The Station, Part 61

That may more difficult than I had just anticipated. I can see so much foliage, the branches with leaves of all shapes and sizes, many of them laden with what could only be fruits and seeds. I know nothing of them. This is a problem. I am without the advantage of observing other animals’ eating habits. The small primates I witnessed eating the figs back at the mountains was in all likelihood a stroke of luck on my part. In addition, that world was the most familiar of them all. A more primitive, yet nearly identical version your own world. Here, in this very different place, there is the most superficial familiarity. I can recognize these analogues of trees, vines, shrubs and all their parts. But what I don’t have knowledge of would be the chemistry. I have a virtual feast around me, or a world of death my any number of poisons. I will have to abstain for now and ignore the noise in my belly. But nature is insistent. If I have to rely on my own willpower alone, I may have to hurry along. I can’t let mere hunger rule my decision. I am ever closer to the Junction. I know that I must travel upward, into the canopy, for passage on the ground looks to be all but impossible. And the sudden knowledge of my arboreal skills is an excellent clue as to how I am to meet my goal.

I’m climbing ever higher into this canopy. I must be nearly one hundred meters above ground by now. The immensity of this jungle is astounding, dwarfing anything else in my experience. As I ascend ever higher, I still have not seen a hint sky. There might not be one, just a ceiling of metal perhaps. I can just toss that idea away right now. Although I have seen other places without skies, there can be no greenery without the aid of a sun. Energy from light of course. Or can there? Still no hint of rays, yet there is a dim light throughout. That light has to come from somewhere.

I have noticed subtle changes in the vegetation species as I further separate myself from the jungle floor. The deep greens, which now that I think of them may be in fact due to the lack of light giving them their darker shades, have been supplanted by an ever increasing population of ever more bizarre looking plants upon other plants, many must be epiphytic in nature, others of a more parasitic nature. I cannot differentiate between the two if that is indeed the case. I matters little to me—they are all in all probability inedible. Yet these oddities are but a few of the strange forms I have seen as I climb. Growths for which I have no comparison appear in I dare say have a grotesquery that have had the temporary yet strangely beneficial effect of curbing my appetite. It is not so much that that have shapes and textures I would not apply to plants life. That would be quite enough. But it is way in which I see that they do lay prone. Grasses and leaves sway in the wind. But there is nothing about the air that I can surmise that explains the way in which these creatures of vegetation…pulse…undulate. My nearness to them is disturbing some sense within me, an ancient understanding that is being contradicted. I want to be away from them, yet I know in that maddeningly mysterious way that these moving forms are not the obscene things I want them to be. They are nothing of the sort. The more I look on them, the more repulsed I am by my growing attraction to them. My stomach has rumbled again and I’m appalled by the suggestion. And where are all the animals? In such a dense biomass and great variety, what fills these niches? Can it be that even with my new senses, that I can miss all of it?

The Station, Part 60

That place I saw in my last sleep lesson. I said I would talk of it again. I needed to understand a little more of what I saw. I believe I have arrived at that point now. It’s where I came from, where all of this began. That sickly, forlorn faced…person was me. Or rather, what I once was. Before I first tread here. Long before I ate of the fruit that made me a true part of the Whale, as I have just now come to know this place. Whale. It just sounds right in my mind. I say it out loud and it sounds right as it echoes of the walls of this tunnel I currently travel. Speaking of which, my eyes are like they were in the cave; I see details on these walls, smooth, undulating waves of blackness almost look alive. It piques my curiosity. I lay a hand on the one spot, press hard, and wait. Yes, ever so slight, a movement occurs, a shifting in reaction to the pressure of my added weight. I take my hand away. I have left an impression. As I wait again, the impression very slowly fills in. And now there is no trace I was ever here. I take a step back and what do I see—Impressions of my huge feet of course! And they too after a brief time begin to fill in as well. Remarkable. After all that I have seen, I can still be surprised by a small thing such as this.

The tunnel has ended with another surprise, albeit a less than pleasant one. I’m staring out into a dense jungle. I can’t peer that far in due to the thickness of the foliage. There is every possible shade of green. This is not the kind of thing I would have expected this close to the Junction. It appears that I have yet another hurdle to surmount before I meet my goal. And I am so unprepared for this kind of heat and humidity…well perhaps I will be. It’s remarkable how well and how rapidly my body adapts to every new miniature world I encounter. I was so enthralled with the newfound nature of the tunnels that I failed to notice what was happening to me. Most of the white, or transparent fur to be more accurate, has grown thinner and much darker. And my hands, my hands are so elongated now, attached to arms that seem impossibly long. My feet as well have seen change. The big toes, now a second set of opposable thumbs, can mean only one thing: I was just now built for this place; my body somehow anticipated the change before my conscious mind even knew of the jungle’s existence. I was designed to live here. No, more than that—I was designed to thrive.

