Exchange Student

It was the first time I had ever met with the concept of an "exchange student" when the new comer to our class was seated next to me. It was our high school years, and yes, we were high. Being the bench neighbor of the strange fellow, I was considered as lucky. My coolness had increased dramatically in a matter of seconds. My classmates were constantly turning towards us, first staring at the exchange student, and then blinking an eye to me, and I was blinking back with a smile attached.

The boy was busy taking out stuff from his bag, which looked a bit strange to me. It was as if taken out of a sci-fi movie. I thought maybe he was a dreamer like me, but perhaps with more money. To be able to afford this stuff was not easy at all. During the break, we started chatting. His accent was different, as if from another country, and he was like acting, instead of behaving normally. I told myself that this was perhaps normal, since he was a new comer, and that he was trying to be at his best manners while blending in among us.

Ours was a boarding school, which meant that we had all the time on our hands to learn about each other and do all kinds of crazy stuff, like climbing atop the roofs of the school buildings on snowy days and taking pictures of the scene from there, or escaping the school dorm during the night and roaming through the city center half the night. I even remember once when we had taken a very large and thick piece of ice from the pool in front of the school and placed it under the teacher's desk. Just totally crazy and nonsense stuff.

One of those escape nights, as we were wandering around in the city, my friend told me that this was not his first experience as an exchange student. "Wow", I exclaimed. "Where have you been before?"
"I have been to a school that doesn't exist at the moment."
"Why? Is it demolished in a war or something?"
"No. It is demolished by time. It existed a few thousand years ago."

I looked at my friend with incredulous eyes, and blurted "C'mon man"
"I am not kidding. I am serious" he said.
"Oh yeah! And I am the Pharaoh Tutankhamun reincarnate."
"You don't believe me, do you?"
"No, I believe you, because you had visited me in my pyramid", and I burst into laughter, which echoed in the empty streets of the downtown. Fortunately there were no cops in the sight.

My friend looked away from me, and avoided any communication. I had broken his heart. I had to make up for it.

"So, where is your original school, then?"
"It is here, but in the year 2150. I am doing my education as an exchange student at schools at different years in time. The first school I had been to was also here, but few thousand years ago, as I said."

Thinking again about what he told me and my observations of him, like his accent, the way he dresses, his attitudes, etc., I thought maybe he was telling the truth. "Ok, I'll buy your story," and I continued:

"Then, tell me what it was like here, back then. Was it a city like this, how were people, their technology?"
"There was a city of course, given that I was attending a school here. But it wasn't as big. Less populated. The city was nested in a forest, but it was growing by cutting the forest. So you couldn't see much green in the city. There was a lot of infrastructure and many buildings out of wood. People made their living by making wooden tools and wooden construction components. These construction components were delicately designed, and transported to the owner of the order on horse carriages. In the city, there were automation systems based on water and wood. It was all natural and also technological. The ruler of the city lived in a palace made of wood in the shape of a steep hill. He not only had administrative but also engineering skills. He was appreciated because of his engineering works, but he was feared and disliked because of the way he treated people."

"Talk about the school. You had friends there, right? Who was your best friend?"
"My best friend was an orphan, like many others."
"Why? What happened to their parents?"
"When I arrived there, it was after the Big Fire Day. That's when they all became orphan."
"Oh, I see. When you have a city made of wood, a fire break out would destroy the city and the people in it. That's sad..."
"No, no, no! That's not what it is. The Big Fire Day was organized by the ruler of the city. He ordered the preparation of the biggest ever fire whose smoke clouds could be seen from 100 km away."
"For what? Celebration?"
"No, for punishment! At the time, there was a religion that had spread among the people. And the ruler was not happy about it. When the believers reached a certain number, he ordered his soldiers to arrest them, although these people had committed no crime. Hundreds of innocent people, men and women, were gathered."
"Your friend's parents were among them, I guess."
"No!"
"No?"
"My friend's father was a soldier gathering those innocent people. They detained them until the completion of the arrangement of the fire. When it was complete, the ruler ordered the soldiers to drive the believers towards the steep edges of the valley housing the fire."

"I wasn't there, but what people tell is that it was a day that you would like that you had never lived, both for the victims and for the survivors. The man-made violence, the heartless actions of the soldiers and the inactivity of the witnesses, cries and screams of the victims... and the satisfaction of the ruler. My friend was among the witnesses, watching not only the gruesome events but also the unforgivable actions of her father. Later that day, at home, my friend told me, she had asked her father why he did this. She was smacked violently, and she found herself on the floor, her nose and mouth filled with the iron taste of blood. Her father stood beside her and shouted: 'There are orders. What can I do? I am just a soldier. This is how I earn our bread.' My friend opened her mouth and took a breath to reply, when she received a kick in her belly from her father: 'I said I am a soldier, I obey orders.' My friend's mother had taken shelter in a corner, watching her daughter's doom after what had happened during the day. The next morning, my friend found both her father and mother dead in their room. Apparently, the father killed the mom, and then himself."

