The Narrator’s Tale #TFDbyRWOz2 D minus 5

The pages were filled with letters and symbols, cramped from top to bottom with what looked like strings of words and blocks of paragraphs. And here and there were larger markings, very much like those in my dreams that gave the clues for unlocking the book. 

As my eye scanned down the first page the letters etc gave off a silver iridescence, indicating exactly where my gaze was focused. 

I flipped to the back of the volume and saw that the pages from there back to the middle were empty. Plenty of room to make additions. 

But I could not read any of it.

The Narrator’s Tale #TFDbyRWOz2 D minus 6

I stumble over my thoughts when I consider how best to explain how I unlocked the book. 

I sat in front of this page a full hour before I set pen to it. 

It was not so much the same five letters that I saw over and over – though I am so familiar with them now. 

But it marks the first time I heard the voice. And I felt myself to be the object of some watching presence once again. 

The voice did not address me. On the contrary the impression grew that I was being allowed to overhear what was said. 

My comprehension was immediate. I saw the “letters” as the steps to manipulate the lock open. 

I followed them. And saw the pages within at last.

The Narrator’s Tale #TFDbyRWOz2 D minus 7

The dreams were such that I did not connect them at all to the book on my shelf. From what I can remember they were ordinary fare in so far as dreams go. They even had twists at the end. But I did remark that they were much more vivid. They lingered like a half remembered fragrance.  

Thus they continued until a day came and they were accompanied by scrolling text. 

I believe that first occurred when my frustration with the lock on the book was at its height. 

The letters of the text were not any I recognized. 

I hang my head and admit my dullness – for it took the longest time for me to understand that the same five letters appeared over and over again above the image of the lock that floated in and out of my dreams.

Day Five Hundred Sixteen #DiaryoftheEndoftheWorld

That melody discovered to us the sought after Hamashiachites. When I think of the teeming masses around us, I marvel that Elijah and I are now among these precious people.

We call them simply the Raj – again on account of our inability to reproduce their sentence long name. Three generations of a single family with almost as many members as letters in that name.

They confess they have been like sheep without a shepherd and rejoice to finally have direction and a purpose. (Through Elijah’s ministrations, of course).

And the benefit has been reciprocal in their willingness to look after our needs.

And wonder of wonders, the two youngest men have found work in a shipyard.

Tomorrow they take us.