As with every story written with dust upon the air, I have come to understand why I have experienced the following during the past forty plus years of aimless wandering throughout the Earth: the suffering for the longing of a family that existed in a state of phantasmagoria. The abrupt severance from friends, love interests and anything that infused even the most vaporous form of solace, belonging and extraordinarity to an otherwise ordinary life. Thus, I felt impelled to create worlds of fantasy in order to assuage an imperious thirst for love in the solitary and abstruse corners of my imagination.

I felt protected, validated and understood in there; I felt supported and encouraged to fulfill whatever dreams I could ideate for and by myself, realizing that the realm of abstracta was the only possible world for me, for I was never truly meant for anything particularly memorable in that of concreta, but to simply be content with being a sort of boulevardier in a world where materialism seemed the only thing that mattered. It wasn’t for me to participate, to be a protagonist. It wasn’t for me to be one of them, they who hold the metaphysical answers to any inquietudes formulated in the most baroque departments of the brain. It was not for me to be an instrument, a willing agent for the healing of the world I so predicated and strived to embody. No responsibility was ever bestowed upon me, no banner was entrusted for me to hold as a beacon of hope for others. No ineffable, inexorable answers or secrets confided or imparted. There was no need for me to change the world as I was born to be merely an anecdote, a visual recorder of the comings and goings of the human race, in the temporality of life as a simple passerby.

Then, fiat lux.

The light from a lighthouse, beaming fulgorously from a distance in a night pregnant with mist. That light escorted me back to the beginning, the trans-temporal moment when all that is began to exist, as the Ancient of Days relieved me of my futility and presented me with heavy parchments, ancient scrolls that concealed all the knowledge physicality can contain. A persuasive voice speaks into my heart, it says:

“son of man, ask, truly ask. Get lost, truly lost. It is not for the worthy that these scrolls are opened, but for anyone who seeks to know as they are known”.

I was then entrusted with the words that unlocked the slavery of the entire human race. It was then that my eyes were opened, and so I came to understand that though my wandering had led me far, it was not so far from the reach of the light that I should be lost in perpetuity.

Yea, I see my brothers. Yea, I see my fathers, my sisters and my mothers; I shall go to them and bid them take their place among the living at the supper table of the Lamb, in the kingdom of God, forever.

- Soli Deo Gloria