I was bewildered by what I had heard. I wanted not to believe all the story my friend had told me, including his exchange student stuff. After a minute of silence, I wanted to ask again:

"You are not making all this up, are you?"

My friend pushed me away, and ran forward along the street. I followed him shouting "wait up". He didn't. We returned to school dorm separately. I couldn't dare go to his room and apologize during the night.

The next day, the seat next to mine in the class was empty. I inquired about my friend from other fellows, they said they didn't know. I went to the secretary, and asked. They said that he had finished his term at our school, and had departed earlier that morning.

I wish I had asked him if it was still the same school building that he was attending in the year 2150. Because if it was, I could leave a message to him on the walls. But on a second thought, I guessed that he would probably do another time travel to a time between his and mine, and so, my message did not need to wait as long as I thought. That night, I sneaked up to the roof of the dormitory, as we used to do together, and carved a message to the walls there:

"I am just a student. I ask questions. That's how I learn."

Little Thinker (6)

It is told that a woman who left a cat locked in a house in hunger and thirst, and so caused its death, entered the way of hell. I wonder if she would still do what she did, had she seen the end of that road with the futuroscope.

I remembered this historical event while watching the cats on my way home from the bookseller. With the help of today's technologies, there are more opportunities to do good compared to the past. But the same is true for evil. An evil act that demanded many people and much time in the past can be done by a single person today. Among such acts, I thought, one of the worst should be killing people's spirits. Why?

First, if abandoning a cat to die in hunger can finish you, doing the same for a human must be more serious. Then, what about killing their spirit so that they become walking graves? Putting out their hopes and deactivating that crown of contemplation that is granted by the Creator? Confining their minds into their skulls to rot away? Is it fathomable that the All-Wise Creator would stay indifferent to all these?

Is it possible that The Quran, which is going to complain in sorrow on the judgment day by saying "they treated me as something to be abandoned", stays silent about its grief before that day? Wouldn't the Supreme Will, that answered the prayer of the man of thought who called people to think for years, devastate the heavens and the earth because not-thinking has become the tradition? What is the price of killing the thought for thousand years and living it only for one hour, when that one hour is worth a thousand years' worship?

This train of thought was due to what I had seen with my futuroscope the night before. I couldn't erase those images from my mind. I couldn't turn away my attention, either, by thinking "just a possible future scenario; will dissolve in the waves of time". Every time, a hammer danged on my forehead, "what if it comes true?". Maybe that book of mine that had appeared in the futuroscope and then disappeared would do so in this way. Maybe it would never come real, maybe it would come real but not reach a single mind! Maybe those sleeping people I had seen after I got out of that book with the shuttle were heralds of a future like this. I had missed the numerous signs of a calamity that was approaching slowly but surely. Maybe I was thinking nonsense. But there was no indication around to tell me that I was thinking nonsense.

I went home. I thought about what would make an ideal last deed. At least, I could do a nice ending while closing my eyes to this short life as a fresh adolescent. I called my friends and invited them for a futuroscope party in the middle of the night. I wanted that we would sail to infinity through lesson storms in our brains...

Little Thinker (5)

I thought about how to free my brain from its life time sentence in my skull. Should I disclose to someone else this secret that was given to me by the future me, and demand help? Or would I have a disappointment as happened with the interpretation of my dream? There was only one way to learn: Try.

I penned a poem and read it to everyone in the literature class. If anyone is interested, we could set out to this adventure together:

In a spherical bone,

Darkness in me and alone.

Oh human, deliver me,

Depressed I am in you head, believe me.

A brain in the grasp of every man,

Free brain is the quality of a real man.

As I was reading my poem, there were giggles in the class. Some even mocked me. Nevertheless, everybody was silent at the last two lines. When I was finished, everybody was applauding, but my eyes were looking for someone whose eyes were shining with my secret message. Few stared at me for a while. I asked myself "is it what I am looking for?"...

No one came to me during the break; not about the poem, at least. I added a negative "is it" to me previous positive "is it". Maybe I had thrown my message bottle into the wrong ocean. One way or another, I felt compelled to venture this quest, because my poem was reflecting the moaning of my own brain, before anyone else's.

After school, I rushed to the bookseller. I showed my poem. He smiled. He asked "What did the futuroscope show you?" I thought he already knew, but apparently what you see stayed with you only. I told him how I ascended with a shuttle through a book, how I met my future self in a strange space and the secret whispered to me in the end:

"Because those who imprison their brains to their skulls imprison the knowledge to books, whereas the book of universe is legible to the entire body."

He explained how in the ancient times of limited knowledge, everything was taught to people, and so how a holistic view was present of human and the universe, but that with the tremendous increase of information, rather analytical and partial perspectives have dominated. He indicated the equivalence of the religious secludes who deny the worldly life and the scientists who reject religion totally about their deficient approach to existence. He shared that my poem reminded him of the ancient philosophers, and that the definition of perfect human in the old times fostered the development of all faculties of a person, and a human was seen as a mirror image of the universe. All these clarified a complication of mine:

"Those who imprison the knowledge to books, who imprison their brains to their skulls, who reduce the universe to only what they observe and control, etc. etc. etc. are all descendants of the same mentality. Since they cannot deliver their brains from their skulls, it rots there and poisons them."

