by Unknown
As for the name of the amazing director who won the audience’s applause in the end of the play, it’s Helmut Krotiner.
The great majority of the population of Blomsterfor originates from the north. I heard people say that, apart from the millions of descendants of the Teutons and the Germans, there are also numerous distant descendants of the Finns, Swedes and Norwegians here, who had been asked by the leaders of the era of Trodalsen, Verhin, Vohlbach, Delaroche and Baldini, 15 centuries ago, to descend to the Rhine, to the Danube and all the way down to the Mediterranean. And they obeyed, without initially wanting to, in order to prevent further conflict.
The great disaster of -87 was still relatively recent at that time and so this conscientious migration to the South, which was triggered by the South itself, coincided with the enactment of the Magna Carta of Altekirchen when hope for a better life, politically, socially and demographically speaking, was reborn from the ashes. At the same time, the unions and the independent, self-reliant cooperative organisations of all kinds of partners, precursors of the glothners, had started to become institutionalised.
CEREMONIES AND THE USE OF RELIGION
Blomsterfor, 1-VII
It’s the first day of the month today and here in Blomsterfor they have the custom to celebrate it as a Christian holiday, like Christmas and Easter.
I have noticed that they have no icons or statues, but thanks to their magical technical means, the scene of the Annunciation appeared today, in the first morning hours, in the crystal clear sky, outshining the nearest stars…
Lost as I was in the huge crowd, I couldn’t even see the main body of the procession, but Stefan told me afterwards that the procession was led by the VIPs in snow-white robes and representatives of the Valley of the Roses by their side and by several unge, as they call them here, from the Order of Mary-Lea, dressed in their official uniforms and wearing their traditional silk scarves. Beside them, children dressed in white with golden belts around their waists carried wreaths of light-coloured flowers.
Despite the luxury of the uniforms and the flowers, the solemnity of the atmosphere was undeniable. From the prayers that they chanted, I recognised Ave Regina Caelorum and later they sang “Sancta Dei genitrix, ora pro nobis”. During the latter, thousands of people sang along “Pra pro nobis... Miserere nobis…”
Never in my life had I been a part of such an evocative, such a solemn ceremony, until now. And what makes me draw this conclusion is the incredible devotion and consistency of the crowd during the procession. What gave rise to this feeling of uniqueness was not the spectacle itself or the wealth of the procession, but the fact that they experienced it so sincerely and deeply!
Once again, I realised that religion is, above all, an experience and an emotional attraction to the Divine and to the ideal of Sanctity. It is a question of “heart and intuition” rather than rationalism in this sacred “bond” between man and Spirit.
If you asked Stefan whether there is anything truly rational underlying, say, the “Virgin Mary”, or if it corresponds to something real, my friend would have the answer ready: “I don’t want to hear anything about rationality when it comes to these things.”
But this time I insisted. I asked him if what he and Jaeger had told me was true, namely that after the Volkic Revelation, religions, or at least their dogmatic aspect, turned out to be something like children’s fairy tales.
“Yes,” he replied patiently, trying to make me understand. “What you say is true, but don’t forget that the substantive content of the Samith, its true texture and structure, still escapes us entirely. So long as we’re still humans, it is inaccessible to us. In other words, we use religions as a substitute; they serve to comfort us and alleviate this deprivation of ours…”
I felt for him because he was clearly struggling to express himself in the way he wished. It hurt him to try and put all these beliefs and ideas he had in his head into a logical sequence of thoughts. Every attempt to rationalise those “great things” made him sad and agitated, because for him such things can only be perceived through faith and intuition.
Annelud, 2-VII
Lysborg, Cologne, Rozenholm, New Scone, Koblenz, Mayentia, Mannheim: pearls of the modern Rhine, which is now four times wider than the ancient one. It took us all day to traverse it but we became witnesses to a parade of such indescribable beauty that any signs of fatigue or boredom are not even worth mentioning. New Radviko, Karlsruhe, Annelud, Strasborg, New Karelia… If I had twenty lives, I’d spend them here and nowhere else!
Oh my, what colours, what lights, what incredible beauty in those fir-covered areas! Flower cities and water cities alternate as we proceed. In front of us, a kind of canal with entire garden cities built on its banks, dream-like, and now inhabited riverside locations, artificial waterfalls that perfectly imitate the work of nature, gestalads of monumental grandeur, modern temples of the spirit, conservatories with immense concert halls, countless hostels, Civesheims and villas surrounded by vast green areas.
But all of this was for me nothing but a fleeting vision. I can’t say that I truly saw any of these miracles, that I got enough of them, that I know them, that I truly experienced them.
