Time Odyssey: The Soul's Memory; Part I, Dreamtime

by J. F. Weckesser

  Ketzah’s stomach tightened. This ignorant, filthy old man! What could he possibly know of real life? “Thank you, but I’d rather not.” 

  He finished the transaction haughtily and bumped into a drunk when he turned to leave. He tried to lose himself in the crowd but intoxicated shouts and curses followed him. He found a display of large baskets and squatted among them while the sot stumbled past muttering obscenities, then wandered on. After a short while, the basket-weaver approached Ketzah for a sale, so he continued on his errands. 

  His last stop was at the silk merchant’s booth. The owner of this colorful shimmering stall was a nervous little bird, scurrying about back and forth in busyness. When Ketzah had made his selection the man said, “This is our finest silk brocade. What will you be using it for?”

  “It’s for the shekinah in the temple.” 

  The little man looked up abruptly as if he had been poked. “The shekinah? You’re from the Old Temple then. I should have known, the way you act, like you’re superior or something. You religious folks make me sick—so smug and holy.” He folded the silk and shoved it in front of Ketzah. “Here’s your cloth. Pay me and go.” 

  Ketzah’s stomach churned. He finished the transaction, then clumped off angrily. 

  It was good to see the temple come into view. He walked up the steps to the grounds, sighed and entered. 

  Throughout the afternoon he grumbled to other students, and before his second-last class, which was with Atel, he confided in him. “I hate going into town around those vulgar, coarse people. Someone of my upbringing shouldn’t have to have contact with them. Let the younger, less-refined students run those errands. I belong here in the temple.”

  Atel stared at this man-child a few moments, then burst out laughing. “I am afraid you are mistaken, Little Brother. You do not belong here. You belong with them.” 

  Ketzah winced. “With those barbarians? Not I!” 

  Atel’s smiled faded and he looked sternly at his charge. “Yes, you! For were you not born a human, among other humans? You set yourself apart as if you were a god. But you are, after all, mortal like everyone else. You merely have had more opportunity than most. 

  “This temple is a school for you, and a refuge for all from the turmoil of the streets. Do not deem yourself above these poor and ignorant people. You need them more than you may want to admit.” 

  Ketzah looked askance, and the priest continued. “Where do you get the clothes on your back? The food that you eat? The stone for this very temple? Look about you, Ketzah Kowato. What do you see? Everything that is material here was made possible by those of the streets and the countryside. 

  “Look at your hands. They are soft and smooth. Your body, too, is soft and feels no pain. Why do you judge yourself better than those with callused rough palms, with aching backs and weary bodies? Because of their toil, you feel comfort and have never known want.” 

  The words stung and Ketzah flushed, but Atel went on. “You may join them and share in their struggles and pain, thus learning sensitivity for the common people. Or, you may stay here where we compassionate ones serve others and strive to uplift humanity. You must choose. You may not have both.” 

  Ketzah hung his head, and Atel softened slightly. “It would be wise for you to think long and hard about these things. These people are your brothers and sisters, as close to you as are we here in the temple. For in the great scheme, we are all one. No one is greater, nor smaller, than the other. We are all one. Beware of pride, Little Brother. It could well be your undoing.

  He stared at Ketzah silently, then added, “You are dismissed—for the day, or forever. You decide.” 

  Ketzah throbbed with shame. He walked out to the meditation chamber to calm down, but he could only stare at the floor, Atel’s words echoing in his head. Why didn’t he think of all that? He was deeply chagrined that Atel was so disappointed in him. But even more, he was ashamed of himself.

  He didn’t wait for Falima, but took his time walking home, taking a different route lest he arrive too soon and his mother ask questions. At every vacant bench he stopped and sat awhile, staring into his lap, feeling conspicuous for not being in school. When the sun finally lay low in the sky, he arrived home and tried to act natural.

  He tossed fitfully much of the night, hearing Atel’s words again and again: “Beware of pride…we are all one.”