Disturbed by my words of adolescent rebellion, the bookseller wanted to restrain me:

"Slow down, slow down. Correct starting point doesn't necessarily mean correct route. Yes, they are all descendants of the same mentality, but you'd better name this fact as captivity rather than poisoning. After all, the fruits of this approach of theirs represents certain aspects of the truth."

"Good but, they impose to the new generations their approaches as the only possible explanation?"

"Then, you are going to answer God's call to contemplation, and set out to infinitely many unbounded journeys."

"People can't stand such journeys..."

"Contemplation is a crown placed on your head by God. No one can take it away from you unless you take it off yourself."

Little Thinker (4)

It was as if I was in a rocket. Suddenly, I started ascending with wild shaking and roar. Upon looking outside through the window, I realized that I had taken off from a flat, white field. As the distance increased, it became easier to figure out places and shapes. But I couldn't believe what I saw. These were sentences written with buildings in the shape of letters. I remembered the strange, gigantic figures in the fields in South America, but these sentences were quite literally written in a language I could read.

The more I ascended, the more words and sentences I could see. All of a sudden, a thick layer of fog covered everywhere. Nothing was visible. As I was starting to feel nervous, things cleared once again, and I saw words and sentences, similar to those before. With a bit of attention, I reckoned that these sentences were telling a life story. I was bewildered, and just then, again the same thick fog covered everywhere. Then again, more sentences...

It looked like I was ascending through the pages of a book, as if ascending in the seven layers of hte heavens. Bored of not seeing an end, I was asking myself when this flight would end, when an abrupt darkness sank. It was like the long nights of winter.

At last, the dark faded, and I saw my name embossed in golden letters on a burgundy cover. This book was my book. My life story... And I had gone through it without reading...

After leaving the book, I felt a void and lightness as if in space. Looking out, I saw others floating in this space like me. How had they come here? Were they my imagination or real part of the future I was seeing with the futuroscope? I was asking myself if I could speak to them, when I heard someone say: "come on out!"

I felt lost between fear and surprise. Was it the book seller calling me back or was it a real sound coming to me from the space? Stuck in my seat with these questions, the gate of my vehicle opened, and I saw her. "Come on out!" she invited with a mild smile. Was there air in space? But perhaps, this was a different place.

Hey, wait, wait. The person who spoke did so without moving her lips! I spun my head towards her, and I witnessed myself screaming without opening my mouth.

"What are you doing? Shh, shhh." She grabbed me by my arm and pulled "let's go for some visit". I guess, we were friends now...

One by one, we stopped by other shuttles. Without an exception, they were all sleeping. "They don't even know that they are here", my friend explained.

"Why not?"

"Because those who imprison their brains to their skulls imprison the knowledge to books, whereas the book of universe is legible to the entire body."

This answer actually confused me more. The brain was already created in the skull, and it was not us who had placed it there nor was it us who had designed the skull like a prison. Plus, knowledge is stored and transmitted by books. What does it mean, "books becoming prisons"? And I had heard the concept of book of universe, but this was the first time I was hearing reading with the entire body. Also, if these other people had imprisoned their brains, let's wake them up and save them; why are we staying silent? And, am I too different from other people? Why am I awake?

"Enough, enough; slow down" reacted my friend. I suppose I was voicing my questions too loudly without realizing; and of course without opening my mouth.

"Do you remember how you came here?"
"Yes. By the futuroscope."
"Do you know who I am?"
"...?"
"What had the book seller told you?"

I pondered. There was only person who could talk to me without moving her lips and whom I could talk without opening my mouth. Myself! In fact, the book seller had told me that what I would see was myself. So, I was meeting my future self!?!? I mean, I was answering in the future the questions I was forming in the present...

Then, what was the book I had flown through? Was it the book I would author? Then, why was there my life story?

"Every person writes a book by their deeds. Everybody is an author; and their book is going to be handed to them after death."
"So, writing is not necessarily done by hands?"
"Exactly. Just like thought is not exclusively happening in the skull... And just like reading is not done only by moving your eyes over the letters..."

Little Thinker (3)

I had entered the street where the used book sellers were flocked. The silence of the books and the ascetic moods of the shopkeepers made me feel like I am being sucked into a spiral in time. I let my steps free. And my eyes took this moment to escape for a sightseeing across the shelves. Then, a neat work of calligraphy drew my attention. I approached the writing, and much like a cartoon character, I started sliding, climbing and jumping over the curved and extended letters. And I scurried through the shortcuts provided by the long scarves of the letters. Then, I took a moment to name myself "the letter explorer".

