The Tower

This is a short story I wrote quite a few months ago. It's a little Lovecraftian at times, a little Kafkaesque at others. Enjoy.

I can only access the tower when I go In Between. I can't access it otherwise. When I stand on the porch of my secluded cabin and look for its presence in the distance, I realize I am fooling myself. In the turbulent life of my feverish dreams it is no different; the eye of mind can't see it in the hedge-maze of the subconscious. This is why I have learned how to use the fiery knife of the cunning imagination to make an incision in the space|time quilt that blankets this world. I have learned how to make doorways where before there were only dead-ends. But to speak of my "magical prowess" would be an unnecessary digression. I only wish to speak to you about the tower, for its presence in the In Between of things may be an omen of the end (an end not only of this world, but also of all worlds). This quite obviously concerns us all.

Even though I deemed it unnecessary to speak of my aptitude in the realm of magic, I still must speak of how I initially accessed the tower via a magical procedure that fortuitously landed me in front of the stone beast. But I only mention it as a type of preface to the object in question. I assure you that the contents and the events that transpired and continue to transpire in the tower take precedence in this story. And I assure you of this: the discoveries I have unveiled in the enigmatic tower threaten to undermine everything we currently know about reality.

One unmemorable day, I was washing some pots when I stumbled upon a hairline crack on one of the pots I had placed to the side. Soapsuds were hugging the crack, and invariably they were obfuscating the crack from plain view, but I still managed to see this miniscule crack somehow. Perhaps my perception of this crack was directed by some kind of extra-sensorial force? Or perhaps my eyes just happened to line up with the flagrant reality of the crack at the "right time" (if I could use this pithy expression loosely)? Regardless of the cause of the perception—determined or otherwise—I instinctively knew I should use the reality of the crack as a magical symbol in a form of meditation that involved the internal magnification of symbols—in this case, an easily forgettable crack on an equally as forgettable pot—for the purpose of finding the hidden reality that sustained and continues to sustain such symbols. Although this sounds convoluted in the written form, I assure you it is quite simple in practice once one gets the hang of it. Like the biologist's microscope or the astronomer's telescope, the meditation unveils a section or level of reality that was previously thought to be quite mundane. The magnification of the internal symbols pushes the rational mind to the fringes of itself where it is forced to either abandon ship for a time being—the favorable outcome in all magical operations—or rush back to the comfortable and known. I obviously opted for the former.

So I took the symbol of the crack with me—in mind, in soul—and I ventured off to a dark room in the cabin that I frequently used for such experimental meditations. I sat down in a cushy chair, closed my eyelids, and ardently focused on the crack. I contorted, twisted, rotated, and juggled the crack in my mind's eye until I felt comfortable in proceeding with the magnification process. When I proceeded with the process, I intensified my efforts and my inner sight with one-pointed precision. It felt good to be standing on the edge that overlooked the abyss of myself, the territory that one finds by imploding the mind through conscious theurgic efforts. In no time at all, my mind had detached from my body, and I found myself facing a whirling void that presented possibilities and entire universes much like a flower would present opulent petals of itself in May. My free mind chose one of those raging, shape-shifting possibilities, and dived in headless first.

The feeling of entering that alien atmosphere was akin to breaking through some kind of chrysalis into a world completely unknown. It felt extremely orgasmic, and rightfully so. While flying in the metaphysical organism one could refer to as the extended, imaginal mind, one stumbles upon ecstatic pulsations that defy the rules of logic and locality. In other words, one finds uninhibited ecstasy as it is, as it always innately is, without the unnecessary baggage. However, this ecstatic state didn't last for long. Moments later I found myself standing in front of the stone beast, the ominous tower, and let me tell you something…it did not look happy to see me. My first impression was one of dread. I said to myself, "I dove headfirst into the wrong universe."

"I dove headfirst into the wrong dimension." The words resounded in my being and, due to the inscrutable laws of supra-sensible dimensions, the words resounded in and around the tower as well. I sensed that the tower didn't think too highly of my attitude. So, from that moment on, as best as I could, I decided to change my attitude from one of dread and regret to one of wonder and reverence. After all, there may be no "wrong moves" in the circuitous course the soul makes and takes in the numinous and the terrestrial. There are only moves which dictate the course of further moves—karmic motions on the endless chessboard of the eternal. I sensed that the ominous tower provisionally acquiesced to my ruminations. When the tower revealed a door to me at the base of its massive edifice, I realized that my intuitions about the tower were correct. Furthermore, I realized the tower and I had been communicating telepathically since I entered its mysterious land. How? I wasn't quite sure. In what dialect? I was oblivious.

As I cautiously approached the enigmatic doorway with steps that seemed equally as enigmatic, I noticed a row of rhododendrons whispering amongst one another—rhododendrons sentient enough to speak, rhododendrons rosy enough to intoxicate the eyes within moments of first visual contact. Their whispers, their strange bardo language, eluded me just as much as the tower's, but I felt at ease with them. They seemed genuinely curious. They seemed happy to see my soul. The tower, on the other hand, seemed deceptive, grumpy, and old. I guessed that it was eons in age, and even ageless. Perhaps it represented the final architectural achievement of a species that had dedicated lifetimes to arduously perfecting its baleful stature in the In Between of things? Perhaps the tower was the only thing the species had created? To my chagrin, the rhododendrons didn't disclose any information to me that would have corroborated my internal ruminations.