  Ketzah arrived early the next day and slipped quietly onto the stool in Atel’s classroom. He felt the cold stare. “I’m sorry, Master Atel. I want to stay here in the temple. I promise to treat all people with respect. I…am sorry.” He couldn’t think of anything more to say. He stared at his desk awkwardly.

  Atel continued to look at the boy, then quietly said, “True followers of the Temple have great work to do, Ketzah—great work. We serve the Light. Until lately, I have imagined you laboring alongside the rest of us. I continue to hope you will be up to the task. It is, of course, entirely up to you.”

  Ketzah looked up. “What work is that, Master?”

  “We do not speak of it openly. It will be revealed in due time—if you are worthy.”

  “I’ll prove myself. I will!  I…”

  “Let us speak no more of this.” Atel smiled slightly. “I have planned that you should learn more about the seasons today, how the lives of animals are affected throughout the year...”

  * * * *

  Chapter 11

  Ketzah was more observant now to what older students were busy with, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

  Then one day he passed two older students, Hara and Mot, in the main hall. They talked animatedly in near whispers. One word was audible—‘records.’ On seeing Ketzah nearby, they quieted. Ketzah pretended nonchalance, but he was instantly intrigued. What records? What’s so secret about keeping records? We all know how to write journals and accounts.

  Later in the courtyard he heard Rataatl and Master Mukira discussing a monument. “What monument?” Ketzah asked.

  Surprised to see Ketzah, Rataatl shot a glance at Mukira, who merely clasped his hands behind his back and smiled politely. “We are discussing a possible monument to the future,” he said. “It does not concern you at the moment.” 

  Ketzah was bewildered. Poseidl was filled with monuments and statues. Surely, one more couldn’t be of much importance. 

  Walking home later with Falima, he asked, “Do you know anything about records and monuments? People whisper as if I’m not supposed to know of them. Yet I too belong in the temple. I hate being left out of things!” 

  Falima contemplated a few moments. “I don’t think anyone means to keep it secret from you. It’s just a new idea, that’s all. You’ll probably help with it before long.”

  “Secrets exasperate me, Falima. What is it? Please tell me.” 

  Falima eyed him carefully, then shrugged. “Well, you’re going to find out anyway, so I may as well tell you. Let’s sit here a moment and I’ll explain.”  

  She led him to a bench near a canal and they sat down. A palm swayed and clattered overhead and shaded the area. She stared at the water flowing gently by. After a few moments she said, “We know the turmoil and problems that the world is experiencing. The priests say it’s worse now than ever before. They sense a great change in our civilization. They feel a foreboding—something terrible, maybe the collapse of our nation. We are preparing for it, and this is the way we’re going to pass on our knowledge. This wisdom, compiled, will make up the Records you’ve heard about.”

  Ketzah shivered, a little frightened. 

  “The language that unifies all people, in all times,” she continued,  “is mathematics. We want to speak to civilizations in the future through this language. So that’s what we’re attempting to do.” 

  “Mathematics is a language? That’s absurd.”

  “So it may seem at first. But it’s so, nevertheless.” He stared at her. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” She touched his hand ligh
tly.

  “Yes, I see now,” said Ketzah, though in fact, he didn’t. “Thank you for telling me this.” They got up and quietly continued the walk home. He asked no more questions, for this was beyond his comprehension. The study of numbers wasn’t his best subject, but even so, he didn’t see how anyone could communicate through them. 

  Through the day, he pondered what Falima said, wondering if it was true, or just erroneous feelings the priests were sensing. If something awful was looming in the future, maybe it was possible to keep it from happening. There had to be a way. 

  * *

  It wasn’t long after that day, when Ketzah and Atel sat on a wooden bench in the temple garden. It was cool, but the morning sun helped dispel the chill. Ketzah had loosened his blue cloak, but Atel was still bundled in his coarse brown wrap. 

  The lesson today concerned war, and the importance of peaceful paths. The discussion gradually shifted to the aggressive manner of modern-day Atlan. 

  “It seems to me,” said Ketzah, “that all about us are scenes of battle. Tiny birds chase larger predators through the skies. Look. At our feet, black ants war with red ants.” He frowned. “Is this all that life is? It all seems mindless and hopeless. Is this the way of all things? What will become of us?”