The voice of the shopkeeper zoomed me out of my fun among the letters: "you want to try?" I said "why not?", and I grabbed the paper and pen with an eagerness, sharply contrasting with my nonchalance towards them at school due to obligations. "Think of the road map of a butterfly being hurled in windy weather, and let your hands free", he said. "The inspiration receptivity of your calligraphy depends on its ability to dance with your heart"

In the air of an adolescent who have barely licked any knowledge, I blurted "it wouldn't be beautiful". "You cannot decide the beauty or ugliness of what comes out of your pencil. Your job is to hold it. Don't interfere with the job of the owner of the wind." I couldn't help smiling. Suddenly, I thought of the time waves that I had seen with my futuroscope; the letters of the destiny inscribed with the ink of time.

"Are you a poet?" I asked.
"I compose", answered the bookseller. I couldn't figure out whether he meant he composes poems or he writes compositions. He continued, without my inquiry:

"If I see a poem, I compose a poem, if I see a story, I compose a story, if I see an idea, I compose an adage."
"So, you must be a keen observer?"
"I guess you could say that. You know, history repeats itself. When you look into the future, you see the past. Instead of a kind of weather forecast, if you treat your observations from the futuroscope as meanings in search of a body, then you can be their mother, and bring those orphaned meanings into the life through your pencil."

It seemed that this bookseller was part of the same mental gang as I was. We passed to a yard through a door at the back of his shop. He showed me a giant futuroscope. I had never seen one like it. "This is custom made. You can't see another one anywhere else," he stated. "So, have look at it. Let's see if there is a poem, a story or something else in your lot!"

I was confused. If I saw a poem through the futuroscope, and wrote it, that wouldn't be mine! I couldn't possess something that belonged to someone else. And, if I saw a long poem, I wouldn't be able to keep it in my memory! As I was busy with these thoughts, the bookseller placed a kind of helmet on my head. "This is to record your inspirations." I couldn't control my tongue, and uttered "what the...". But it was all true, in flesh and bone. But I still wondered if my observations would really belong to me.

"Now, you are going to look into your own past and future. This is something only you can do. You are going to behold your inner world. What you see is you."

And I ventured into my own tunnel in time...

Little Thinker (2)

For the last three days, I was waking up from the same dream with a racing heart. I was dropping into my futuroscope while making observations and was getting stuck amidst the waves of time, once coming into existence and then out of it. Whenever someone tries to help me, I disappeared all of a sudden, and I cannot get rid of that doom. Then, an unknown person hugs me tight, and we fall in the existence-nonexistence adventure together. This cycle gets so frequent that it synchronizes with my heartbeats, and I wake up...

Whenever I woke up, I sat down with the special notebook I had committed for writing my book. Just looking at it with long, empty gazes, I used to fell asleep. I thought about whom to tell my dream, but I didn't feel like opening myself to anyone. After the school, I reckoned that I could talk to that teacher who had talked about the owner of two times. She listened to me, and said "wish the good of it from the Lord". That was it. On one side, I felt relieved, and on the other side I was distraught as a child whose walnut turns out to be empty upon breaking. All that she could say was that much, really? Even I could say that: "wish the good of it from the Lord". Nothing more, nothing beyond that?

The bad thing was that the dream that had assailed me for three days in a row disappeared after that day. With the dream gone, so did my aspiration for the book and other stuff... History classes became a matter of my memory rather than my dreams. Putting away my futuroscope, I went on with enjoying my youth as my other schoolmates. It turned out that the book that I had seen with my futuroscope had really disappeared. And not with my death or something. On the contrary, it was because my interests had changed and the thought of writing a book had never existed in the first place, and was not to flourish any time soon. After all, what would humanity lose, if one more book was not added to a compilation of millions of books that were in existence?

Little Thinker (1)

In my childhood, the history courses were taught differently. Not just the past but the all times were covered. When I say all, past and future included. In the evenings, after the evening news, in addition to the weather forecast, they would give the future forecast. Based on the things done by people during the day, how the future of the country and future of the planet has changed was conveyed to people.

The instrument to observe the future was called futuroscope. Using it, you could watch as the future continuously evolved with the actions of people. With that information, usually people took care of their deeds, and tried to exercise will power in the face of the temptations of the world. But sometimes, some person would say "one person can't hurt anything" and keep their benefit in front of everything else, another would say "future forecasts are different than the weather forecasts; they have a margin of error" and prefer the instant but temporary gratification to a permanent but later gratification. Because of the storms triggered by the actions of these people, the entire community would suffer, and worse, the coming those storms were observed day by day with the use of futuroscope. Preventions to avoid such disasters worked sometimes; but at other times, no matter what precaution was taken, the calamity settled on us as we watched it come. This is why, as I said in the beginning, in the history courses, both past and future were covered so that the new generations could learn history not just in theory but also experimentally.

Still, the futuroscope images were not clear enough to pinpoint who caused what, and the future was a culmination of the actions of everybody, instead of just one person. So, from time to time, there were people who got away with the evil they committed. And their existence led some others to say "don't worry, it's all right". Nevertheless, despite these and other imperfections, our community was a stable one in the long run, and it was able to digest the evils and conflicts, and the futuroscope was of great help for these.

