The Station, Part 72

We are coming closer and my excitement grows with each passing moment. It just occurred to me that as ware outside all the tunnels, are means by which we will enter the Junction has not been made apparent. There are no doors or other discernable means by which to gain entry. This is cause for concern. I look up into the face of the old one who seems to sense my unease. She smiles in that remarkable way of hers, a reassuring smile that tells me again without words that is and will continue to be well. And I do believe she is rather pleased that I even feel the way I do right now. There’s something to which I’m not being enlightened. But one thing is certain; there is a plan at work. And I am most certain that I am a central part of it.

As we alight upon the surface of the Junction, the notice her weight makes impressions on its egg shell white surface. I should have known. Like the tunnels, this central hub is born of the same malleable substance. As remain seated, the old one places me into the arms of another adult that has landed beside us. Now with two free hands, she slowly pushes into the Junction’s surface and begins a kneading motion. As she works it begins to part, a little at first, and when the hole is large enough, she pulls at either end until she has to back up as she works. Now it is wide enough to accommodate her great form. Taking me back from the other adult, she hugs me to her chest and we drop into the hole.

It is too bright in here; I have to keep my eyes closed. But even without the benefit of sight I feel that something is different here. It is not the temperature or humidity or any other meteorological factor. The difference comes from within me. I detect the first slight bump of our landing and the second as the old one sets me down on the floor. The pain in my eyes has lessened. I think I can chance opening my eyes.

What an assault on the senses this is! All around me there are images of activity. I see on the curved walls and floating at various altitudes what must be a representation of every inner chamber of the Leviathan. Every environment that I traversed, and many more that defy my experience—they are all here. It is so much more than what I witnessed in my Sleep Lesson. That was merciful; for I do not know if my mind of that time could have handled such a feast. I can barely take it all in now. I think I will need more than just two eyes for the task.

I have almost forgotten about the old one. She remains standing beside me. I look up at her and I see her head is bowed and her eyes are closed. Is it because she cannot handle the array of imagery, or is it because she believes she is not permitted I wonder. I believe it is a combination of both. It is another bit of knowledge that I have gained without the benefit of words. I reach out and touch her hands, the one injured long ago in a time I cannot fathom. She is as ancient as the trees.