The sound of water…
A wet wind is blowing onto my face, cool and refreshing. From the rhythmic splashing sounds of the foamy waves, echoes are sprouting, ethereal and impermanent. Their music is pouring inside my ears like a delicate whisper.
My lungs are moving slowly up and down, like a pair of wings, breathing in and out the glorious dance of the atoms that make up the air of my world. At this moment, the whole Universe is breathing in and out with me. In and out, inside and outside. From the slow beats of my heart to the Moon, the Sun, and beyond, there is no real distance anymore.
Soon, the flow of time reveals itself to be as illusory as the manifestation of space. Then, this inner mounting flame is opening my eyelids. The light from outside pours in, filling my soul with eternity. Each breath is now like a new birth of myself, like a cyclic return into existence. Everything is one, and one is everything.
Too many ideas and concepts are already roaming wild through my mind. Too many thoughts are flooding my perception. Some are familiar, but some seem to come from far away, as if they belonged to total strangers, mirroring me and mirroring themselves. Something doesn’t seem quite right. Have I been somewhere else before? Or, perhaps, have I been someone else before?
In the beginning was the light. Can we go back to the beginning, can we return to what we used to be and become as pure as the light again?
The sound of water…
Mother Nature has put on golden autumn colors, everywhere in and around the city. But the metropolis, as well as the continent, were left behind two days ago. Now only the Ocean, an endless expanse of blue-green restless liquid with a salty smell, is stretching all the way to the horizon, wherever I look.
Still, standing on the deck of our fast brig, I can sense it’s autumn even here. A giant flock of fluffy clouds is towering high above the ship’s masts. From above, a pale, almost sick-looking Sun is shooting shy arrows of light.
The breeze blowing from the stern is pushing us with constant speed towards our destination. The tall prow is cutting the clear waves with a slow rocking motion that generates a tender and periodic hissing sound. Here I am, on this beautiful morning of October 13, 1794, taking care of the weather observations and supervising the duty shifts of the crew.
Our vessel is sailing towards the Southern Islands, transporting weapons and ammunition. In addition to this, we’ve got a squadron of thirty soldiers as passengers. The soldiers are going to replace the current garrison in charge of the fort built there more than a century ago. These three tiny islands from the Tropics are in fact locations of significant strategic importance. They oversee the main routes of an increasing number of ships that travel from our country towards exotic and commercially profitable shores from the Southern Hemisphere. My second mission in such far-away waters has just begun.
The hours pass quietly. While I’m filling my logbook with notes, our vessel moves with a speed of seven knots. If the weather stays the same, I should expect Excelsior to reach her destination in about eight days. However, when I check the horizon with my handheld telescope a few minutes later, I notice new dark, threatening clouds gathering far away to the south-east. Apparently, they’re spread over a large area and are set to cross our path. Changing course to avoid the bad weather could mean arriving at least one day late. We are most likely going to run into a storm during the first hours of the evening.
The captain is in his cabin. I knock at his door and inform him immediately about the oncoming tempest. We begin the preparations for the soon-to-be unpleasant encounter. The captain wants to minimize any delay caused by the elements. In fact, he plans to take advantage of the hurricane and use it to shorten the journey to the Southern Islands by about one day. He also wants to test the efficiency of the crew. We have many new hands on the ship, and the storm is a good opportunity to check their skills.
The vessel changes course to south-south-west. With no lee shore anywhere near our route, we plan to partially skirt the storm, taking opportunity of the strong winds blowing towards south on the west side of the cyclone. Excelsior will keep sailing at full speed, gradually reefing her sails as the wind gets stronger. Hence, many sails will stay up and running almost until the elements are ready to strike. Our crew is large enough to take care of them in time.
Late in the afternoon, dark-gray clouds begin to fill the sky. The ocean becomes agitated and foamy. Legions of malefic spirits seem to be dancing on top of the ominous white waves in their preparation to ram hard into our ship’s hull and do as much damage as they can. Some sails are still up, although many are reefed now. They’re pulling Excelsior south with a speed of about eleven knots. The daylight is fading. I can almost sense how the immense celestial tanks hanging above us are ready to explode and flood our vessel with a torrent of rain.
(excerpt from "Butterfly's Dream" by Marian C. Ghilea)
My #book "Butterfly's Dream" is still #FREE at #Smashwords:
You can also get it for free on #GooglePlay:
I can't make it free on #Amazon, so the price there is #99c:
Most of the story occurs in 1795, but the implications of Alberto's travel to the Island go way beyond his time. What is reality? What makes something a dream? Can love change the fate of the Universe?
This is a #scifi book that begins more like a #historical novel with a strong #fantasy flavor, full of #adventure, and also containing #romance. Yet, nothing is what it seems in the beginning, and the hard science behind the strange phenomena the heroes encounter becomes obvious as the story progresses.
Over 140,000 words for a journey unlike any other.
#novel #fiction #literature
@ello @ellowriting @ellowrites @gardenlovepoet