VIMUKTI IN THE LIGHT OF THE CHATTERING MOON

Engulfed in the desert’s parched silence, I was nothing but another grain of sand in the wind.

That’s supposed to be the last line.

So it’s already fucked up?

Seems like.

God. Damnit.

So you don’t think that it’s salvageable?

No. How could it be? Not like I can go back and fix it. What’s done is done.

This is true, to a point. However, you can circle back.

First, how would I even do that? Second, what would that accomplish?

To your first question: you start walking in a straight line. The curvature will take care of the rest. As to your second. It’s kind of the same as the first. It’s all a matter of perspective. Beginning is the end; end is the beginning. That sort of thing.

That’s some pretty freshman in a dorm room philosophy right there.

Perhaps. But you’ll recall my adjustment in communication is automatic and based on the level of understanding of the host.

Are you calling me dumb?

Wouldn’t dream of it.

Yeah. Right. So I guess the only thing left to do now is to pick a direction and start walking.

Indeed.

Well. I guess if there’s no bad choice, then I’ll keep the larger dunes on my right, and the flatter, more open area on my left.

I thought about it for a moment, then nodded in confirmation and confidence in my decision.

That feels right.

I will follow your lead.

Not like you’ve got much of a choice.

I tapped the side of my head.

Do any of us?

That’s funny. Because you are part of that collective consciousness, or whatever it was you told me. And you keep telling me you don’t have a sense of humor.

There was no response, so I took my first step in my chosen direction.

The soft sand shifted beneath my feet as I strode forward. I was careful not to spend too much energy at the outset. I had no idea how long this journey would be, and, while the desert floor beneath was compact to a point, it was still unstable enough to force a concerted effort to maintain balance.

The heat of the blood orange sun clung to my body like warm gelatin. A strange sensation to be sure, but not entirely unpleasant.

Hours passed, and to my left I saw a large oasis coming into view.

Above the swaying palms, I saw two types of flying beasts screeching and hissing at each other.

While comparable in size, somewhere between thirty and forty feet in height, one of the rival flocks seemed more apt for the desert. Their wings, bodies, and necks shaped much like vultures, though their faces resembled that of bats.

The other flock looked more like hawks suited for freezing climates. Their feathers were heavy and of a deep, rich purple.

Probably best we hurry past them.

Agreed.

Mercifully, their preoccupation with whatever territorial dispute they were having allowed me to continue on unnoticed.

I walked past a field of rusted cars, all shoved front side down, sticking out of the sand like tombstones.

I walked past a lone wooden, one room church with its neon cross flickering.

I walked past the sun bleached skeletal remains of a gargantuan whale-like beast.

The sun had dropped low in the sky, and I realized just how much time had passed.

The dunes had grown large, and there seemed to be a shimmering wall running along the top of them.

I looked up at the caravan traveling atop of the dunes above me. A throng of giant six legged salamander-like creatures marched across the sand. They walked on their back four legs, their bodies curved up, their top half strangely humanoid like. Some carried intricately carved staffs, while others pulled carts, with their long arms. Some wore hooded cloaks, while others wore what appeared to be repurposed ritual garb with a drawing of a strange sun on the chest.

A man walked among them. He wore a smaller version of the cloaks the salamander people wore, and appeared to travel with them as an equal.

Even from this distance, I could see his face looked quite similar to mine. He appeared to talk to himself occasionally, as well as to the salamander that walked beside him.

I stopped walking, and watched them disappear over the horizon.

Who was that?

I don’t think you really need me to explain.

Maybe you do.

They… he… is on his own path. It is independent of ours. Yours. There is of course a connection, which brought about the feeling of recognition and recollection in you, but it has nothing to do with your task. Or maybe everything.

You aren’t very helpful.

I disagree.

Of course you do.

The sky was shifting from blue to purple, and I needed to get moving, so I tabled the discussion, and started walking my path again.

The path I walked became less sand, and more of a thick glass beneath my feet. Dunes had become mountains that looked to me to be made of clear quartz.

The enormous moon had risen, so large I could make out the details from where I stood.

I stared at the cyclopean, craterous moon that rose behind the crystalline mountains. My compulsion to continue forward was equal only to the desire to walk the path that veered right and into the heart of the mountains.

What is this?

A choice.

Between what?

Knowing or not knowing. You will end up at your destination regardless. It’s simply a question of what you will have learned by the time you reach it.

What would you choose? If you were me.

I can’t say.

Right. You’re going to say something about how you aren’t me, and you already know everything the rest of your collective knows.

That’s not what I meant at all. I can’t say. You are being allowed a choice that has nothing to do with me, or anyone else for that matter. It’s unusual for him to let this happen.

Him who? God?

Not even close. Though perhaps, from your point of view, a god with a little g. It’s all a matter of perspective.

I took a deep breath, and turned down the path into the mountains, though my thoughts were wracked with doubt that this even really was my choice.

As I walked I could hear strange, heavy, droning music, faint as it was, coming from somewhere within, or beyond, the mountains.

I came to the end of the path, the now unobscured moon hovering straight ahead of me as it illuminated the circular clearing that opened up before me.

Jagged shapes outlined the perimeter of the clearing, and a giant slug stood at the far end.

I stepped into the circle.

The slug’s eyestalks slowly waved as if underwater as they gazed down on me from fifty feet above.

The mouths of the moon’s craters opened, and their teeth began to chatter.

Directly above me, an eye opened in the sky.

I saw what looked like me bleeding out on the Arizona ground while screams and fire surrounded me. A me sitting at a bar having a drink and a laugh with the bartender and the woman sitting on the stool beside me. A me gasping his last breath in the sands of this place.

I looked around the edges of the clearing.

I saw the mass of cracked, contorted, and discarded shells of me. Tossed out. Naked and forgotten like old department store mannequins.

He’s sorry, you know. He doesn’t want it to be this way. It’s the unfortunate consequence of his acts of creation. But there are so many others, beyond just you, that are clamoring for existence. If he stops, then all they will know is their screams of anguish and despair. And he can’t live with that.

Let’s just go.

As you wish.

I returned to my path.

The glass gave way to sand again, and I marched on until the sun began its ascent.

Do you know where we are?

I looked around at the dunes as fog like clouds of dust and sand whipped and swirled around my feet.

I closed my eyes.

It’s all a matter of perspective.

Engulfed in the desert’s parched silence, I was nothing but another grain of sand in the wind.