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A Cosmic Desire

are you looking closely at your galaxy right now?

By Sue LeePublished 3 years ago 4 min read
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A little black book lies unassumingly on a dark and neglected corner shelf in the library of the soul. All humans know by instinct that it is some sort of Pandora’s box, supposedly containing myriad rules and regulations for living life on Earth. Some say it holds the sentiments and laws of enjoyment written in forms of lyric and poetry, although, the hope from which is unfortunately overshadowed by the chilling red ink of cautionary tales passed on from generation to generation. All our ancestors wanted was the best, too, right? Surely, it must then be wise for you to just heed the babble and jabber of those that came before.

The catch: all that babble and jabber never seems to amount to anything except, well, babble and jabber. And from babble and jabber we may observe growing fear, insecurity, and an unnatural senselessness; an inability to take on the tide of times as they come, the everchanging tides that may cycle in similar waveforms but are never once again the exact same. Such is the nature of our nature.

Truth is, this notebook had not always been a black notebook. During the formation phase of our material universe, Cosmos, the Godparent of all, created things left and right with high hopes that these tools would be enthusiastically taken to, tools to create a paradise on this profound geode of a planet. By created, I do not mean magical materialization. Just as we are, the Cosmos is also procedural— actually, the originator of our procedural nature. Just like us, Cosmos created the initial set up block by block, with its own hands. Included among these handiworks was a finely crafted notebook. Cosmos wanted this book to be enticing, wanted it to emanate longing for touch of human hands, so that they might eagerly scribble their interesting thoughts and amusements, fill the pages with the valued ideas and experiences of each person. Consideration was given to each color of the spectrum for its cover. Passionate red? Could be mistaken for anger. Calm blue? Hm… could be seen as cold to the touch. After taking all the time Cosmos needed, a decision was made. The book’s front cover would not hold any one color at all, but instead be a triangular prism, much like the one on that Pink Floyd album cover, so that it may be most useful when light strikes it. That way, all notions could be encompassed. Most of all, whimsy was to be communicated.

And yet, the little notebook with rainbow-projecting ability had still yet to be picked up by an open reader.

Until you came along. Glowing and unafraid, you entered the library of the soul on your own two feet without a moment’s hesitation. It was only natural. The deep and never-ending path of internal introspection entertained you to no end; you are your own best friend. One day while buoyantly wandering the dark aisles, taking out and replacing book after book, flipping and skimming through pages, you chance upon in your periphery that unlit corner shelf upon which a lonely, small black notebook lies.

As you approach, you realize that the notebook had never been black, or flat even. You had failed to detect the delicately rising edges of the triangular prism, only had glimpsed the flatness of the page lying beneath it. How odd, you think, bemusedly. Step by step, you close in on the distance.

At just the right alignment, the full glory of your light meets its angular composition, and an outpouring of rainbow glow hits the wall behind the notebook. Magnificent! Your hand automatically goes for it, but some cautious inkling inside makes you hold back for a second. Could this be? A book that is not meant to be opened? It is indeed a sweet sentiment you have there, of resisting “temptations.” Whatever that may be. But surely, with the right respect, an item so beautiful should be enjoyed.

So you flip the cover open.

The first page is blank, and so is the next. You flip carefully, one by one, just in case you miss something, but are met only by more blank pages. As your curiosity and incredulity grows bigger and bigger, $20,000 falls out of the nook between the last two pages.

All for the realization that no such pre-written texts exist— just some money, and a lot of work to be done. So go ahead, please keep chasing those rainbows; the pot of gold at the end of it is: You.

humanity
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