Imperium of the soul

A story about healing in the body of youth & an incarnation for the soul of written "words". It's a path to "eternity" in-between the lines.

3 Apr, 20235 min read

I’ve always found a hidden beauty in the old-wrinkled pages of a book that still stands stiffly against the flying hours. I took one of those squeezed at the hindmost of my chaotic library. I flashed a smile while I was whiffling its dust-choked cover.

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Gently moving my fingers toward the burnt yellow pages, I wanted to get the wrinkles out from its aged texture.

I continued with the words sliding between the lines of a page I opened.

“Oh, thy mold, covering the soul of a thousand years. You will never age for me, nor fade, nor die.*”

I found myself walking on a path in a picturesque garden. Naked, the softness of heat tickling my feet, I wandered blissfully among the various kind of flowers and trees giving off various kinds of smells I have not experienced before. Slowly, I raised my head and took a glance at the sky; it went like a flash to the clouds plowing through the gleaming beams of the sunset. I enjoyed the sounds of slipping syllables from a Latin verse echoing through my deep voice wandering with chalky-cheeked fluffy clouds.

Verses were fading wistfully floating down towards the mediatory gaps between the branches of trees while the night was preparing to sit on its throne of darkness. I went on walking on the path. The garden was filled with multiple colored light beams. You could see them everywhere; behind and above the trees, even at the roots of flowers as moving with the various kinds of insects, or at the branches of trees... Indeed, I could even feel the weeny pieces of light in depth, mirrored in my enchanted eyeballs.

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Ambling in the harmonic chants of the garden, I started to doze off. I came near an atrophied cottonwood tree still trying to hold onto her roots among her pleasant-looking fellows. However, their roots' shallowness and softness cursed them with wizening. All would die eventually before their time has come. I took a shining rock and carved her young but thin-wrinkled body to take the blinking light from her rotten body. I compressed her light beam into my torn chest. I winked my eyes; her body suddenly disappeared when the chants were gone.

I passed a gate of emptiness and I started to run. I was numb, and deaf because of the chants; half-blinded by the holiness of the lights. I could not hear, but I was able to see only the lights as if I was trying to see the forward behind a dewy-foggy window. The shadowy branches of the dead cottonwood emerged again from the hallowed- misty darkness, and by stretching in enormous lengths, she held me behind my back and dragged me to herself. I started to roll towards her; to the silhouette of her, now a giant tree. Dizzied after the combat, I puked the light beam coming up from my chest to her tiptoes. Sank into the earth; from the earth, the light beam started to rise towards the sky and enlarged to brighten her body.

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A wind breathed; reviving my senses. I raised my head to see the brightened tree. It was a poplar tree with rings of fire at her branches. There, came a dense smell of an oldster, and a dreamy smelt of burnt from the hardened branches...There, came the time of sunrise with the Latin verses echoing behind the clouds... Bewildered by the strength and the glory of her oldster skin appearance, I gently moved my fingers through her wrinkled and aged body. Her body was old, though, not with the curse of time; however, with the resurrection of the youthful verses that will always defy time. That was an indestructible body aged with ethereal wisdom. Carved into the middle of her body, you could see the smiling face of a girl inside the light beam; the soul of a girl that flourished in a new body. A bliss sharpened my senses, a mirror was what I see; I was the girl inside the light beam smiling at the atrophied cottonwood tree once I had been.

I closed the book. The wrinkles were filled with the joyful signs of youth. Its dusk-choked face was shining enough to see my reflection with a flashed smile. That was a reflection of us under the protection of thousands of years. The healing, the revival, the feelings that will never die; a book shall never die, the words shall never fade.