BACK TO THE FUTURE

LA DOOR VA DOOR

Oscar woke upon a sandy beach. The sky was dark and filled with twinkling lights. The water calmly lapped at his feet.

“Oh thank god!” he felt his arms, his face. He was real again, he was himself. He looked around. He breathed the cool night air, relishing the feeling of his lungs expanding, the rush of blood to his head. Where was he? Viktor was always traveling around to strange and distant places, Oscar had always stayed where he was, attending to the job at hand.

Turning around, he was startled to see two men in dark blue clothes standing behind him.

“AH!!” Oscar blurted out.

“We didn't mean to suprize you,” the dark haired man on the left said.

“We are the ones who brought you here” said the light haired man on the right congenially.

Oscar was not used to being disoriented. Burdened yes, disoriented, no. Something caught his eye, down the beach. There were three small figures.

“I am so glad this night has come, we've been looking forward to meeting you.” said the light haired man.

“Sunali, let's take them back to the village and include the young people in this conversation,” suggested the dark one.

“Yes, Suvali, of course, of course,” finished his brother, putting his arm around Oscar as they walked down the beach.

The two brothers, Sunali and Suvali, silently led their four guests to a village of teepees set up in a grove not far from the beach. It was still and quiet except for occasional sleeping noises coming from neighboring tents.

The six of them filed into a teepee set up in the center of the village. They made themselves comfortable upon the many pillows and wrapped themselves in the handmade blankets and firs that were strewn about while Sunali lit a fire and Suvali filled a heavy black pot with herbs and roots. The tent was suprizingly spacious yet cozy.

Oscar, at this point, found his bearings and had a good idea of where they were. He studied his three fellow travelers. The girl, who had introduced herself as Sasha looked suspiciously at the situation, while Paco seemed elated. Eliot's poised facade concealed his mind, fast at work, taking in every subtle detail, yet remaining impassive.

An interesting bunch. He wondered what exactly Viktor had done and what was happening back at home. He didn't remember much from before. He hadn't been himself at all since Viktor tried to fix things... why, why, why did he think Viktor could ever solve anything. He loved his brother, but liking and loving are not the same.

“So,” said Sunali, settling back on his cushions as the fire crackled merrily, “I want to begin by addressing our three young, wayward travelers-”

“How do you know I'm young?” Sasha bit out defensively, “why do you know anything at all about me, and what the hell was all that, before- ?! ….I mean it hurt!” she added apologetically when Sunali's eyes shone with sorrow.

“I am sorry, beyond... that pain you all experienced just before arriving on the beach, that was not us. We came to get Oscar out of there and anyone who still lived.”

Paco's face fell, “Lived?”

“Sunali, you are not giving information in the best order,” Suvali said as an aside to his brother, placing the pot over the fire and taking his place in the circle, “You see, children-”

“We're not children” Sasha corrected him.

“I apologize, you, Sasha, most certainly are not” Suvali gave her a knowing look and began again, “You see, my very wise old friends, Oscar's brother, in his endless quest for order, thought it a good idea to create an electrical storm in the atmosphere strong enough to disrupt and disconnect the established brain patterns of the human population of Earth. I can only imagine at this point he has begun the process of establishing new, more perfect brain patterns, producing conformity, uniformity, order. While everyone in good health has lived through it, well... we all have a different definition for 'living'.” Suvali paused, gazing into the flames.

“When we sensed all of this was happening,” Sunali picked up, “we came and got you and brought you back. We didn't think anyone would have been able to maintain their sense through that. We are so honored to meet you three, you are miracles.”

“Don't speak too soon,” returned Paco, “I feel totally nuts.”

“That's just the side effect of excess electrical brain activity, that'll settle down,” Sunali assured them, “you're taking in a lot right now, which is good, you're lucid. Clarity will come with time.”

“Here, this will help,” Suvali dipped a ladle into his pot and poured the amber broth into a small wooden bowl. Once they all had steaming bowls before them, they sat in silence and sipped. The broth sank deep, filling their stomaches with peace, warming their blood, and clearing their eyes. The fire crackled and danced in the still night. Outside the tent, a breeze created a symphony among the trees.

The three young travelers, exhausted and overwhelmed slipped off to sleep. The brothers returned to sleep in other tents, each with his wife. Oscar remained awake, guarding his three remaining loyal subjects.

“I've failed,” he confessed to the dying fire, and with that, he wept silently in the arms of night.

