Children who do not know who their parents are, often get the company of Absence instead, commonly marked by a lasting feeling of missing someone that matters. Galena knows this well. She remembers very little about her childhood and even lesser about where she came from or her birthdate for that matter. The only feeling that seems to amplifies over the years is her duality, a constant conflict swaying her from side to side: one moment she feels a sense of belonging, the next moment nothing. Always followed by a sense of loneliness and sometimes even anger. She calls it her daily dilemma and it's quite a chore.

One day, Galena receives a book that contains milliminion of symbols. She flips through each page but recognises nothing and the understanding is nil. On the last page, however, there is one that communicates with her - ☉ the symbol of the Sun. Upon the first gaze, Galena suddenly remembers that she has not seen  sunlight for a long long time. A simple realization that compels her to step outside, and outside of the dilemma of being herself. The Sun emits photons as always, the daughter is soaking it in as though for the first time.

máthēma is the face of Veritas while words are stories of truth.

数学是宇宙真相的基本答案， 

言语是宇宙真相的故事。

Black Spot

A heinous creature is out and about. Raging with incredible hunger, it is searching for something to eat, maybe a hamburger. It acts and talks like human, and believes it is the human being. In relative reality, it's a black spot in the heart, an unwelcome guest living in a host, occasionally gaining enough control to do whatever it wants whenever the host is asleep or too weak. Tonight is such an occasion. Ageless and restless, it needs activities and seeks out danger. It goes from town to town, doing silly things and committing unspeakable acts but despite all efforts, the creature seems unsatisfied...so it decides to just die. On a ledge and ready to jump, the host is finally awake but the balance is lost, and they tumble down and down to the underworld. The strong smell of burning flesh hangs in the air and the creature is home at last.
Alas, the host becomes the past. 

The onset of winter always put the mathematician into a contemplative mode but perhaps not this season. 

Against the punishing cold wind and in hope of finally filling his growing void, he is climbing up a steep mountain with an illuminated top. Many lone strangers are on the same journey, it is important that they arrive punctually at the prophesied time. White snow descend from above to become subjects of mortality, becoming and becoming until the return again. At the mountain peak, everyone seems to be following someone through a narrow secret passage. Like robot sheep, they solemnly march deep onto a path less travelled. The mathematician is surprised to see so many strangers have the same torment on their face. He has brief conversations with some of them: the tattooed soldier who is here for the girl, an old lady who lost her child and the insane...the talks are uninspiring and heavy with strong emotions of all kinds. He then thinks about her and the void stares back... 

After what seems like eternity, he finally sees it: although vibrating at a frequency that is alien to him, the mathematician recognizes its gracefulness and elegance almost immediately like an equation that suddenly becomes clear and complete, almost logically so. He hears people crying and dropping like flies before the overwhelming sensation but he is calm. His fingers run though it, feeling its every existence throbbing at his nerves. Up close, he sees what it really is - a trick, an illusion, a Buddha education. He knows she is not here but she is. No longer seeking, the mathematician leaves before everyone else. 

Meanwhile, the trickster is much pleased with her trick. she lets out a cynical laugh and labels them as sentimental fools.

If you've lived as long as her, you may come to understand why there is sadness. The goddess, though beautiful and powerful in every sense is most likely bipolar. Sometimes, it almost seems as though there are two versions of her. Happy in the morning but depressed in the evening, love and war, kind and cruel in a manner of light-speed, it's kind of freaky. Her younger brother tries to please her, he owes it to her for crying him rivers. His people even worship her, sacrificing young girls with a bubbly personality, hoping that they will keep her company, yet her condition remains the same. The brother knows there is safety in distance but every so often, she moves so close and carries with her such a strong vibe, it toys with the frequency...the chi or whatever you want to call it; some people start to do crazy things. 

There is one thing that she likes to do when with her brother: before dawn, she releases a long rope of light, which upon closer inspection reveals a string of tightly knitted souls, all vibrating at a rhythm unheard of before. The only prop is in place and the air smells of sweetly scented flowers, she waits. 

Quickly, people who are missing someone come in great numbers and most are in pain. She observes them as their fingertips gently caress the rope of light and tears. Giant waves of emotions take over the moment, and it never gets old- using the souls of sacrificed girls she collected over the eons, she manages to trick the people every time. Sentimental fools, she laughs and her subtle glow is gold. 