I can see now that I was not meant to scour the leaf-strewn ground for signs of the final pathway. That idea is just ridiculous that this point. Instead, I look up into the canopy for signs of passage. I can focus onto objects with such clarity it is almost startling. I notice places in the immense twisting tree that could serve as foot- and handholds. I know their distance from me, how much to bunch my musculature in order to make a successful landing. It’s so much readily available knowledge that I am actually and tremendously excited to try out my newly acquired abilities. And do so I shall. I choose a nearly tree, huge just like the rest, a gnarled twisted thing that is rife with climbing opportunities. I immediately recall the last time I had a needed to do this, the time I was very interested in the ancient figs. The thought of the figs sets my stomach growling. How I can go from no hunger to an almost ravenous state is beyond my understanding. Nevertheless, I need to find food now. And I mean right now.

The Station, Part 59

Come to think of it, I have already completed more than half of the journey. I hadn’t realized it until long afterwards that my time in the cave actually comprised a good number of those tunnels. I can now recall that the Tunnels Tall and Round were all there, simple connected along a chain that was not nearly as obvious due to the combination of poor lighting and my then weakening condition. And with that new realization, I can only surmise that my time in this cold place is nearing its close, and when it does, I will be in sight of the Junction. And when I see this place, it will all but completely and undoubtedly confirm what I have known all along—there is intelligence at work here. And it has a purpose. I intend to find my answer there. And then I will find my way home.

A downward slope has begun. Subtle, yet it means I am finally nearing the end of this place. I can now make out what is now a most familiar sight: a wall. The details are not yet visible, but I am quite confident that I will find a wall full of many tunnel entrances, Tunnels Tall, Round and Wide. That will not daunt me I imagine. For when I take the last remaining steps, I will have already been told what tunnel is mine. The path of snow heads straight and true towards that wall. You see that I’m right.

The path made by my annelid-like guides leads directly to a particular Tunnel Round. And that is where it ends. Right in front of the entrance. I could have no better sign than that. But what of my mysterious friends? It’s like they just vanished. But really, all they must have done was burrow deeper down and gone on their way, the job completed. I give them my thanks in silence. But somehow, I know that the mere act of my following them was the real thanks they, or it, really wanted. And so while I stand here, pondering the next phase of this sojourn, I make a silent wish that on the other side of this dark passage, will indeed be the Junction. There I hope—no, I will—find the immense image last seen in my sleep lesson and discover the final path to…to....damn me. Never mind. I melt some snow in my hands, or paws if you prefer, and take one more drink before heading inside. It tastes clean, pure, and enlivens me a little more.

It’s almost ridiculously nostalgic. Only the last time I was inside I was a very different being. Confined to some kind of strange, awkward skin, breathing stale air, and leaving behind some sort of little bright things. I don’t no what they were for, but at the time they were very important to me. It all seems so unnecessary now. What things did I miss because I was too afraid to shed my unneeded artificial skin? What clues did I not pick up on that would have sent me on my way to freedom that much sooner? It’s of no real importance now. I am on my way out. The means of my salvation is les clear, but knowing of its existence is enough for me. My one true source of fuel.

The Station, Part 58

Suddenly I don’t want to be here in this place anymore. It feels like a trap, an inescapable prison for which I want no part. But what is most tortuous of all to watch is this creature, all but absorbed in this most trivial of tasks, never once has he gazed up at the wonder of the heavens that is right before him. If he ever had an interest in the possibilities at are out there, that curiosity is long gone. I feel nothing but pity for him. I want to never be like this creature—ever.

And now all I se is blackness. And somehow this nothingness is better than what I have just left. I no longer have to face that lifeless creature back there. That creature that was so irritatingly familiar, but also so distastefully devoid of wonder. Do such creatures such as these exist in such profusion? How do they survive? Do they deserve to succeed in such great numbers? So many, and yet so alone within themselves.

The darkness gives way to light. This light seems to be inside my eyes. It gradually grows brighter until it almost hurts…

I see the inner walls of my igloo. I must be awake then.

The light is coming from outside. The gray that was night has passed. Though emotions I felt during the sleep lesson, if that’s what it was and not merely a dream, are still with me. The disgust at the listlessness and emotional immobility of the beings I saw is like a bad taste in my mouth. I want to wash it away but I don’t know how. But you don’t have any idea what I’m going on about do you? Once I have gathered my thoughts on this, I’ll let you in on my discovery. In the meantime, I’ll just leave the confines of my igloo and see what the new day has brought.