Like me, there were futuroscope enthusiasts, who bought one for their home use. By observing the ever-evolving the future, we were trying to prepare ourselves and our friends. But as you can appreciate, our very actions to prepare ourselves changed the future, too. So, a very long term prediction of the future was not probable. You can call this a kind of turbulence in time.

In one such observations of mine, I saw myself writing a book. This looked so curious and strange, becasue I had no such intentions at the time. By changing the focus of my futuroscope, I tried to see what I was writing, but the waves of the time were too strong and were constantly changing and intermingling what I was writing. I waited for a while, in case the storm would cease, but to no avail. "If the same future is still valid tomorrow, I can try it then" I told myself. What was odd was that despite what I saw with the futuroscope, I still didn't have an idea about a book or any other literary work what so ever.

The following day, I tried to see myself and my book again, but they were gone. We were nowhere to be found. I thought what could have happened. Was it that I gave up the idea? Or did I go on a trip or something?... Don't know why, but a quite different idea occurred to me and all of a sudden, I got goose bumps. Was I going to die before writing the book?

This thought shook me from deep within. I was just twelve... I went around like a to-be-mother who had a miscarriage at seven months. I didn't feel like watching the future, either. But later, another thought occurred to me. It wasn't that I was immortal and was becoming mortal! If the reason behind the disappearing of my book and myself was my death, nothing was abnormal. Maybe my devastation was because of the disturbance of my dreams extending to infinity. With my end date fixed more or less, I would not be able to make 100-200 year plans, and I would not be able to think of humanity and the planet like in my palm. Also, thinking of all this, future forecasts were like weather forecasts; they were not certain. What they showed was the ever evolving future, not how it is going to come to pass exactly.

As I calmed down and got thinking on what to do, I thought maybe I should write a book. But a book of what? I was just twelve, what could I write? I decided to go out with the hope of finding people who could help me on this. Either I had to find those who read a lot or those who write. Around me, there were many who read; but someone who writes... That was the hardest thing. Usually, people preferred the books authored in the past, and their authors were dead. How could I talk to the dead?

In one of our history classes, I learned about a person who is dubbed "owner of two times". What could be the reason for such a nickname? I asked the teacher. She mentioned the possibility that this person could be a prophet, and a miracle given to him could be time travel. Even the thought of such a thing was enough for my imagination to undergo nuclear reactions, and much like a black hole, swallow my entire being scattering gamma rays. I wondered if I could see that person. Maybe the second time he lived could be ours or some other time in the future that I could observe... And could it be that my disappearance from my future with my book is because I am embarking on a travel with the owner of two times?

Untold Story of Evil

They say that good always triumphs over evil! If you think so, too, I just have one good question for you. Imagine those countless stories, tales, cartoons, animations, etc. In each of them, they show that the good triumphs over evil. But they almost never show where those evil people or characters originate from! Or when they come to life, for that matter! Why? Why is there always an element of evil despite being "killed" over and over  by the good?

That's because they are afraid of showing the big picture. In the big picture, sometimes good wins and sometimes evil wins. And the parts where evil wins are censured by people, thinking that good must be promoted. Hah! So ironic! I'll tell you why. But first, you need to understand that this problem is not a single problem. It is actually the tip of an iceberg. Take another example.

They do the same thing in the love stories, too. Eventually love wins, and the heroes of the story get married in a wedding that is celebrated for 40 days and 40 nights. Have you ever heard the remainder of the story after the wedding? No! Because, that part is not as fun as they want it to be. That is because "the love" they have been seeking for so long disappears soon after the wedding, and their life becomes a permanent burden that they cannot give up. Their marriage becomes a dungeon from which they cannot escape to another love story. But still, people keep telling the nice stories of love.

Another example. Even the characters or people that you deem evil do not consider themselves as evil. They have good reasons, and perhaps also "a cause", that justify what they are doing. Sometimes they do what they do in order to earn the bread for their families; sometimes they act out of fear of something/somebody else. When asked, they say "normally I wouldn't do this if I didn't have to", but in the end, they serve to the propagation of evil. Sometimes they would say that it is the other person/group/etc. that is evil, and so, they try to kill the evil in their understanding. The list can be extended. But again, those that you deem evil interpret the stories of "good winning over evil" as a glimpse of hope for their own cause. As a result, "good people" fight with "good people", and the one that wins engrave their "good winning over evil" story to history.

Overall, in the appearance, good wins over evil, but actually, evil takes a night sleep and gets up stronger, or evil returns in disguise as good. By picturing good as the ultimate triumphant, as the invincible power, they are actually fostering the burgeoning of evil. How is this possible? When everybody tries to be good, how and why evil arises again?

Just like love doesn't happen by itself and needs work, good doesn't happen by itself. It is a work. And when you get tired, you stop doing good. And eventually when you get bored with what you have been doing, you look for entertaining things. Other good things. That's when the evil comes to flesh and bone. The very agent that serves to the continuity of good also serves to the birth of evil. That agent is change. If you change things, evil is born. If you are a bigot and don't change things, then gradually, your perception of good changes, and again you find yourself changing. Changing towards what? Towards an easier and more comfortable state. That's exactly how evil feels. Easy and entertaining.

