Heavenly Staircase
by Dr. Thomas Duraj
What is is.
A prisoner wakes up in a glass cell. He is watched by deities, but they do not intervene. Physical suffering, a neurochemical dance of pain receptors, is an incidental detail. The white night stretches across his horizon. “It has snowed on the Moon: or is it ash?” A tear blurs the ink of his new favorite book. He cannot understand the words, but the story is already written.
And what must be, must be.
As he prepares his escape, the brothers meet to decide the future of the human race. Hypocrisy splashes the rostrum, but they do not stop: they are convinced that later, it will be too late. They obey a deep-rooted faith that they swore to forget; yet, it is the blind hand that guides them. The patriarch, a marble statue frozen in perpetual balance, contemplates the scene with a sarcastic smile; he is dead, of course. His dream beats in naive hearts. Beyond, the calculator hums in a bath of liquid nitrogen: its gears simulate the new combinations of the code of life. And, on the other side of the interface, impartial characters dance: “perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.”
The road is long.
The star protectors have drowned their innocence beneath the murky waters of moral duplicity, pursuing a higher purpose. Every time an idealistic delusion appears between the neuronal emergency, they flay its neck and drink its blood. They mourn the loss and feel the pain, but it must be done. None of the members of the realist movement wear a watch: they only respect the beat of the timer. For them, time does not advance, but rather goes backwards: the embryo is a deformed and sickly cellular mass that requires hierarchical salvation. Cohesion, submission, symmetry. Life is reverse entropy: order is the ultimate solution.
And brave—how brave!—the traveler.
“But you don’t really care about music, do you?” The universal storyteller, lost in the lofty heights of her mythology, greeted the traveler at the foot of the Celestial Staircase. The disoriented biomechanical companion was at his side, lost, like all the others, in the interfibrillar blackness. An intruder thirsting for eternal life was yet to arrive. “Come, let’s count the steps together,” she said, offering her delicate (but cold) hand. Her beloved was not really there, but she had no choice. In the snow, circular steps, sunk in marshy ground, hints of a quantum bifurcation, but, in the end, chained by an inescapable macroscopic destiny. “I’ll wait,” she whispered. “I’m in no hurry.”
He conjured a magnetic tape recorder and rewound the tape, humming a ‘ōsha’nā song. He sat down on the first step and pressed the red button.
“Dolǝgh es kel… and bher es terǝtōr”.
Source: https://algunoslibrosbuenos.com/escalera-celestial
