6. When They Found My Books

6. When They Found My Books

      Audio Option: listen and read long

It was a funny thing when it happened. I had no intention of sharing them, but I did write them. A science fiction trilogy.

But first let me tell you what my time travels have been like and you will see more clearly the why of things that happened.

I “travel” in time only in the sense of moving, not in the sense of constantly moving. That would be a nightmare. I travel to a time and usually stay there for at least a lifetime. It takes time to figure things out. Here’s a poem I wrote on this very topic.

by Farson Uiost

Just walking along the curbs of life
I drift in winds of wandering glances
And sudden worlds that flash open
And I go right in.

Pressing a water bottle to my lips
On a hot June Saturday I dream back to
A kiss I remember and redream it
As though she were still in my arms
Young and gay.

Waking in the night I feel the rush of tracers
Screaming past, touching others as they go.
I bend to help them with bloody hands
Eyes look up and say
“Am I all right?”

At a red light I remember my Mom’s picture
I am wondering what it would be like to say,
“Mommy, are we there yet?” But then
The light turns and now I’m in New York
Rushing to a meeting that changed everything.

Day after day, always and always
Dreaming those fantasies of things
That may have happened, that
May not have happened, and yet
Could have happened.

Like a knife that cuts, I try to sort it out.
But it’s not easy knowing what I know.
Choosing thoughts and picking memories
Takes a lifetime to do it right.
Do it well.

Meaning that time traveling is more like living than traveling. Currently I have been here for 69 years and the body I am using is not getting any younger. I can feel him aging. In fact, I can feel everything about him. His life is as my life now, one in the same. Except for two things. I can leave and he doesn’t even know I’m here. I know him, but he will never know me. It’s a confusing blend of intimacy and voyeurism plus some emptiness and loneliness that creates something so interesting and rewarding it’s hard to stop: the Geheinneon Continuance, as the Emers call it. They were so thrilled at first that the thought of leaving didn’t even occur to them. Until later and by then it was too late.

They did it to us, but we were a bitter fruit. We also have done it now. Uncounted times. Emers have been doing it for over 7,000 years. In fact, that’s how they found my books. For them its like going on a ocean cruise in this time. You prepare. You go. And you return. The timelife is the Emers’ ship, and they are its passengers and commanders.

Like a true dream, it is an experience that is not real but it really seems to be.

They use it as a system of study, and recreation, and sometimes for discovery. They are convinced that it is the nuances of life where the secrets lie: the moment before a kiss; the lust of an action imagined, the anticipation of punishment, the fear of what one is doing … there are so many. They move in the shades and shadows of humanity’s past; in the subtleties of scene, the refinements of hesitation. They discover differences of thought and action and action without thought; they hunt through us like scientists who always anticipate great revelations and findings, who uncover the obvious and celebrate each revealing, no matter how small.

The truth is we love it. It is almost an addiction, but not quite, because we do leave.

<<Some have nowhere to go.>>
<<You must be kidding, Erudicius. The Echoes are not trapped.>>
<<Whatever made you think of that, Farson? I was thinking of you.>>

Anyway, they found my books, they went crazy. I have seen the Emers go nuts over all sorts of things in our time together. The Solar Sails. The child of Ida. The music of Dilbert McClinton. Debating numbers, like how long do we have? But when they found my books, I have to say, I was surprised how much they liked them.

<<Don’t get carried away, Farson. The Emers liked them, even loved them. Your messianic side is showing again. Your books were not like scripture.>> Farson thought about Karina’s comment.

They decided to make me famous in this time. The books appeared everywhere, movies were made (although I hardly recognized my original work in that form), I made more money than most people ever saw in those days. I should say, “We made more money than most people ever saw in those days.” He was part of it all. Far more a part and far deeper into me than I ever thought possible. I came to love him. His worries, his fears, his weaknesses, his love, his determination, his indauntability. But now I know he’s going to die. It won’t happen right away. I have calculated that he will live to 89, another twenty years. I, at first, blanked this out, ignoring the passing years. Blissful and willful ignorance. Now I count the days. I count every second. The thought of him leaving makes me cry. The fact that I can actually see it happening, only makes it burn more deeply.

You can’t change the past. It’s a brutal truth. The past is the past. It’s, as they would say,  “a video tape.” You can rewind it and watch again. You can choose what you want to see within the story. But you can’t change it. It’s still a recorded event. The Emers have learned to “edit” in their time travels, but only to increase the depth of study; they know full well that what’s in the present is all that matters. “The past is the past,” they say. “It’s gone. It’s past.” You can learn from the past, to be sure. But it can’t be changed.

Once that was fully realized, the Emers turned and twisted the kaleidoscope of our history. They found a matrix of avenues through time’s wonderland, doors to understanding. And they walked right in.

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