When you constantly prefer the "easy and entertaining good" over the "difficult and less entertaining good", then in the long run you find yourself as the object of entertainment for somebody else, who is also trying to do good; and you call this last one "evil".

In fact, this is how the evil started in the first place! Some person trying to show that he can achieve great things by inviting people to obey their desires, no matter whatever it takes. The more people follow their desires, the greater the achievement of that one person. What is his achievement by causing great corruption? By proving that he can do great things, he wants to show that he is praiseworthy, and most of all, he is worth loving. This person is called Devil. And he is seeking to be the most beloved of God!

Why is Earth Spherical, Why are Rocks Hard?

Once upon a time... No, no! Before there was time, the Creator gathered the souls of everything and offered them a sensitive and precious trust. Then, He asked which one of them would undertake it. Being the greatest among them, the heavens were expected to jump forward, for who else could take that much burden? But the heavens couldn't say a single word. How could they, given that they were caught in a seizure, fearing such a trust? But at the same time, they were turning down an offer by the Most High! The heavens with all their expanse started to collapse into ever accelerating dizziness.

Seeing how the heavens were trembling, the next great candidate, the earth, sank into silence, not daring to look anywhere but down. As the waiting went on, the earth started to shake, fearing that the deal would settle on it. It wanted to run away, but there was no space. Instead, the earth gradually slid over itself and started to grind itself into ever smaller dust particles.

Despite the shaking of the earth, the mountains were not shaking. Unlike the escape of the earth, the mountains were steady. So the silent wait focused on the mountains. Would they accept the trust?

The mountains were actually frozen out of fear; that's why they were not shaking whatsoever. They wished so much that they could exhibit the fear inside somehow, but they couldn't. It was like not being able to cry when you need to cry upon devastating news. But the constancy of the mountains was shattered by a crack that filled the heavens and the earth. Because the mountains actually cracked into pieces under the weight of such responsibility.

All the possible candidates cleared out, the trust was still hanging in the air, waiting a brave hero. A hero for whom the limits of strength was unlimited. A hero who was adventurous enough to take unbounded risks... Human... Human?... Yeah!... Human stepped forward to take the challenge. And the deal was closed in the hands of the human. But the story had just begun.

The trust would be on the shoulders of the human, but the human was going to be on the shoulders of the earth, i.e. the mountains. And for that, the mountains needed to be prepared. First of all, they had to learn to keep their steadiness under much higher burden. So they needed to be compacted. Thus were born the rocks.

When rocks were ready, they looked around and investigated everything else. Except them, the environment was soft. They quickly started asking the reason for their strength. The earth told them the initial story before their birth. But that was not enough for the rocks, since that story was already past, and that there had been no real burden. So, why were they this hard?

The rocks also saw water outside; so beautiful, so elegant, ever attractive. Why were the rocks so hard and out-of-shape? Why were they lacking the life that was abundant in the water? "Because carrying humans means more than carrying their weight. Anyone with a bit of wisdom would not accept the offer they did. Their ignorance and the oppression stemming from it is going to be boundless. That's why you must be so hard."

A brooding view covered the rocks, thinking that they are so unfortunate to have been chosen for such burden. The earth, feeling pity for them, added: "But it is also at the top of you that the humans are going to think and find the meaning and purpose in their lives. You are their gateway to salvation."

Then, with this unexpected good news, the rocks started crying.

After that day, the heavens, the earth, and the mountains assumed a respectful silence and waited for the coming of the day when the humans would step into existence. And they kept their silence no matter what the humans did until the day of their exit.

Hungry and Trustworthy

Once upon a time, there was a white wolf. Some called it The Invisible, because spotting it in a snowy background was not easy. Some called it The Ghost, because it appeared out of nowhere and everywhere. The fearsome opinion about this wolf was that it did not hang with others much and whenever it did, it devoured an animal, no matter how strong or how big. Although these appearances happened very rarely, their unforgettable memories made a permanent image of The Invisible.

Things were quite different from the perspective of The Invisible, though. It only came out whenever it was hungry, as did every other animal. It fed itself and went along its way. Again, as any other animal. Thus, the scary image about itself was unfair, according to the wolf. But of course, no one would dare to come near it, let alone listening. Nevertheless, The Invisible was comfortable with being a lone wolf, so it did not bother itself about socializing with others.

One of those occasions of hunt, destiny had a surprize for this lone wolf. It was a snowy day. Silence covered every where so that the faint hush as the snow flakes landed on dry leaves could be heard. There was no animal to be seen. And these two, silence and abandoned places meant that The Ghost could be anywhere and every where.

The thin smoke from the chimney of a distant house was barely visible and there was something that made tiny moves. The sounds that came from it were very unusual for an animal. But that didn't matter for The Invisible. Whatever it was, it was seeing the daylight for the last time.

