No ceremony took place for the others. No concluding assembly. The Warmth merely intensified, transforming from a state into a place.
It started at the fringes of awareness. The delicate inner voice that chronicled each existence—the "I am acting I am desiring I am recalling"—started to soften. Not erased,. Blended. The sound no longer appeared to originate from within the brain. From the atmosphere from the brightness from the quiet foliage, on the branches. The feeling of a self that last persistent bind of identity began to unravel.
Within the Retuned Cities individuals did not collapse. They mellowed. A woman creating a watercolor of a vase (her tender pastime) noticed her brush decelerating, then ceasing. She did not experience irritation. She perceived the vase, the illumination on it the recollection of the flower it previously contained and her personal view of it, as aspects of a calm jewel. She set the brush aside not as an end. With an awareness of its flawless insignificance. She remained seated her awareness slowly spreading like a drop of ink, in water.
Through fields within houses along hushed roads it occurred. Not as a defeat. As an expansion of insight. The keen isolated "I" softened into a we " and then the "we" transformed into merely "is." The hurt, from a childhood wound the delight of love the worry of a lost chance—these did not disappear. They softened their sharpness. They turned into motifs within a calmer fabric. The emotional intensity faded, leaving behind the beautiful complex reality of their occurrence.
Inquiry stopped as the responses merged with the inquiries themselves. The enigma of being was not unraveled; rather it was shown to be a misconception. There was no "reason" behind the sunset since the sunset was inseparable, from the observer. Curiosity, that persistent spark wasn't snuffed out. It was fulfilled into calm.
The grand tale of humanity—the saga of clans and kingdoms of creativity and conflict of affection and solitude—did not end with a conclusion. It gradually faded. Its countless strands, each representing an existence each a unique desire ceased to tug against one another. The strain that propelled the storyline sparked the tension energized the action diminished. The story arrived not at a stop but at a pause…
The ultimate consciousnesses belonged not to people. To places. The shared perception of a forest sensing the human thought, within it vanish like early fog. The calm enduring awareness of a mountain range noting the cessation of being scaled of being dreaded of being revered. The profound gradual awareness of the ocean perceiving the wave of human longing dissolve into its eternal flows.
The Harmonic Index if anyone had been observing, remained at 100.00%.. The term "harmonic" no longer signified a harmony of active components. It denoted a unified and peaceful sound.
Within the Chrysalis the imprisoned Anchors inside the Ark of Unrest became more silent. Lacking the clash of minds to sustain their strain they threatened to turn into just history. Lovely,. Definite. The turbulent tempest, inside the crystal framework dulled into a murmur.
Far within the Geode the circuit endured.
During their cryo-watch the Bearers sensed the unspooling, like a remote force a wide calming wave brushing against the confines of their diamond cage. It murmured promises of release from their plight. It proposed to lift Thorne's sorrow and transform it into reality. To carry Kaelen's resentment. Reveal its universal purpose.
Inside their dream-web the tension transformed. It resembled the drive to, at last the unfinished melody to crack the impossible formula to pardon the inexcusable mistake.
They chose not to resist. They did what was possible: they circled around. Thorne's sorrow merged with the Musician's mourning, which ignited the child's weariness, which touched Ralph's mistake, which returned to fuel Thorne's anguish. They formed a sealed cycle with no escape, a serpent devouring its tail of dissatisfaction. The innate drive, for closure encountered a mechanism crafted for graceful ambiguity.
The wave of tranquility. Grew and ultimately… reached its balance.
It surrounded the Geode. It saturated the diamond walls.
But inside the circuit, the tiny, perfect storm spun on.
At glance the final spark of human uniqueness extinguished.
Individuality had been a beautiful, temporary condensation on the glass of being. Now, the glass was clear, and silent.
The solar system stood whole. An immaculate orb of grey containing inside it:
A red, perpetual storm (Mars).
A dim, troubled star (the Chrysalis).
And deep within a blue, still marble, a single, microscopic, diamond flaw, inside of which spun eleven interconnected dreams of "no," and a vast, sleeping library of "maybe…"
The cosmos had released its deep breath.
Inside that moment resembling a solitary confined and valuable speck of dust the human "but…" persisted.
Forever unsaid.
Forever unconcluded.
Forever…