believe my eyes—I see Niskala! She stands as the column of some temple in the clouds. Her long dress and her hair are fluttering in the wind, and she looks at me with a smile. She held something in her hand, an object that looked like a silver globe. I told myself quietly that she is the same as I had imagined her in Follower, but somehow ejuvenated.
“It’s due to genetics,” she said. I thought that visions were starting to appear to me, as was usually the case with my former writer`s daydreaming. But I said to myself, let me play a little bit and go into the dialogue with that dreaming part of myself, which I have not interacted with for so long.
“You mean you inherited good genes?” I asked her.
“No, no,” she laughed. “I can stop aging by controlling the genes. In my world, people are eternally young, if they want to be,” Niskala said.
“Oh, that’s fantastic!” It was fun for me to chat with my imagination. I thought of how little I needed for an immense imagination.
“Well,” asked Niskala, “would you like to come here or should I come to you?”
If I have learned anything about the creative process, it’s to stop dreaming when I must, to clear my head, to get up and go back to mundane reality. It was nice for me to feel again that I could easily enter this world of imagination, but I did not plan to spend the whole day in those clouds. And I decided to take it down a notch. Then I expected a reversal, that Niskala would turn into one of the clouds and lightly fly away into the ether. However, this did not happen. She was still in the same place, smiling. She made a few steps towards me and stopped at the edge.
“Come on, you come to me,” she said and beckoned me with her hand.
I laughed to myself, thinking about what my mind was making up now. “Well I have no wings, Niskala,” I returned.
“You do not need any wings, Boris,” she said with a smile. “You only need faith—faith in me. Let the rainbow be your bridge. Step up, and I’ll do the rest for you to get here,” she gestured to the space beside her.
I still sat in the chair and looked at her. It was evident to me that I could no longer interrupt the flow of imagination so easily, because it is something that needed to be exercised, and I had not dealt with reveries for a long time now.
“Do you believe in me?” She asked me, “in Niskala?”
I was silent. Her question amazed and surprised me. I would never ask such a question myself because I knew the answer.
“I believe in Niskala, the character of my novel. Yes, I believe,” I replied.
Her fingers crossed the smooth surface of the small globe she held, as though she was typing something. She dropped it on the ground near the edge of the hill below which there was a rainbow in the abyss. She moved away from the edge and the globe began to shine. Suddenly, stones and water from the river and misty droplets began to float, as if gravity no longer existed. I got up from my chair because I could not believe what I saw. The rainbow began to move upward, creating a bridge between our hills. The grass stood high, and the stones from both our hills began to rise up. “What kind of miracle is this?” I said aloud.
“And do you believe in Niskala outside the novel?” She asked, leaving the globe at her feet.
My reveries crossed every border, I thought. Determined, I said “No!” and got up, preparing to fold my chair and go back to my home, back to a civilization where the contents of my head were under my control. But at that moment, Niskala stepped onto the rainbow and walked across it, on a field of antigravity. She began to approach me. The vision seemed so real that I was no longer sure whether it was an illusion or not. She was getting closer and closer to me. I put the chair back on the ground. I no longer thought this was imagination. She stood there in front of me, at my fingertips. I could see every pore on her face, as well as her hair and the wrinkles of her clothes. She came even closer...and suddenly, hugged me.
“And now?” She asked. In her firm embrace, I felt all of her reality, the firmness of her body and the warmth of the life flowing in it, like a great, ancient, unfailing river. And then, she shone. And I fell to the ground, on my knees, floored by her brilliance. The light was so strong as if a special sun had descended here beside me, generated from positive emotions and thoughts. I felt that I broke into a million pieces that moved away from each other and that the particles of her light were finding me across the universe and slowly returning my parts to one center of gravity, to me on the hill. But now, upon reconstruction, everything in me was better composed, much more harmonious and balanced. I could neither say anything nor move. I was just looking at her in astonishment. That light was not hurting my eyes, no; it was something completely different, something strong as the sun, but I could easily look into it. It was so relaxing, healing and beautiful. It was completely different from the light of computers and telephone displays, lightbulbs, street advertisements, stadium lights. Her radiance was warm from compassion, faith, hope, and love. I felt that this light loved me, and not just me, but every single thing in existence. It was so clear that I could feel this universal, all-embracing love.
Suddenly, tears began flowing from my eyes like twin streams. I could not stop them even if I wanted to. These were not tears of joy; that was completely obvious to me, but tears of revelation, as if my closed eyes were suddenly opened and I could finally see and know the truth in all of its shimmering glow. It was the truth about the other side. It showed me some critical, hidden dimension. Perhaps an alien one or maybe divine. For the first time, I experienced Niskala as a reality beyond my imagination.
Then on my bowed, sobbing head I felt that something lowered, something warm, gentle and almost immaterial. And it started slipping through my hair. I somehow mustered the strength to reach up and touch that something. I felt her hand. In this touch, I apparently felt the love of my mother and father, the love of my grandma and grandpa as if they were still alive. Protection was something that her touch carried in itself. My tears continued to fall. They all went down to the grass and the earth, which were becoming more wet every moment. I did not even try to wipe these tears, although they were falling down my cheeks, they washed my soul.
