Zango stood on a cliff looking out across the valley with the Clock-of-All-Time dangling around his neck. He was alone, listening and watching, watching and listening. Tick-tock, tick-tock. The clock was so loud that he couldn’t hear anything else. He could only hear the sound of time passing.
The clock was so heavy that Zango could barely move. He could just manage to look right and left, and up and down, but not with enough freedom of movement to really register anything around him. With his gaze fixed straight ahead, all he could see were the distant cliffs on the other side of the valley.
An owl flew down from the trees behind the young man and landed on his head. The owl whispered, “You hear the clock ticking. Time is passing. But what of your heartbeat?”
They stood together for a while, heads slowly turning right to left, front to back, up and down, listening for something. Zango could hear a faint drumming, but couldn’t tell from where it came. The owl flew away.
An eagle flew up from the valley below and landed at his feet. The eagle whispered, “You see what’s in front of you with your eyes. You see what’s behind you with your mind. But what of that which is below and above you?”
They stood together for a while, heads slowly turning right to left, front to back, up and down, looking for something. Zango could see where the cliffs met the sky, but couldn’t see the ground under his feet, nor the sky above his head. The eagle flew away.
His neck hurt. He was frustrated and angry. A wave of sorrow washed over Zango. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't hear his heart, or see anything below or above. He needed to get to the other side of the valley, but he couldn't find a way down the cliff. He could hardy even move.
In a bout of rage, the traveler grabbed his bow and shot his last arrow into the sky above. The projectile flew so high that it punctured the nearest star with its razor-sharp obsidian tip before plummeting back to Earth. A stream of falling stars poured from the wounded celestial body, chasing the weapon back to Earth. The arrow, pulled by the forces of destiny, fell with such velocity that it pierced through the center of Zango's head, and exited his body at the root before plunging into the ground past layers of rock and magma into the deep, molten core of the Great Mother.
The pain was so excruciating that all ceased to exist for Zango. Light shot out of both wounds, sending a single luminous beam to the center of the Universe and down into the the Earth's womb. Zango felt like he was on fire. A searing pain replaced all his thoughts, memories, and complaints. He forgot about the clock and the cliffs and his inability to see forward or back, up or down. An all-consuming heat vaporized his aspirations, plans, and disappointments. He forgot about his frustration and sorrow. He forgot about the beating of his heart. He forgot about the birds and the clock. His chest filled with un-cried tears and stifled screams until it burst open, revealing the brightest of suns in place of his heart.
All became quiet.
He could see nothing.
He could hear nothing.
There were no thoughts.
There were no feelings.
No sensations.
Only he was there.
No longer feeling pain nor pleasure, Zango stood in the silence and slowly turned his head right to left, front to back, up and down. He could hear and see nothing, yet perceived everything at once. A soft voice whispered, “You are not alone. All the stars shine within you. All the suns burn within you. You are all tears, all laughs, all births, all deaths. You are the eagle that flies, and the whale that dives. You are the fire that destroys the forest, and the tsunami that levels the villages. You are the joyful laugh of a child and the exalted prayer of a holy man. You are the flower and the roots, the branches and the fruit. You are all that lives. You are all that dies. You are all that will never live. You are all that will never die. You are not alone, yet there's only you. You are everything and you are nothing. Everything and nothing are you.”
Zango remained silent for a long time after the voice spoke. He thought to himself:
I am everything. I am also nothing.
I am everywhere. I am also nowhere.
If I am everything and nothing, and everywhere and nowhere,
that means I exist in all time and no time.
Since I am everything and nothing, everywhere and nowhere, in all time and no time,
everything and nothing matters.
I can decide where and when to go.
I am already there, and I will never be there.
I just have to choose.
At that moment, a great weight dropped from Zango's body and his senses came flooding back. He felt light and easy, flexible and unencumbered. The colors of the earth and sky were brighter, the song of the wind more beautiful, and the air sweeter than he could comprehend. The Clock-of-All-Time had fallen to the ground and broken into a million pieces. Each piece broke into a million pieces again and again until the Clock-of-All-Time became nothing but dust.
Without the sound of the clock in his ears, he could hear everything at once.
Without the weight of the clock around his neck, he could look in all directions.
Zango rubbed his eyes, and took a moment to readjust his sight to a new world. Directly in front of him was a small path leading down the steep cliff face into the valley. He grabbed his bow and arrow and excitedly trotted down the narrow trail, trusting every step as he maneuvered the twists and turns. As he descended, once again he heard a faint drumming. He stopped to listen and the drumming got louder. He put his hand on his chest and began hypnotically tapping in rhythm with the drum.
He could sense the rhythm inside himself with his heart beating steadily and strong.
He could sense the rhythm reverberating around him from every direction as the wings of butterflies created peaks and valleys in the invisible air.
He could feel the rhythm under his feet as the hooves of wild horses beat the earth.
He could feel the rhythm above his head as the stars danced in the heavens.
He could hear his heart beating in rhythm with the drum.
He could hear the drum beating in rhythm with his heart.
An overwhelming sense of completeness enveloped Zango as he listened to the drum sound a single beat from everywhere.
His body filled with a glowing warmth and he began to shine. He was radiant. He was so bright that the path in front of him was illuminated. Though he'd never traveled this way before, he could clearly see the way forward, one step at a time. His journey became effortless. Zango’s glow enabled his safe passage through the valley and ascent up the cliffs on the other side. He took a moment to marvel at the ease with which he now traveled. Standing on the cliff’s edge opposite from where he before stood, Zango turned to look back. In the spot where he had been standing was a great column of light shooting high into the sky and deep into the Earth. The owl and the eagle flew around the beam in languid circles, diving into the light and catching airstreams back to altitude. Zango smiled to himself, turned back around, and started down the other side of the cliffs towards the sea.
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About
In her writing, Nicole Yazolino explores themes related to spirituality, self-discovery, personal growth, and the journey of awakening to the abundant wonders all around. With its vivid imagery, compelling depth, whimsy, and universal appeal, her writing is accessible to a wide range of readers. Her work in the genre of philosophical fiction often contains profound insights and wisdom that inspire readers to reflect on their own lives.
Yazolino's own life experiences and spiritual journey have deeply informed her writing, giving her works an authenticity and magical quality that people find captivating. She invites the reader to explore themes of destiny, the human experience, expanded consciousness, and the connectedness of all things.
© Nicole Yazolino | 2024
Images: AI Generated by Nicole and Canva Magic Studio
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