  Atel’s eyes lingered down on the ants. “No one knows for sure. We only guess and sense and try to do what’s right. My brothers and I feel that major disturbances will happen soon. Worldwide upheavals, Ketzah, in your lifetime.” 

  Ketzah stared at him wide-eyed. “Can’t we stop it?” 

  Atel looked up. “Until we know precisely what the disturbances will be, we are powerless to seek help. Yet, we sense something very disturbing, very inharmonious looming. Men and women have forgotten their dependence upon the Earth, and upon each other. There will be a reckoning.” He sighed. “So, we must prepare for the effects of their foolish actions. As we in the temple hold the knowledge—esoteric and exoteric—of the ages, we are duty-bound to preserve this wisdom. The mass of this we call ‘the Records.’ We now ponder building a monument to store it all.” 

  “But why store records? We can just tell the next generation about our lives—and teach them how to read and write. Why not just hand down the teachings the way it’s always been done?” 

  Atel rubbed his chin for a moment. “Ketzah, I recall your parents once told me that you had a grave illness when you were but three years old.” 

  “Why, yes, I was very sick. My mother told me my fever was so high, she worried that I’d die. But, of course, the doctor brought some medicine and I got better very quickly.” 

  “That’s right. You took medication—as happens with everyone in our country. This we have done, throughout the centuries, improving our methods of healing so much that few people at all die from disease. This is a wonderful thing, is it not?” He raised a finger. “Yet, in another way, it is not so good.”

  “What do you mean? Of course it’s good. How could it not be?” 

  “Close your eyes, Little Brother, and take a mental journey to the untamed places of the Earth.” Ketzah closed his eyes and imagined a scene. “Behold the animals of the wilderness. See how the strongest survive, but the weak and ill die, often in babyhood. Usually before they are mature enough to reproduce. Disease, parasites, birth defects, puniness. The strong survive, breed and reproduce ever-stronger inhabitants of their species. Is this not the way it should be?” 

  Ketzah opened his eyes. “Well, yes, I suppose. But we’re strong enough, aren’t we? With medicine, I mean. It doesn’t really matter if our bodies aren’t as strong as the animals, as long as we’re able to cure the diseases...” 

  “Ah yes, Ketzah. Such is true in our society today. But now, imagine to yourself our civilization collapsing, with few survivors. We cannot be sure that all those saved will be scientists and teachers. The medicine will be gone. The knowledge of how to get the medicine may also be gone. Who then will survive? Who will reproduce into the next generations? Only the strongest. 

  “And who are the strongest? Surely not we Atlanteans, who have become weaker and weaker through generations of weak producing weak. No, the strongest of the physical bodies—the people most likely to survive and reproduce—will be those of simpler societies, the so-called savages, who are ignorant of higher technology. The knowledge of the great civilization of Atlan would be gone within one generation. All that might remain would be half-believed legends.” 

  Ketzah sat stunned. Still, he recalled his lessons. “But, would it matter if we weren’t remembered? Isn’t it vanity to want importance and fame? What other purpose could there be in this venture?” 

  “Good thinking, Little Brother. There is indeed a reason, beyond vanity, for our venture. It is to teach. You see, if we can tell far distant future humanity, steeped in high technology such as Atlan is today, of our past, with its mistakes and our ultimate destruction, perhaps they will learn from us, choose different paths and thus avoid our inevitable fate. That then is our purpose.” 

  The hair on Ketzah’s arms stood up. “But surely, the same things wouldn’t happen again. We don’t know that there could be another Atlan...” 

  Atel nodded with conviction. “Have no doubt, Ketzah. Human thinking remains unchanged throughout the ages. People make the same choices, again and again, unless they are finally stopped and directed onto the correct path. For even the civilization we now enjoy has already been, ages ago.” 

  “What!?” Edak’s face flashed through Ketzah’s mind.

  “Yes, Ketzah. Those dreams of yours are not merely dreams, but memories of other days, other times.”