The next morning, Oscar watched Sunali and the kids playing a sport they called Magajani, involving a frisbee and a lot of running around. Sunali was so carefree, laughing heartily when a play almost was an epic win and ended in a ridiculous heap. The kids at first would argue with each other about what the others should be doing better, but Sunali's laugh was so infectious, they started to see the humor in epically failing.

Oscar sat on the far outskirts of the meadow. The people of the village had long since been up and most were going about their day.

Suvali came and sat down beside him.

“Something is weighing heavily on your mind, Oscar,” he said gently.

“Yes, well...” Oscar looked down at the grass. Talking couldn't change the past, but great yearning finds release where it can, “I am afraid I have failed at the one thing I have spent my life trying to do well.” That was all he could say. He had to clear his throat and collect himself.

Suvali nodded, taking it in, “You know who we are, don't you. Maybe you do not, but you have a feeling about who we might be, and I want to tell you to trust that,” Oscar looked up in amazement. He studied Suvali's face, unable to stop himself from reaching out to feel his cheek. “Your forefathers thought,” Suvali continued,“that they must rule the people, that man was their flock to be shepherded and gleaned. This is what they taught you, but it was never in your nature to be. You see, grandfather, we are not mortals like them, we are archetypes, born from the people, not gods to rule over them. We are truly servants of man. We cannot be what we choose, like they can, and will rule only as long as they chose us.”

Oscar couldn't believe his ears, “so... so Victor is going to...”

“Ah, well, you come from interesting times, Oscar. Twins are always born out of times of great change. Victor thought he could force the people to believe in you, but no true memory can be imposed. Now that this has failed, he will force them to remember him, or at least worship the image of him. But this will not last.”

“Oh no...” Oscar contemplated heavily. “what will happen to my poor people? why do I care so much, I know there is nothing I can do - I can't go back.”

“Yes, well, this is true.”

“So what do I do now?”

Suvali smiled, “Do you remember your father explaining the true nature of time? And how it is circular? Well, let's just say that these events have been foreseen” Suvali helped his ancestor up and they started back to the village.

At this point, they had reached the village, just in time for lunch. Men and women were congregating around the cooking fire some talking, some taking long dregs from clay cups. Children chased each other and showed off tricks they had taught their dogs. The people who had taken the role of cooks were bringing great bowls of food to long tables set up in the center of the town. One cook stirred the great pot set over the fire.

Sunali and the kids straggled in, cheeks rosy, spirits high.

“So is there any way to beat that game?” Eliot asked Sunali.

“Well, that's the point, it's supposed to be impossible, and we keep trying anyways. It's different every time. It has only been beat twice in my memory. And I am quite old.”

The villagers had begun filling their plates and some sat at a large communal table while others found quiet spots in the herb garden or under a shady tree.

The three young outsiders eagerly joined the line and soon they sat with a group of people around their age.

Sunali, Oscar, and Suvali sat under a large trellis at one end of the herb garden.

“So, how do your people live? How have you structured society?”

“Well, we didn't,” replied Sunali, “they told us what they wanted. We came together in a great discussion, until we decided on a system that worked for almost all of us. For some of us, it didn't , so they left to another village that is structured in a way that they agree with. Even within this village, people move to different roles and policies are amended. But there are no absolute rules.”

At Oscar's incredulous look, Suvali expounded, “People understand that the most important job of the individual is to be in touch with his needs and enjoy the process of fulfilling them. This is not only his greatest responsibility to himself but also to others, because only someone who respects and values himself can be respectable and of value, and in turn respect and value others. We don't need punishment, because the people enjoy a connection with each other, and any act of destruction is its own punishment.”

“This is the future?” Oscar was filled with hope.

“This is one future,” Suvali clarified, “there are many many futures.”

“As numerous as the stars,” finished Sunali, “something for everyone!” he chuckled.

They spent the rest of the day visiting the various projects people were working on: the livestock caretakers, the gardeners, the clothes makers, those who looked after infants and toddlers, the teachers who shared their enthusiasm for various topics of interest with young and old. Some young people apprenticed with a faction of their choosing, some were off with the ambassador party, sharing ideas and trading with neighboring towns. One party took on the responsibility of fixing and inventing new forms of technology (this is the future, after all, and to Oscar's surprize, they had every convenience his time had enjoyed and more). Some people were keeping the village clean and beautifying it with various forms of art. There was one group that met three times a week to put together plays for the weekly bon fire's entertainment.

