“The Wait Station”
A Short Story
It was a day of no temperature, neither hot nor cold.
I was floating…somewhere. It might have been over lands I’d never visited. It might have been over seas I’d never seen, or over mountaintops I’d never climbed. But where I was, I hadn’t seen before.
My guide told me it would be better if I just kept my eyes closed until we arrived at the destination.
“It’s a wait station,” she said.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“A place where you wait until the next stage.”
She wasn’t human, wasn’t of the dead, nor of the living. She was just she.
“You made it through the tunnels of pain, or as humans refer to it, Earth. The next stage is far better, though it has its particular challenges.”
I wasn’t in need of any more challenges – having had enough of them during my life on Earth, or whatever these gods described it as.
“I am not a god…but I can read your thoughts. You don’t have to speak…just think.”
It seemed hundreds, maybe even thousands of thoughts were lighting through my mind. She chose the pertinent ones to address.
“Earth is a testing ground,” she began. “Souls born here are either scum, or the bliss of the era they were born in. They are, for the most part, what they were born to be. And the direction they follow, while a portion of their outcome rests in their free will, what we have come to understand is that what the gods gave them upon their entry into the tunnels of pain, is an evil that they can’t be overcome, and thusly will hold throughout their lives, deeply embedded in their consciousness.”
“So, the gods gave them inescapable evil upon their entry here? What kind of idiocy is this? Sounds like cryptic nonsense that no human can understand.”
“You lay down to sleep each night. You know not whether you will be snoring, whether you be dreaming or whether your nights rest will be of nothing other than nothing. Your kind like to entertain the notion that they are the gods. ”
“Not I. Don’t cast me into the pit of shit where the assholes you allowed to be born are whom I have to follow,” I thought.
She, or whatever she was, let out a sigh. A sigh I didn’t welcome.
Whatever “wait station” that she had prepared for me, I resented. Maybe, through slices of eternity that we are allowed to see – those which makes sense to the gods, but not a lick of sense to us humans who are, apparently, regulated to spending our lives in the mire of nonsense – maybe, just maybe the conclusion is that the gods get their “jollies” from watching us, the innocents, attempt to make sense of that which cannot be made sense of – of a existence of insanity they either created, or allowed to continue to be manifested.
Perhaps, we are only allowed the breath of life and a bit of enlightenment, to quietly, and maybe reluctantly conclude that we are living in a waste of apathy, of disregard and disquietude of the heavens, who are still coming to terms with the sobering fact that their creations have been allowed to spread unbridled evil upon the innocents.
She acknowledged my thought, yet then disappeared.
No, I am not in any way any more clever than the gods. I just ask why, and keep a steadfast vigilance waiting for their answers.
Tonight’s musical offering
Even better enjoyed, with headphones on, volume up, imagining two souls rising, together in love, to heaven (my interpretation) from the musical brilliance of Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky
Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky (1840-1893) – Romeo and Juliet Fantasy Overture (final moments) – Gustavo Dudamel, Conductor – Simón Bolívar Symphony Orchestra of Venezuela