It’s almost as bright as before, with a hint of gray still remaining, probably a last remnant that before long will disappear as well. The mound housing my mysterious helpers is much smaller now and has a deflated look about it. There is an opening at the top. I’m going to take a look. I thought I’d be more nervous about doing something like this but there’s something about desensitization that makes even the most daunting tasks less daunting. The mound size has been reduced enough that I can stand on tiptoe to see inside. It’s a disappointment for the most part—it’s empty. But who or whatever they were, clues were left behind. The inner walls betray the general shape of the inhabitants, although that shape id not terribly distinct. And it still remains inconclusive as to the exact number of beings that was inside. But going back to the beings’ shape—based on the wall impressions, I can surmise that they are long and tubular, perhaps of an annelid-like form. Worms. In some places I detect what appears to be segmentation. Not unlike an earthworm increases many thousands of times it own size. But the exact size is impossible to determine. I could be seeing the impression of a several three meter long animals or an individual at best guess perhaps fifteen meters long.

I won’t anything more here, but I’m glad I did what I did. A little more of a mystery that begets yet more questions. Specifically; why are these wormlike creatures involved in my welfare? Yes, I still believe that. Because even if they have moved on without me, there is a new trail stretching off into the horizon, continuing in the very direction I need to go. Exactly along the path that I have committed to memory. I’ll just be finishing this stretch of it solo.

The Station, Part 57

And where am I now? I am bombarded by noises and lights. I’m now surrounded by these same strange, seemingly helpless beings the humans. They swarm around me, so many of them, all unaware of my presence. They take no time in going around me, walking to destinations unknown. It seems I am to be but am observer here as well. But everywhere I cast my eyes, I see artificiality. Metal and other materials I cannot readily identify, but I know to be of a manufactured nature. There are smells that defy classification for me. Many of them emanate from the humans. It is all overwhelming. And I see that there are even more of these humans above me, inside floating vehicles to whisk them to and fro. I look to the horizon, see towers of metal and glass and then the other. More of the same. Both are blocked by massive constructs. They stretch as far as I can see. Perhaps these constructs cover their entire world. Regardless, I see that these humans, however physically ill equipped as they are, have somehow managed to succeed. They need no outside help. Their technology has even outpaced them. They are still just evolved creatures of nature after all. I wonder if they know it themselves any more. This is a species that will go on. And now this vast landscape is gone.

I should know where I am now, but I do not. I used to know it, but now it is just another strange place. I don’t know what to make of it. Not yet. It is a sterile place, made up of white, unblemished walls of metal on three of four sides. The four is dominated by a transparency that reveals the one familiar sight—the stars. Under it is long, smooth machine covered in all manner of lights in a dazzle of color. I know that each one of those lights means something, but what I do not know.

Near the center of this collection of artificial constellations is a seat. It is high enough that I cannot discern if it occupied, but no, now I can. There is movement that reaches out from either side. Hands. Pale hands that touch a light here and there, changing little square window of other colored lights. Their meaning goes beyond my understanding, but I have seen these motions before. Each one serves a purpose. But what, I do not know. It is interesting, but not so much as the being that is performing the actions. It is another one of those creatures. A paler one at that. It seems it does not live under the light of a star and so does not require pigmentation. It has the hair on top of its head. In fact, I see a strong resemblance to the male with the facial hair. The one from the grove. But no, this one with the naked face is not the same individual. And its clothing is quite different as well, not the lurid colors of the city. This is a monochrome covering, even more artificial looking than all the previous examples. But like the rest of the many of his species I had encountered, I am but an observer here as well. He does not acknowledge my presence. I’m not being ignored. I simple am not here. That allows me the ultimate freedom to observe. Which just may be the sole reason I am here. This is yet another part of the sleep lesson. And perhaps the most important one of all. I think I know this odd being. This pallid skinned, soft bodied creature with no other seeming purpose then to touch these lights. His countenance is not one of what I would interpret to be happiness or sadness, nor anger or fear. It is a blankness. A lack of luster. Living inside this metal construct, away from what is natural, and alone. No contact with others of its kind. That must take its toll over time. Does this poor creature have a choice in the matter? Is he trapped? If so, is this how he deals with it. By randomly touching these insipid lights that do nothing but blink back at him? What kind of horrible existence is this?