In the late afternoon, people finished up their tasks for the day and washed up. This was a time when families reconnected. Some people went into the woods to quietly play their instruments, others worked on little hobbies they enjoyed. Many of the children played board games. Some couples went off on their own.

After dinner, everyone gathered around the bon fire. The night sky glittered with stars. Wrapped in the blankets they made from the sheep they cared for, their faces glowed expectantly.

“Tell the story of Dachid and Daal!” shouted a little voice.

“Yeah!” echoed some others

Sunali found his place upon the stones that circled the fire pit.

“Dachid and Daal, huh?...” he laughed, and at once his eyes lit up with the magic that makes every storyteller what he is.

******

THE TALE OF DACHID & DAAL

Once, a long long time ago, in the days of the first man, the gods were many. They lived among the people. They enhanced their lives – helped their crops grow tall, their children marry happily, and brought peace upon their households. The gods were honored on festival days. They sat at their tables, and danced with them around their bon fires.

Now, in those days, a man did not choose what he did, he learned his trade from his father. One man, Dachid, son of Mardum, had the job of butcher. Day after day he slit the animals' throats, he drained their blood, and he took them apart. Now, Dachid did not like doing what he did, but because it was what his father did, he had no choice.

Not being a happy man, Dachid never married. He never recognized his god. Instead, he grew hopeless and despondent.

Now, one thing about the gods is, they have an overwhelming amount of love for people. Love can be experienced and expressed in so many ways. When love goes ignored, it finds other ways of being noticed. Dachid's god was called Daad. Daad followed Dachid through his childhood and faithfully pined for him through every miserable day, always trying to get his attention by doing this or that. But Dachid, being so miserable, never noticed a thing. Over the miserable years, Daad grew into a formidable creature.

For most people, 42 was an age that all looked forward to. For at 42 years of age, a person could invite a god to live within him, filling him with divine understanding, and sometimes giving him miraculous abilities.

By the time Dachid was 42 years of age, Daad was a great huge demon, enraged with the frustration of his abandonment. So great was Daad's frustration, and so empty was Dachid's heart, that the night of his 42^nd birthday, Daad jumped down Dachid's throat and overtook him.

Crazed out of his senses, Daad went on a rampage, destroying the whole village. He then moved on to the next and then the next, until word grew about this powerful man-god.

Men grew fearful, forgetting their own gods, and decided it was better to follow behind Daad, than to fall in his path. It wasn't long before Daad became the ruler of man, and for many many years afterwards, man lived in fear of the great single god they themselves had given power. They forgot their own power, their partnership with the the spirit world and its endless benevolence.

******

“...And so, dear ones, this is why we follow our heart, and thank our spirits.”

Sunali bowed as the crowd waved their fingers in the air, giving a “shhhhhhh!” of appreciation.

The villagers dispersed each lighting a small lantern from the bon fire to take back to bed with them. Young children hand in hand with a grandparent, or carried by a parent, older children scampering back to one of the children's sleeping tents.

THE PIED PIPER

For forty days, the four travelers passed the time happily in the village, each in their own way:

Paco played Magajani. This game, he soon learned, was played with absolute focus, sweat was no stranger to this meadow. And yet no one seemed to care about points. Each team wanted the other team to match them, making the challenge greater, confidant that they would rise to meet it and thus all get better together in never ending fun.

He learned to duck and swerve deftly. And in time he could play with the best of them, bringing a new style to the sport.

They in turn were fascinated by his demonstration of soccer. After lunch one day, he watched some of the kids enthusiastically form their own teams. They awkwardly kicked the ball around, seriously engaged in this new challenge. They would come to Paco for a little coaching, just as they had helped him learn Magajani.

Funny, thought Paco, this is the longest he had gone without an injury.. well... besides his stomach which was always sore from laughing.

Eliot spent each day with a different faction within the village. Inspired by its harmony, he wanted to learn everything about its structure and function. He observed the ways in which they interacted co-operatively. And most fascinating to him, he noticed how protocol was continuously changing to more efficiently and harmoniously function as part of the whole. There wasn't a list of rules anywhere of what to do or not to do, neither did Eliot see anyone berate anyone else or loose their patience. There were no bells to signal when to work or stop, if a person decided their day was better spent in quiet contemplation or doing whatever they felt like, they went and did it. There were always enough helpers, because work was regarded as a form of play. The village was like a living breathing animal, within which, each organ functioned within the whole. And in this way, this small society evolved gracefully, expanding with each passing year.

