The Ritual

Long before the advent of linear time, in a world divided only by night and day, I have been witnessing a world that’s hard to comprehend. Living by the sea after my stint in the Himalayas is a totally different experience. No steel to shut down my visions and the conflict of duality clear. I am starting at the dark boundless oceans night after night. The sight of thunder far away in the ocean inspires awe in me.  The world I live in is surrounded by temple priests and their peculiarly magnificent temples.

Every temple is a microcosm in its self. The inner sanctums of these temples are visited only by the high priests and people who display extraordinary psychic abilities. Their brains are monitored by these priests to extract vital electrical impulses to bring alive the God of doom. The God of doom activates the battery within humans which times the priest’s existence in this dark world.

The rest of us suffer and continue to live for ages to experience bitter feelings of jealousy, greed and hate. An idea that has got priests stuck in the inner sanctum for ages without seeing daylight is the idea of death. Hoping for redemption through death, these men of God have turned away from the world, torturing people with ability to be caged in the house of God.

Visitors to the temple often wonder, what’s happening in the inner sanctum? Only the smell of flesh and decay greet the followers of Doom. Every offering erodes grey cells in the head due to which this small town beside the sea is filled with zombie like humans. Thank God! I am an ordinary being with no gifts at all. I am of no use to the priests and have never gone inside any temple in this dark and sordid place. 

 

I see flashes of white light lighting up the sky in middle of the night and clamouring of metal inside the temple.  Some believe that the electrical impulses were stored in a machine that could transcend dimensional obstacles of our mind. The next day one sees the death ceremony of a high priest. The ceremony ends with a gigantic, bright and a semi-circular object hovering over the dead body in the sky. 

It is an object too bright to look at and has the thundering noise of a storm. The calm of this sleepy village is shaken once the ceremony of death takes place. A flash of light blinds us all before the dead body is visible no more on its platform. All that remains is the sacred metal in which the younger priests had got the dead body.

Life draws to normal after the ceremony and the thunder on the horizon a reminder of the real.  A life in metal, data inputs in the head and the electrical impulse which never dies but get stronger when the storm is over head.