Suns of Time

Suns of Time

The soles of my feet dig trenches in the sand as I press on. Sweat is poring down my face in beads that sting my eyes. The scorching sun that blazes upon my back creates waves of hallucinations in my path. Step by step I begin to wonder what this place of desolation and heat has in store for me. I wish that I could take my heavy robes off; they just weigh me down, but I know that that would just cause me more problems than have already arisen. I feel my time has run out here, I’ve begun to ponder my existence.



Upon the horizon I see something set apart from the rest. I’m unsure if it is the trick of heat wearing upon my mind. I walk for what seems to be an eternity as I finally step onto a hot stone floor. The heat seeps through my shoes. Layer upon layer of linen seem as if it is only silk upon this flaming stone. I have entered some place that has been long forgotten. A stench of mystery and magic fills the air. I move on through the dust covered stones and I enter a dark foreboding nothingness that looms over head. I enter into this hole in the side of this mountain and into darkness.



This place is of archaic origin, an arcanum that was not meant to be forgotten. The people of Haryana were not to be the last that were taught by my hand, but there was someone that was here before me. Someone that was of my own people. I only remember two, maybe three others that were of my race that has been long forgotten. I’ve been a wanderer for eons. I remember not when I was conceived. Burned only in my mind is the long arduous walk of eternity. I feel my time is nigh. This is a new experience for me. The thought of death is foreign to me and was impossible for my mind to grasp once mentioned by the aboriginals. I’ve taught the truth to culture after culture, and yet I still feel as if I am ignorant to the world around me.



My steps in this cavernous hall are hollow echoes in my mind. The vibration rattles in my head as thoughts of an impending death twirl my thoughts into chaos. Trying to wrap my mind around this concept of an end grows tiresome. Many of the people I’ve taught lived in what they called "fear" of this death, yet to me there is neither fear nor death.



Whoever dwelt within this shadow crept hall knew of something beyond. They knew of something that was to remain a secret to all. Runes carved from the memory of mankind until it was time to reawaken from its own ashes. Naïve humans always think that their generation is the one that will see the end of time, this death of eternity. Yet I have lived far longer than any of them and I have seen nothing that could be described as such. They even think that this world is only so old, and they ascribes stories of its creation. She was never born, just as she will never cease to exist. This is why I pity them. They are so starved of belonging, love and joy that they created fear, pain, and death to replace it. They have so much potential if only they were to recognize it.



I come upon a room that has surprisingly crisp air in this old tomb of secrets. In its darkness I make out this block of stone in the corner that seems to be coyly hold something that even I can call ancient. I reach for the block and feel an aura of power that supersedes any that I have ever felt. I notice a small stone tablet that lies upon the block. It’s covered with dust so thick that it falls off in a cohesive clump as I lift it upright. A sense of longing rushes into my heart. Memories flood my consciousness as I hold the tablet against my chest. I hear words in my head that sound as if they are spoken by me.



“Demise is only the mind of those who fear.”



This was once my home…