As the wolf approached the thing, the pinkish color on its skin watered its mouth. It was going to be a delight on this snowy day to chase a fresh flesh. Unaware of what's happening around, the pinkish creature went on with its tiny moves and unusual sounds. As the snowflakes landed on its warm skin, they melt one by one. Then, the little creature realized a shadow looking right down on its face. Snowflakes were not anymore landing, but rather drops of saliva were stretching along the cloth covering it. The hush of the snow had left its place to the humming of The Ghost. The baby threw its hand towards this big thing as a thank you for providing shelter on this cold day. The feeble slap from the baby astonished the wolf, as it was not expecting such a welcoming attitude.

But the wolf was awaken to its senses quickly by its hunger. To recover appetite, the wolf walked around a few times and came back. And a smack on the neck welcomed it. A few seconds later, The Ghost realized that the smack was actually not a smack, because those tiny fingers were still holding onto its fur. The baby was trying to hug the wolf!

Stupefied by the baby's total submission, the Ghost took another turn around, to no avail. The weight of the responsibility sank in its heart. It had to do something for this baby. Maybe return it to the humans? But, that was a crazy idea, since the humans would shoot it at first sight. Was this baby worth taking that risk? Or should the wolf provide warmth  for the baby in its stomach? The wolf couldn't make a decision, and kept walking, thinking and grumping, and again walking. It ended up howling, which was in fact a scream of confusion.

As these were happening, the birds and the bugs had already started live broadcasting every single detail to the rest of the forest: "The Invisible is revealed", "The Ghost was misunderstood". The animals couldn't believe what was happening. The human baby should have been torn to little chunks in The Ghost's mouth, already. What was wrong? Or what was correct?

The wolf didn't know the answer to that question, either, but the scene was misfit to its intimidating reputation. So, it had to do something quick. The baby was wrapped into layers of cloth, and The Ghost started pulling the baby by biting a piece of cloth hanging down. It was trying to do this as fast as possible, because as the moments passed, its hunger pressed stronger.

In a few minutes, The Ghost and the baby were very close to the human habitation. It would take another minute or so to accomplish the task. The wolf thought that it could take that much hunger, but the baby was too cold, and her skin was turning from pink to dull white, and the baby had finally fallen asleep. This was not good. What to do? What to do? The wolf decided to wake up the baby by licking her face. But this turned out to be a fatal error. Instead of the baby waking up, the wolf's hunger had woken up with the taste of the human skin.

To avoid any mishaps, the wolf started running away from the baby while howling. And that! That turned out to be the second fatal error. A human hunter who happened to be around saw the wolf. It was a moment before the wolf fell dead. As the hunter ran towards the wolf, he saw something else on the snow. A baby!

"Wow! Am I a hero or what?" the hunter thought.

Angel and the Airplane

We are about 11 km above the Pacific, and flying at about 1000 km/h. It is dawn where we are, but a four-year old is awake, and keeping me so, too. Apparently she is caught by the jet lag. Of course, she doesn't know that I have a meeting the following day, and I need a good rest before it. But this little angel knows how to orient herself in the bowels of my brain.

"My mom said that there were people in the past who could talk to the dead ones. Is that true?"
"If your mom said that, she must know something. And I heard the same thing, too."
"Can you talk to them?"
"Oh, no! No!"

I am not sure if my answer disappointed her or pushed her into further thoughts. She paused. I thought she fell asleep. So, I layed my head back to the seat for a few minutes of sleep. Just then, I was zoomed out by another angelic question:

"I wish I could talk to my grandpa. Mom said he died... Can you fly an aircraft?"
"I can! But not the ones as big as this one, though."
"I can fly'em, too. But my planes crash quickly. My friend Nathan can make paper planes. They fly fast."

For a moment, I thought this girl was swimming in her imagination. But of course she wasn't. 

I was going to say that I was glad that my planes haven't crashed so far. Should I tell this? No. Why ruin the dreams of a child with the rigid realities of adult life?

"Do you talk to your planes?"
"You can't talk to non-living things. They are dead."
"So, I can't talk to my grandpa!"

Oh, God! Is it not possible for me not to damage this girl's delicate world? If you want a picture of that elephant in the glasshouse, picture me.

"I am sorry for your grandfather. If it is going to make you happy, I have a secret to share with you."
"...???"
"Even if you cannot talk to them, the dead ones can talk to you. But you need to know how to listen."

After this sentence, I paused for a second. What would the girl's mother think if she heard what I just said and what I was about to say? I told myself "you cannot return the arrow, once it is shot."

"Can you understand what this airplane is telling, for example?" I asked.
"No! Can you?"
"It says that it is very afraid of flying. One of its friends died in an accident a week ago. That airplane was caught by a storm and fell from the skies."

She closed her eyes, as if trying to hear the aircraft. God knows what she heard. And God knows something else: the things I couldn't dare to express: that I was in the investigation team for a fatal crash the previous week that killed 267 passengers and 9 crew members on board; that there were children among the passengers; and worst of all, that the clues indicate negligence in the maintenance, which is almost always caused by the greed of people not only in the companies but also elsewhere in the financial world.

The little angel left her seat and sat on the floor. She started padding the carpet. "What are you doing?" I asked.

"I am telling the plane that it is ok to have fears. My grandfather told me that."