She stopped glowing, then knelt before me, just as I was kneeling in front of her. That gesture of hers made a powerful impression on me. Incomprehensible and unreachable, yet still so approachable, her kneeling expressed her desire and ability to get closer to a person. She took my almost paralyzed hands into hers. She put her face against mine and whispered into my ear:
“I believe in you, Boris. Do you believe in me? ”
“Yes, Niskala,” I replied without any hesitation.
“When you wrote the Follower,” she said, “you, in fact, saw what you wrote, the events of my world. Although you still think that you’ve made up everything and that it’s just your luminous imagination.” I was speechless. What could I say?
“Human mind,” continued Niskala, “is related to everything that exists: time, space, the whole universe. By writing a novel, you let your mind reach my world. ”
She waited for me to pull myself together and to understand of what she spoke, then she added: “Remember what you were doing when you were writing, when these ‘pictures’ were showing themselves to you and the ‘film’ unrolled before your eyes? Can you remember? ”
The expression on her face told me that she wanted me to answer her.
“I had a passion for writing...and I was concentrated on what I was writing. Nothing else existed in those moments of writing. I wanted, no, I needed to write something important for the human race, to help people change and improve. The writing was like a game and a pastime, a relaxation from everyday life, a calming of the soul, a trip to another dimension where everything is possible, where everyone’s happiness is possible. ”
“And, how else was the writing happening? It’s important that you remember.”
“I was visiting places that reminded me of parts of the novel. When I was supposed to write about the sea, I was at the sea; about the clouds, I was in places where I could clearly see the sky. The reality was the basis...that way the scenes and the pictures in my head were clearer, more precise...”
“Let me see. Nothing interfered with me while I was writing. I only wrote after I completed all other duties and responsibilites so that I would not be distracted. I often wrote at night, when everything was quiet and still, when the lights were dimmed. And I always listened to soothing music while I wrote.”
She smiled. “Well, Boris, that’s it. With all of this, you’ve changed the state of your consciousness. You made it so it can reach my world. Your altered consciousness, in this state different from normal alertness, opened the gateway to my world. But there is one more thing. “And that is?”
“Personality traits. A gateway to the rest of the world can only open the consciousness of one who will not endanger humanity, who will not use the knowledge of this world for their own purposes. This passage can be opened only by someone who sympathizes with other people and wants to create a better society for all, where everyone will be respected and happy. That goal, that intent, is the key. The other things you mentioned are more like approaching the consciousness of the gate, the hovering of consciousness in its immediate vicinity and the personality unlocks it. ”
“And how did you come to my world?” I asked.
“When you thought about me here on the hill,” she said, “your consciousness came to me first. And this globe can read the content of consciousness because consciousness is a data bank ... In your consciousness I saw where you are now, this landscape, every scent, every detail is recorded there, this grass, earth, stones, rainbow, everything. That way I have located you in space. ”
“And in time? How do you travel through time? You came here in the past from the future, didn`t you? ”
“No, I did not. The future that some people can see is only a great probability, one possibility that something will happen, and not an event that will certainly be. So I’m not coming from the future. And the past,” continued Niskala, “it exists only as a record preserved in the universe, o snapshot of what happened. This record can be seen, but there is no communication with it. The past cannot answer me when I ask something, and you and I are talking. So you’re not a past for me. I’ve traveled to you through the present. ”
“The present?” I asked, confused.
“Yes, your world and mine both exist in the present. The present moment is the bridge that connects us, “she explained.
“How did you come here from your world?” I asked.
“The globes, like this one,” she pointed to the sphere on her hill, “can build every type and arrangement of matter. In my world, they build a small but sufficient part of the space, this place where we are now on the hill, with an identical layout of matter in which you were when you thought of me, and that was it. That arrangement is a code. Knowing the code, I came to where you are, where we are now. ”
“What’s the reason for your arrival?”
“I wanted to ask you for a favor, a great one.”
“If you can write another story about me...record it authentically and transfer it to people.”
“Of course. It is nothing,” I laughed. “Tell me and I’ll take notes. We can start right now if you want. ”
“No no. Where I am going, you should go with me. To be a witness of what will happen. Because what we experience is very likely to help people in your world.”
“And where would we go? For how long? And why?” I asked.
“I do not know where or for how long, only that when we have to go somewhere, we will.” She added, “and I know that all that has to occur will be happening in my world. The problem that I have to solve is located there. A problem with catastrophic consequences for all people. ”
She looked at the distance, absorbed in thought.
“The globes will build a part of your reality, and we can cross over into it, right?” I asked.
“I am fine with that, but I need to first inform my family about this. Would you mind coming with me? We can together propose this plan to my wife and daughter.”
“Of course.” Niskala said. “When would you like to do this?”
“Let’s do it now, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. Let’s go,” she said.