Meanwhile, her children is lighting a fire for the coronation of a new Venusian king.

tightrope walker

Visualize...visualize the path! Maria is trying hard to find her balance and focusing not to focus on her feet while doing it. At 50 floors high, it's a new record for Maria and she is not going to screw this up just because her heart is wounded last night. Inhaling a lung full of air only to exhale again for relief, Maria imagines taking one step after another on a straight line; the image/word "high" is carefully omitted from the mind. There is a pocket of peace that she goes to, there she finds her power to manipulate The relativity of time: a concoction of imagination and good breathing, Maria is able to walk faster or time slows down, she is unsure which but whatever it is, though not perfect, it gets the job done. 

People from below applaud her, not sure whether for her bravery or entertainment. Of late, Maria is feeling not herself but who is she? She feels rather absurd with her own thoughts. Maria prepares for another round of spectacular tightrope walking, she even changes into a silvery labucci costume, she is beautiful. 

More crowd below her; most are having sore necks and getting impatient. Maria puts on her blindfold and some lady screams. Staring straight into the face of darkness, she walks. The wind is exceptionally strong today and it messes up her dark hair. Maria concentrates harder to silence all external, she continues to walk and noise becomes quiet. Her satin blindfold is making her nose itchy, so she wiggles for relief...that single movement triggers a chain of reaction to her inner equilibrium and she nearly falls to her death. 

Reclaiming her balance, Maria is still panting with the imageries that pop up in that nano seconds of near-death experience...Something not unlike the northen lights appear and become the space, and Maria is pulled back by an energy, saving her from a brutal mistake. Feeling shame, she knows now that she doesn't understand the nature of things; she has been mistaking her imaginations for understanding. 

Below, the crowd is in shock.

Fire

In a separate world where the knowledge of fire is lost, men suffer greatly because of this ignorance. Never heard of bbq, eating has evolved into a robotic reflex, devoid of pleasure and just a plain necessity: they consume super nutritional liquids to generate energy, as much like a car takes to petrol. This is also a world of honesty; everybody tells the truth and lies are foreign to them. Not entirely pure at hearts but more naive than most is what they are. But things are about to change. A man from the dark side of the moon arrives and he brings great tales. The honest people lay out their mattresses under the open sky, and listen attentively to what the moon-man has to say. As he speaks, his pants catch on fire and the people find themselves in awe. They are witnessing the birth of fire and hearing the words of lies. Life is not boring after all.

The Messenger

Everyday including Sundays, the messenger delivers news to people. Essentially, there are only two types of news: good and bad; anything that falls in between will never make it to the messenger. Predictably, the messenger adores giving the good but dread to deliver any bad news. He particularly hates to tell a pretty girl what Death did to her soul-mate, and if she starts to cry, he feels slight pain as though his heart is collapsing onto itself. There is a craft in the messenger's reaction, too much and she will crumble, too little and she will misinterpret. Giving good news requires less effort, and it doesn't matter much who is the receiver. Personally, the messenger enjoys watching the old folks do it, how they display genuine joy upon receiving the good news; he always gets the most contrast from them, that sadness and regrets so many of them seem to have and how quickly the expression changes into happiness and aliveness. It's intoxicating. 

Sundown, the messenger returns home and loneliness is palpable. For nothing in the universe is granted, he wonders how much longer will he continues to exist and will this purposeful life of his be any different? 

Sunrise, the messenger is delivering news again, and the insidious troubles of yesterday are growing. 

More bad news than good today, the messenger grunts. 

Another door violently shuts on him; more pretty girls than ugly today, the messenger sighs; he wants it to be different. The messenger thinks and acts...

Maybe the heart finally reaches singularity or maybe not, but it is the first time the messenger feels a change. Just a white lie to the pretty faces, the messenger murmurs to himself. Largely because he feels it is too late to undo what he did so he continues doing it. Feeling breathless...he finally presses the delete button, clearing all the messages, both good and bad. 

At last, the messenger sees the complexity of the world before him - gloriously beautiful and alluring at limitless potentials. He wants to participant in it, and the world welcomes him. Alas, the messenger sees the in-between - and like many before him, he falls hopelessly in love with nothing more but white lies. 

Once again, the vacancy for a messenger is available.