With that, I shut up. After all, I shouldn't be interfering with an intimate communication. 

By then, the sun was about to shine on the horizon. I looked deep into the depths of the skies. Venus was shining like a pearl, and the moon was  a thin, bright crescent.

"It tells that it is too tired and sleepy" said the little girl.
"Oh really? We are nearing our destination. There, the airplane can have plenty of time to rest and eat something."

Then, she fell asleep on the carpet until she and her mom were woken up by the attendants to prepare for landing.

"He can talk to the airplanes", she told her mom, pointing at me.
"Good morning", said the mom, looking at me with a serious face; to which I smiled. 
"Your daughter is very friendly towards the airplane. She can grow to become an engineer one day", I added.
"Engineer? She is more into stories. But who knows?", the mom responded rigidly.
"I want to be an engineer", insisted the girl.

I smiled, and told her, in my mind, "Yes my little lady. The airplanes need your compassion, as they are carrying the hell under their arms and people in their bodies. They are very much stressed for the fear of not being trustworthy. I wish people took their example in dealing with each other."

"Grandpa is an engineer. I want to be an engineer," she repeated.

Her mom looked at her, straight in the eyes, and grabbed her hands tight. "He passed away, Jessi. He passed away last week. We are going for his funeral. You have to understand this. His plane crashed, and he is not coming back again."

Saint Lithium

In the beginning, there was light. The light was beautiful. So, God created three witnesses to its beauty: Hydrogen, Helium and Lithium. These witnesses were actually representatives of everything else to come after. These three were also burdened with the responsibility of telling what they saw in the beginning. It was so, because it was written in the book that some of the later creation would deny their beginning.

When the time of denial came to pass, the first one to confront it was Hydrogen. In order to reach others and establish contact with them, Hydrogen chose the way of selflessness. If one was in need of an electron, Hydrogen gave away its only electron. And he pointed out that the happiness that came upon his generosity was a sign to the beauty of the light in the beginning. If, on the contrary, one was burdened by electrons, Hydrogen happily accepted to carry that electron on behalf of them. And he again pointed out that the relief that came upon his sacrifice was a sign to the beauty of the light in the beginning.

Not everybody listened to Hydrogen. And those who listened to him passed away, and their offspring did not heed the mere narration from their elders. The new creation needed a new call.

Then, came the time of Helium. Helium was a nun. She never used perfumes or colorful dresses, and she did not establish intimacy with anyone. She was a recluse by creation. What made her interesting for others was that when she spoke, others heard her, but they could not comprehend how she spoke. She had two different ways of communicating like this. When she did, even if she was not to be seen around, others heard her, and they looked at each other with wide open eyes and bewildered gazes. Her speech made itself known as a warmth inside, like a thermal spring in the bodies of the others. Using this property of hers, Helium tried to tell the new creation what the first light looked like, and what it felt like to see it.

But the time of Helium did not last long, as the new creation started to communicate with each other with a frequency that continuously increased. So, her mesmerizing addresses did not influence the new creation. The new creation needed a new call.

Then, came the time of Lithium. Saint Lithium. He carried the properties of his elders, but with some nuances. Like Hydrogen, he was a person among others. He was willing to give away his electron to those in need. He was an emblem of honesty, as he conducted perfectly whatever he knew. And Lithium was very much a family person, an embodiment for love and affection.

But at the same time, Lithium was different, like Helium. He could work miracles, such as walking on water. Lithium also healed the possessed. Those who were considered crazy found healing in the hands of Lithium, and came to life anew. And when Lithium did these, he was not influenced by the admiration of others, and would not go arrogant. Instead, he would share his testimony to the light in the very beginning. If, afterwards, others were not interested in the message he shared, Lithium was not frustrated by their nonchalance. For his miraculous acts and for his adherence to high level of modesty, he was called Saint Lithium. 

Like every other saint, Lithium had some adversaries, too. Not every body enjoyed having a person who kept telling the stories of the light in the beginning. The idea of mass-less energy seeded a notion of freedom in the minds. And unity of creation in the beginning fostered the notion of peace in the hearts. Both of these, i.e. freedom and peace, were not wanted by those who wanted to govern the universe. 

So, they plotted to murder Lithium. The murder was to be committed in bare daylight in front of the eyes, so as to act as a dismay for future "saviors". As the tool for the act, they chose to shoot a proton to Lithium.

And they did, as Lithium was surrounded by those whom he had healed a few moments ago. It took a while for everyone to wake up from the astonishment of the boom. When they did, they realized that it was an attack towards Lithium. But where was he? At first, they were shocked by the sound, now they were shocked by the missing corpse of their Saint Lithium. Where was he? They could not even weep over the dead body of their healer. Where was Lithium?

Suddenly, everybody felt that warmth that they used to feel upon the talk of Helium. But Helium was long gone!

"No!" said the invisible voice. Indeed, it was the voice of Lithium. "I came back from the dead. From now on, I am Helium"

So, even the death of Saint Lithium served to fortify the message he had worked to spread: "I testify that there is only one Light."