I arrived in Annelud with the impression of a big, recent loss, an unreasonable and unfair void inside me. I was left with the thirst to go back to those dreamy places as soon as possible, to walk them one by one! But Stefan says we can’t go back. We’ve got a different destination: we’re headed southeast. There are moments when the circumstances of life, which have basically been imposed upon me, make me feel that Stefan doesn’t see me as a friend and companion but rather as an “equal” who has suffered a traumatic experience and still struggles with his injuries. He sees me as the “Cive of the Nojere” who, however, still depends on other people to take care of him, the mentally crippled “prisoner of his amnesia”, the only man in today’s world that isn’t free to fly to wherever he wants, whenever he wants…
2-VII Again
(Very late at night)
Spring has come for good now and the nights here in this beautiful city of the South are magical. The days are longer and the evenings are now quite warm. Now I’m on the terrace of the gestalad where we’re staying, lying in my chaise lounge, facing the garden. I’m sitting wrapped in the thin but warm coat that was given to all of us in the Forening distributions, staring at the sky. It’s a bit chilly but the starlight is marvellous. Plus, the soft wind that blows carries scents from the nearby gardens.
I think about what Kant used to say: “Two things awe me most, the starry sky above me and the moral law within me.” The sky is my most loyal friend, the dearest companion of my soul because it is the same as in my own time. And no one can deprive me of the magic of this clear night sky!
THE NEW RENAISSANCE OF 3300 AD
Visual arts and their techniques
Nysalborg, 4-VII
The aesthetic pleasure offered by the “United Museums” in Nysalborg and the state galleries, which are said to be some of the most representative galleries of central Europe, could only be compared to the deep satisfaction the art lovers of our time felt when visiting our major temples of art: the Louvre, the Prado, the Hermitage, the Borghese Gallery, the Pitti Palace and the museums of Rome. Because if there is one field of culture in which the current civilisation matched, but didn’t actually manage to exceed the achievements of our time—at least the ones up until the 20thcentury—this is the visual arts. In every other aspect of life and culture I strongly believe that this world is far ahead of our own. Any attempt to compare them would overwhelmingly be to our detriment.
And by “current culture”, of course, I mean mainly their great 9th century and not so much the 600 years that followed. In that century, art reached its greatest peak in the history of the new civilisation. As for the exact period that I lived in, the history of their art classifies it, unconditionally and without further debate, as a period marked by the decline and fall of art, describing t
hose years as a kind of a new Middle Ages that elapsed between the beginning of the 20th century and their regeneration. Not to mention the time when gibberish and nonsense were conceived as a new kind of “style”, “originality” and “art”.
Now, when I say that these people managed to match us, I’m talking purely artistically and aesthetically and not in terms of technical means. In the field of technical means and advancements, their superiority is unmatched since they are capable of creating effects that we could have never even conceived. Here are some examples: the way their colours and lines are maintained, their “photochromata”, all the different methods and types of shading, the topographers’ dimension of depth, and the famous “colourlight”, which is also known as the “skylight colour of Anolia”—an innovation of the school of Stiernsted, a great painter of the 9th century—and is specifically used for the depiction of the sky in landscape paintings, and other such technical achievements that are independent of the purely artistic value of works. Luckily, they know exactly to what extent they should use these technical means without ever sacrificing true beauty for the sake of technical progress; their undeniable and unmistakable aesthetic prevents them from losing control.
Youthsmile, 5-VII
(Late at night)
March is almost over and there’s no place like the old Austrian Tyrol to welcome April. The lyrics of a poet from my time come to mind when I thing about it: “O primavera, gioventù dell' anno!” (“O Spring, youth of the year!”)
We arrived here yesterday, late in the morning, along with the tens of thousands of people travelling in the gigantic caravan of daners, mainly from the countries of the far north, from Olesud, Trongemi, Bergen, Scavanger, Norfor and even from the Polar Regions. Their faces were beaming with happiness. Most of them were going to embark on individual means of transport and continue their journey to the Mediterranean shores… Oh, how I wish we stopped here for a while too! I could not imagine a greater personal desire at the moment. Spring afternoon and sunset in Youthsmile!
7-VII
(Outside Youthsmile)
Silvia and I—just the two of us this time—passed numerous rural areas called lansbees, whose names I didn’t bother asking. I didn’t feel like asking anything, neither yesterday nor today.
Happy days… Blissful days! Who were these people that managed to convince us that pain was “a prerequisite of life” and that man’s destiny is to suffer? How wrong I was! Oh, how wrong I was to believe them! How wrong I was to think and live that way! How much of my youth and zest for life have I squandered? I wish I could pass the time I have left here with Silvia in this lovely artificial Tyrolean valley, which today has a population of over four million. How I wish I could spend my days and nights here, and only here, in Youthsmile, living the dream, the fairy tale!
True happiness does not cost anything. It nestles in the smallest things. Youth—not chronological youth or the youth of the body, but the youth of the soul—and love are enough to make your heart capable of perceiving all this happiness that surrounds you, all these divine messages that you daily miss.
Today, as Silvia was walking through the gate wearing her hair down, the expression of her eyes and her arched eyebrows reminded me of the features of Villi, Anna’s son. I only saw him once in the central square of our little village, but his image was indelibly etched in my memory. They looked so much alike in everything they said and did, not just their features; they were like two drops of water! It was as if she would never be lost, as long as he walked the earth, as if she would always live on through him, as if miracles happen in this world and human science does not know everything, as if there are things that exist outside of our own sphere of possibilities and concepts, as if the determining factor of one’s personality, along with genes, also conceals some ineffable spiritual element that doesn’t know limitations of time and space, that defeats the poor, transient nature of human life, that crosses the abysses of time, a spiritual element inconceivable by human reasoning, but always present.