The Station, Part 56

Where am I now? I’m standing in a field of tall green grass. To one side I see a grove of what look like banana trees. It’s hot and humid—a tropical perhaps. But who knows, as this is but a dream. I’m still huddled within my impromptu igloo, miraculously constructed out of my own huge hands. Here, in the dream, I see myself as I once was. I wear clothes, my bare arms devoid of the white four. And four fingers and a thumbs on each hand. My sandaled feet reveal all ten toes. It all feels strange. This is what it feels like to be alien.

I hear voices, human voices, coming from the grove. I take it I am to investigate. And what else is there to do? As I approach, the voices grow louder, more distinct. I can distinguish two voices—one of a male quality I believe; the other one female. The leaves of banana trees obstruct my view so I push them aside. There is a small clearing. In the middle sit three people. A man, a woman and one very small child I imagine. They are so odd in appearance. Strange clothing, with patterns not found in nature. I see that without these cloths they have no protection other than their own thin soft skin. No fur or scales to protect them. Their exposed flesh is vulnerable. The only real natural protection they seem to have is the mass of hair on the top of their heads. With the exception of the adult male; his lower face is covered in a thin layer of hair. They seem so helpless and exposed out here. Yet confoundedly, they seem to be blissfully unaware of any danger to them. The name for these being is human. I know. I was once among them. But now, as oddly familiar as these three particular individuals may be, especially the very small one, they belong more to the myriad of life that we—it—they harbor than I belong to them. Perhaps I am assuming too much. I must remind myself that this is a dream—a sleep lesson perhaps. That has yet to be clarified.

They adults are eating and paying very close attention to the small one. It must be their offspring. An even more helpless looking thing. The limbs appear too short for adequate walking, running or climbing. And when it does move, the motions are clumsy, unsure. It must be entirely dependent on its parents for sustenance and protection. An indication of intelligence. I suspect I won’t be present to study them for much longer, I see that this odd species may be worthy of saving. If it meets the criteria. That sad, unfortunate criteria. But in order to be saved, they must first be doomed.

But now the creatures, the trees, the grass—it’s all gone. Will I not learn more about these beings? I have lived and communed among so many others. Why pull me away from this? There was an opportunity lost. An opportunity to learn who and what these being are…or were.

The Station, Part 55

My hidden trailblazers have stopped. I know this because I have caught up to them and I can see that there is no movement in the thick snow now. I’m not sure just how far behind I am, as I don’t know the actual size or number of creatures that make up these trailblazers. They’ve, instead of traveling forward; have been working a circular path, round and round, until a buildup of snow has formed. Higher and higher it has climbed, until it towers above me, a mound that bears a strong resemblance to a cocoon. It even possesses a translucent quality that allows me to at least see partially inside. And what I see helps me little in determining the nature of my latest assistants. Inside this immense construct I see just an amorphous dark side, now and then shifting here and there, as if trying to find the most comfortable position possible. I have a feeling they are going to be here a while. And what does this mean for me? Have they, or it, completed their task and I been dismissed? There’s still so much traveling to be done. I strain to see as far ahead as possible, which has become more difficult as the bright blue of the day has faded to a dull gray. There is nothing but more dunes all the way to the fading horizon.

It has grown colder as well. Really, it’s the first time I have even truly noticed it. And with the drop in temperature, I see the first ever so slight precipitation. Snowflakes fluttering down around me. Delicate things that would be familiar on any world I imagine. But how? Looking up I se that the grayness is but a gathering of clouds. Or something analogous to them. I sit low and immediately give me a sense of foreboding. The flakes are rapidly increasing and suddenly feel naked, exposed out here. The purpose of the mound my new friends have produced is suddenly clear—shelter. Even they must protect against a coming type of cold that even they’re naked bodies cannot withstand alone. Huddled together within that self-made temporary they have self-generated body warmth and insulation with which to survive. And what do I have? I have literally been left out in the cold.

Whoever said necessity is the mother of invention may have been in a situation very much like my own. And how right they were. I know nothing of building shelters, let alone a shelter out of ice and snow. But as the cold increased, somehow, and from somewhere within me, I have managed to create a temporary. Under other circumstances I would be rather proud of myself, but I have no luxury to do so now. All I can do is huddle inside and let my own body warmth keep me alive. And, by the stars, I think it will work. I don’t know where the ingenuity to make and igloo as good as I did the first time, without benefit of time for trial and error came from, but I strongly suspect just how. The Sleep Lessons are not without purpose I remind myself. And make that more than just one purpose. And as I lay here, drifting, I know it will be a good sleep, not the sleep that is the death of me. I am warm again, my own body fur insulating and protecting me from the elements. I have the luxury of sleep—and perhaps another sleep lesson—once again. I just know it will happen. It has happened every time I have lost myself to my unconscious.