  “But the people looked different. The land was primitive and strange.” 

  “Do not be deceived by outward appearances. It is what happens in the heart of a person that matters.” 

  Atel took a deep breath, recalling the ancient stories. “Thousands and thousands of years ago, so long ago as to seem only a myth, was the wonderful continent of Mu. It now lies sunken at the bottom of the Western Sea. This was the first civilization on Earth. Atlan existed then also, but had only started to rise in her technology. She was a large continent then, not broken up into the islands it is today. 

  “By a combined effort of Atlan and other developed countries, misusing the laws of nature, a great upheaval resulted. Mu disappeared forever, leaving little of its wisdom behind and only a few hidden survivors. Those scattered few colonies now live in the highest and nearly unknown areas of the world. They wish no contact with the outside, preferring instead to remain in seclusion. They are a highly developed race, and their lives are lived in prayer and contemplation.” 

  He looked at Ketzah. “So you see, it has happened before and it will probably happen again. According to certain signs seen around the world, it will happen soon. As I said, in your lifetime. Even now, the Earth rumbles and shakes more than is normal, and volcanoes erupt with new fervor. This is why we are so adamant in our teaching of our students and of the monument—a monument to Light. We have a great responsibility, to warn our children of the future.” 

  Ketzah’s eyes stung. So, this must be my purpose. This is why I’m here. His voice shook. “Then I’ll work hard to preserve the knowledge of the world, the Records.”

  * *

  Up until now, Ketzah had been experiencing frequent moods of adolescent cockiness. Admonishments from the priests quelled his attitude for short periods only. But now life was different. He wasn’t a pampered brat of temple halls after all, but a servant of the world. It was a privilege, not a burden, to help people in need. 

  There were no more surly fits. He had work to do!

  Through the years, Atel had noticed how Ketzah loved gardens and growing things. With the lad’s new intensity of purpose, he allotted him a small garden of his own in a sunny part of the courtyard. There Ketzah learned to hybridize. Through the seasons corn, beans, cucumbers and melons grew large and vigorous under his care. Fruit trees grew on th
e grounds—apricot, orange and pomegranate—and he cared for them.

  He found he could think and muse alone while he worked, and he found great pleasure when his hands were in the garden soil. And so, during his free times, rather than visiting with friends or daydreaming or napping, he chose to be in the garden. Here he could ponder and prepare questions or arguments for Atel while his hands dug holes, clipped branches, pulled weeds and tied stems. His garden became vibrant. 

  * *

  Nearly a year passed. Ketzah was enjoying a warm, nearly wind-free day working in the melon patch. He squatted in the rich dirt, checking for insects. 

  He looked up to see Falima approaching, carefully stepping around the plants as she neared. “Good afternoon, Ketzah,” she called,  pausing to examine a bandaged graft on a nearby branch. 

  Ketzah stood and brushed soil from his hands. “Ah, Falima, I’m glad to see you. All my favorite things in one place—my garden, and you!” 

  “This should be your career then,” she said, ignoring the compliment. “You love gardens and you’re good at it.” She plucked an orange blossom from a branch and savored its fragrance. “Imagine—Ketzah Kowato, botanist...or farmer...or...hmm...herbalist.” 

  “Or weed-monger,” he said, laughing. He took the blossom from her and fixed it in her headband, over her ear. “There now, you can carry the perfume with you.” His fingers lightly caressed her cheek. A thrill tantalized him from his throat to his lower abdomen. He forced it from his mind. “And if I’m attacked by a thorn bush, I’ll run to Dr. Falima.” 

  Her smile faded slightly. “I don’t know. I always thought I wanted to be a doctor. But I realize now that working directly with patients doesn’t interest me as much as finding cures for the diseases themselves. You know how much the energy of the Crystals has always fascinated me. When we last visited the Firestone building, it came to me that I want to know how to focus them and direct cures. I think I’d like to work there.” 

  She shook her head and shrugged. “I don’t know; I’m not sure. I’m good in mathematics, so maybe that’s what I should be doing. But numbers don’t interest me as healing does.”