Eliot came to know many of the people from all arenas. He was struck by how warm and deeply happy each person was. He felt redeemed by the enthusiasm and focus each had for their work – there were no jobs which held more prestige than any others. Some had spent many years doing one thing, others had done many things and brought a broad spectrum of knowledge. Eliot was surprised to see what a wide age range took part in daily activities – very young children knew how to pick from the garden and bring it into the kitchen, where great-great-grandparents showed them how to knead bread and grind spices. There was more productivity than Eliot had ever seen, and it was all done joyfully, pleasantly, and inclusively.

Sasha spent most of her time in the woods alone. The peace she found there drew her back again and again. She had found a spot by the brooke where it had widened into a pool. Here she would lie down to nap as the sunlight streamed through the leaves, and little critters went about their activities.

Sasha prayed that she could be worthy of a place like this, that its peace would live inside her, stilling her heart to its pulse, filling all fear and pain with a sense of homecoming; a home she was always welcome in.

She learned to be still, present. In time, the water began to whisper the secrets of their travels: the deep ocean tides, the accent into the clouds, the soaring down to earth, and the flowing, surrendering to the rush of being all together again in the river. They told her of crystallization, floating, swirling, then resting on the stillness of the mountaintop. They told her of being pulled to the lips of a stag and of pulsing through its noble heart.

While she dreamed, the trees danced to the song of sun, basking, applauding the rainbow rays of sunlight. They celebrated in their accent, ever-reaching towards heaven, sucking the nectar of the soil, soaking in all the tales of water's adventures.

Oscar, still devastated over the loss of his kingdom, hiked to the tallest hilltop. For forty days he sat at the summit meditating upon what he would do next. On the fortieth day, Sasha happened upon him. She sat down and put a gentle arm around his shoulder. They sat there silently together, soaking up the sun and the tranquil birdsong, before she spoke.

“When I was eight, I lived with the Fosters. Mike Foster told me this story.”

Sasha cleared her throat and shifted in the dirt.

******

OF RATS AND MEN

There once was a town overrun with rats. One day, a traveler comes to the town, carrying a flute. He promises them that if they would just give him a place to sleep and a hot meal, that when he goes on his way again, he will play a magic song on his flute, and all the rats will go with him, leaving their town forever. Instead of at least taking pity on the hungry stranger, they laugh at him, refuse him both diner and shelter, and chase him from the town. So that night, while the town sleeps, he takes his flute and plays the most beautiful song. It is so beautiful that when it reaches the ears of the innocent children, it calls them out of their beds, into the streets, and over the walls of the rat infested town.

******

“They say that the children have been dancing behind him ever since, and when the wind blows, you can hear them humming along. It's like this eternal parade.”

Sasha stared off into the valley, “Children's services took me away; Mike's spouse was a Stephen instead of a Stephanie. Maybe I latched onto this story because no body had ever told me a bedtime story before or since. But after that, wherever I ended up, I would always leave the window open at night, so if the Piper ever came through, I could join them. But I guess I lived more like a rat... lost in the streets. Everywhere you go you get swept aside, people are scared to look at you... but actually rats are pretty smart, they have a lot to teach us, if we aren't afraid of them. I don't know why I'm telling you this, except that... like, take Mike Foster, right? You might feel like you missed your chance at doing good, but you never know how much the little things make all the difference in the world.”

Sasha leaned over and hugged Oscar's shoulders. She got up, and went on her way.

That night, to everyone's astonishment, Oscar bounded down the mountain and joined them all for dinner. He ate heartily, let out a sigh of satisfaction, and marched off. Sunali and Suvali gave each other a knowing look and gathered the three kids into the teepee where first they had talked. Sunali lit the fire while Suvali manifested a pot much bigger than the one he had used before.

Oscar then joined them, fully shaved, snowy white hair cut shaggily around his shining face. He was astoundingly young and handsome, radiant.

Oscar climbed into the cauldron. Then, Sunali passed a bowl of sand around, motioning each of the children to grab a handful. Suvali gestured to them to throw the sand into the fire. They did. The fire blazed up around the cauldron. And then all went quiet and dark. Oscar was gone.

“Ok, kids, who wants to go with him?” asked Sunali.