STROLLING THROUGH THE LANSBEES
8-VII
Today I rose from my armchair early in the morning when peace and quiet still embraced the lansbees that were sleeping beneath the crystal clear, blue sky. I took quite a long walk until the time that I know Silvia usually wakes up. Gradually, the lansbees started to wake up as well. Men and women, but mostly young Cives, boys and girls with thick hiking boots and small, soft hats in their hands, some alone, others in pairs and others in larger groups, headed off to the wooded slopes. The majority wore the insignia of their group on their lapels.
On the way I met a well-formed young woman with blonde plaits, who was heading to the mountain on her own. I stopped and looked at her. Although she realised that I had noticed her, she didn’t lower her gaze. Neither did she make eyes at me, of course. She didn’t have the slightest intention to provoke and that was reflected in her expression. It was characterised by a child’s innocence without any passing hint of coquetry whatsoever. It revealed confidence in front of the stranger she had just encountered that she had no reason to keep at a “distance”. But she did not give me the slightest perceptible encouragement. She was probably wondering why I had stopped and if I needed something, her glance was an unpretentious, friendly one that exuded an air of equality.
I knew that if I asked her something, let’s say for directions, she would answer me with much courtesy and dignity and with the necessary, here, “tank” (thanks) at the end of each phrase. And that if I tried to walk side by side with her she would not get suspicious of my intentions, nor would she start having any similar psychological reactions. She would find it polite, friendly and guileless, as if we were old friends. And if later I met and kept company with her friends, they would also treat me in the same way: like an old and regular member of their group.
I hadn’t forgotten though, that Silvia would be expecting me shortly, so I didn’t talk to her at all. I put an end to our encounter by nodding goodbye, as is now customary in such circumstances—that is, between an unknown young “citizen” and an older man who has no reason to talk to her.
At the entrance of the green meadow that leads to nearest motorway, there’s a marble sculpture of Mary-Lea Volky, one of the most famous ones of the old Tyrol, work of their 12th-century sculptor Ottermanden. The statue lends its name to the sylvan road that lies ahead. The Bilvej motorway runs outside Youthsmile and the artificial valley. No motorways of theirs run through the states or cities. That’s why they have built smaller, ring roads to connect the two.
The first impression that a foreigner has of Mary-Lea is that she is somehow a “saint of Christianity”, proclaimed by the spiritual leaders of the Valley of the Roses, at a time when the Christian Church had stopped proclaiming saints for centuries. At least that’s what I felt while sitting at her feet. Regardless of the historical reality, one could easily characterise Mary-Lea as a kind of “Christian spiritual figure”, and that because of the “inner relationship” between the preaching of the Nojere and our own ancient religion, which is considered today a universal tradition.
I’m taking one last look at the sculptural masterpiece by Ottermanden. The smile of Mary-Lea slightly resembles the enigmatic smile of our Mona Lisa, and somehow manages to bring an indescribable happiness to your heart. It is a symbol of regeneration and hope: after the fall of faith and beauty, the worship of incoherence, the disregard for moral principles and the absence of ideals in life, the defeat of humanism, the political anarchy and the terror of a nuclear disaster that permeated life eventually proved powerless and transient. It is the living testimony that the new Middle Ages that elapsed were also transient, since the Great Reality erased that shameful past and turned a new leaf in human history, by defeating all evil and righting all wrongs.
I’m just sitting here, staring at the sculpture. The sight of her is so soothing and so comforting; it gives me a deep, internal, aesthetic satisfaction. I rejoice to see that the spring of Youth
and Life are still present here, unmoved and unaltered, after thousands of years. It’s nice to see that, in reality, nothing has ever been lost; it’s all here, stronger than ever!
THE “WALK OF VIKINGS”
Dareja, the centre of automation and Eliki
12-VII
The huge motorway that connects New Christiania with Ejastrem passes across the wide plain with the enormous crystal-fenced quays built for the daners and the thousands of other travel facilities of the Biltur partners that stretch up to the Alps, provides scenic views of the glaciers, which were the product of obsolete technology from many centuries ago that had managed to control the climate of the mountain ranges in order to enrich the Silea, an artificial river that flows just behind them.
It’s called “The Walk of the Vikings” and, according to Stefan, it’s the largest motorway in southern Europe. It was first paved a very long time ago, around the time when the Silea was created.
Seeing that junction of major arteries and the ragioza with all those huge and heterogeneous vehicles, I felt like I was saying goodbye to all those idyllic suburban cities and the beautiful landscapes forever, only to return once again to the large, industrial city-centres of modern life. Trying to hold back my tears, I waved goodbye while the other three did not seem to mind leaving all this behind in the least. They were so overwhelmed with joy and anticipation for our arrival at the Rosernes Dal that they couldn’t think of anything else!