Ten paces away from the doorway, I said to myself as quietly and furtively as possible, "This wondrous, menacing, paradoxical tower better not swallow my soul. I don't want to be a food source for this being." Soon after that I willingly entered the mouth of the tower. Everything was dark—darker than a thousand black holes shrouded in an even greater darkness. My soul-eyes saw nothing. I thought about leaving, but a small amount of courage pushed me forward. The courage may have been the soul's yearning to equate itself with all things seen and unseen. I wasn't quite sure. In the In Between, nothing is fully determined. Not one's tentative thoughts. Not even reality itself.

I walked for what seemed like miles in a darkness as still as the divine stasis, the unmoving silky substance of eternity. I asked myself many questions, but I did not receive any answers via my higher self or the tower that enveloped me on all sides. I was beginning to think I was lost when, suddenly, a faint light appeared in the distance. As I approached the light with those enigmatic steps of mine—steps which carried me through the dark, unseen corridors of the tower—the light slowly revealed something that had not been apparent before: I was walking up a massive spiral staircase. As the light revealed more of the features and contours of the spiral staircase to me, I further realized I was walking on a staircase composed of a membranous material; a type of psychic substance that subtly ebbed and flowed outside, or inside, or inside|outside the visible light spectrum. When I crouched down and touched the staircase, I realized I was standing on what could well have been the Mind of God. Such a realization was revelatory, and slightly terrifying, even god-awfully terrifying.

After such a realization, I moved onwards to the light that was glowing from an open window in the tower. The dazzling light was receptive to my journey towards it. I remember that. As I peered mindfully through the open window, I disconcertingly saw my own prone body on the chair in my cabin. My body seemed to be calling me back through the language of somatic wisdom. I thought, "So far away, and yet not far away at all. The paradox of extra-corporeal travel will always be puzzling." But it was not time for me to return to the body. There were more spaces to explore. The depths of the lugubrious tower…the apogee…the hidden chambers…the hidden voice of the tower itself…these were the things that occupied my weightless mind then and even now.

I climbed and climbed those membranous stairs until the light of the open window had faded from view. There was something outstanding about the way the darkness operated—at once a divine stasis of sorts, and simultaneously a substance that acted with the lithe momentum of my bodiless body. I wondered if the darkness was the tower's language, and the spiral staircase was the tower's long and winding yarn. Furthermore, I wondered if I would ever be able to penetrate into the deepest mystery of such a place. As I wondered and ruminated over such things, I bumped into something that had obstructed my path forward. Did I finally reach the summit-room, the highest place in the edifice, the access point to the final secret of the In Between? My hand eventually found a knob. One twist. One breath. Only one way to know. I walked into the room. One step followed one step, and another, and another.

The room was composed of the same psychic material as the spiral staircase, but this room seemed to be occupied by an imperceptible intelligence that was absent from the rest of the tower. The imperceptible intelligence may have been what was communicating to me outside. I didn't know whether the intelligence was happy to see me or not. It probably didn't matter. A host is not always happy to see a guest, but nonetheless certain pleasantries are exchanged. Besides, I wouldn't have gotten this far if I was downright despised by a tower that lived beyond the reaches of the Milky Way.

After inspecting the room for a few moments, I found a large tome situated on a pedestal in the corner of the room. Was it the lost grimoire of the species that had built such an intelligent and ominous tower? Whatever it was, I wasn't about to leave it alone. The consummation of curiosity was far more important than consequence. I cautiously and mindfully approached the tome and opened it randomly to a page. Scrawled on the page, with a type of luminous psychic ink, were the names of countless beings. I turned to the next page. Once again, there was a lengthy list of countless beings. The next page was the same.

I pondered over the puzzling list, and then came to some provisional conclusions about the nature of the list. I figured the tome was a "sign in book" for all beings who had visited the tower since the dawn of time. I figured it was placed there by the elusive species, the hidden architects who have long since dissolved from the collective memory of every extant civilization. As I read on and unveiled more facets of the tome, I realized my initial and inchoate assumptions were incorrect.

The tome was not a "sign in book" for itinerants and wayward mystics. Instead, the tome actually explained a process of assimilation, whereby the tower slowly and miraculously swallowed all events and all beings and transformed them into the membranous substance of the spiral staircase. The list was an ongoing documentation of the process. All the beings listed had already been swallowed or were soon to be swallowed, or metaphysically consumed, by the ominous tower. After much time spent sweating over the text, I eventually found my own name scrawled on a page countless chapters in. The page mentioned that I was destined to be assimilated and consumed three years from now.

As I write this document after numerous journeys to the land of the ominous tower, I feel relieved and, paradoxically, frightened by the impending reality that I will face three years from now (after all, I did mention that I didn't want to be a food source for the tower-being). But it is not just a question of "I". As I mentioned in the introduction, my discoveries are admonitions for all worlds, all beings, and all events, from all times, and all places. My question to you is this: are you prepared for the impending reality that faces you? Are you prepared to be consumed by a tower that awaits you in the In Between of things?