Mystical Ramblings

Religion is the oldest cultural concept. Complicated from the beginning, there are almost infinite variations in every region of the globe, even within the rigid and tedious boundaries of the current giants Islam and Christianity.

All of them at some stage schism and split to form the strange metaphorical tree today that we might call ‘The Ultimate Fu*king Twisted Shrub of Dogma and Horseshit”, or something equally condemning like that.

Sometimes (in fact most of the time) they went to war with each other over Who Was Right, Who Was Wrong, and What The Ultimate Truth Was. Lots of people went to meet their makers in interesting ways because of this.

The ones who were killed usually hadn’t thought it through properly, but the others who watched them die were somehow inspired by their example (in ingenious ways too: like the young Roman who watched some Christians being thrown to the lions and subsequently came up with the first idea for tinned cat food).

The overall effect is like a multitude of different bacteria all fighting for resources and space within one small glass dish. The gods think that this is all rather funny, especially the bit about all those people who get killed for their beliefs. Then again, they say, if reincarnation was universal, everyone would be doing it.

An Old Story

It is rumored that up in the highest valleys of the Himalayas there exists an extraordinary temple where the inhabitants can communicate with God through ways that were lost to other humans.

In the late 18th century, an explorer from Europe called Glutas Prostein decided to make the lengthy and dangerous trip through the wilderness to find the Ultimate Truth. From what little sources remain this is what we know of his quest:

…and so it was, after the long boat trip and many thousands of miles of travelling, the travellers began to tragically die of thirst, hunger and interesting exotic diseases all around him, and those that lived were slowly picked off by the wild animals and bandits that lurked in the dark places and followed them.

Whenever he asked the locals they passed about the temple, he received cold and stony expressions. ‘We don’t know what it is you seek’, they would say, turn back now, ‘this is a dangerous place’. Others with a sense of humour and a good heart would help him, sniggering and saying, ‘head for the mountain with the half moon summit, you can’t miss it’.

One day, staggering through a high pass in the mountains during a horrendous blizzard, his trusty donkey collapsed behind him and he found himself alone. Glutas, driven mad with grief and fatigue, leaned against a rock to stop himself from collapsing and looked ahead along the ridge.

There, in the distance, lying in a small enclave on the mountain was a single, small wooden shack.

Glutas stumbled onwards, somehow propelling himself forward with the last failing strength of a man who knows that if he doesn’t find shelter soon, he would become a tasty fast food snack for the vultures. At last he reached the shack.

On a slanting sign that hung by a nail on the door was a old wooden sign saying in Sanskrit:

The Amazing Mountain Temple Resort

Of The Marvellous Mystical Ancient Ones!

Catering For All Your Holy And Yogic Needs,

Terms and Conditions Apply

Confused, shivering and battered by the wind and snow, Prostein pushed the door open and entered.

Inside, the shack there was empty except for a small old man with a relaxed facial expression sitting on the floor with crossed legs wearing a white loin cloth. On his beard was clipped a tiny name tag, which said:

Shiva

Receptionist

There was silence for a few moments.

He looked up and smiled at the stranger who had entered.

“Hello. Can I help you at all?”, he said.

Glutas was dumbfounded, but through his hypothermia and madness he found himself saying,

“Yes. Yes. I must find the answer to all things holy and sacred, the Ultimate Truth. I have dedicated my life to this cause. I have journeyed many miles to reach this place, and all of my party and companions were lost trying to get here. I alone have survived. I seek the forbidden lost temple of the ancient ones, those who communicate with God.”

The words seemed very far away, almost as if it wasnt him that said them.

The old man named Shiva blinked once.

“Yes?”, he said, his smile growing wider.

Glutas shook his head and continued.

“Well tell me, have I arrived at the correct place? Was my journey successful? Tell me man!”

Shiva the receptionist smiled and miraculously produced a cup of hot green yak butter tea from somewhere on his person. He handed it to Glutas. It smelled positively disgusting, but he forced it down gratefully.

“Everyone is out at the minute. Can I leave a message for you?”

Warmed by the tea, Glutas opened the door and looked outside briefly. Despite the blizzard it was clear to see that the shack was the only sign that life existed for many, many miles. They were quite alone in this desolate place. After he had searched the back of the sad little hut and finally he was satisfied, he went inside again and confronted the old man.

“Look, what exactly is going on here? Is this some kind of joke? Who do you think you are to lure people up here like this and play tricks on them?! Hmmm?! EH?!?!”

Undeterred, the old man smiled again and replied in an even tone:

“We apologies for the inconvenience. If you would like to take a seat, we will be with you shortly.”

He gestured vaguely to one side and resumed staring into space.

Glutas growled and glanced to where he had waved his hand. In the gloom there was a straw cushion in the corner. He walked over and sitting down, exhausted, soon fell asleep.

Some hours later, he awoke to find himself alone. In the middle of the room was another cup of tea and a loincloth.

On the loincloth was a small cube. It was divided into nine sections on each face, and all had a color painted onto them. On inspection there were six colors, and the rows and columns of the cube could rotate and move, depending on the users wishes, but only when the rows were arranged to be completely in line with each other.

Glutas drank the tea and took the cube. Looking outside, he saw the storm had finally stopped. Taking one last look back, he stepped forward down the mountain in the cold sunrise.

From this point on, the story becomes unclear. Legends and myths are in plentiful supply, but for whatever reason, Glutas Prostein never returned to his homeland. Some say he died of fever in the mountains, others swear he drank himself to death in a gambling den in Calcutta, others say that he became lost in Asia and lived as a destitute, rambling beggar who finally died of a broken heart. Even less is known of the mysterious article that he carried…

The Truth

Major Tom walked around the market in Copenhagen. It was a lively musical place, and there were children, adults and families talking and laughing happily together. Sellers were all around on the street, noisily attempting to make a profit, mostly from old bits of rubbish, nik-naks that others didn’t want but that someone may decide they liked. Shoe stands were next to tables of old jewelery and so on into the distance. Beautiful people on bicycles trundled along in the bright sunshine and couples held hands and gazed into each others eyes as they walked.

“Excuse me sir! Hey you, sir!”

A voice called out, and Major Tom turned his head to find a little bearded Chinese man sitting behind a desk full of odd looking bits of eastern machinery and toys. Curious, he drew closer. The crowd seemed to part for him as he walked over. The man grinned.

“Ahhh, you interested hmm? I seeing you looking round. You take look at this, yeah? I give you good price”

He held out his hand. In it was a small cube. On each face was nine squares, each with a different colour. When Tom turned it with his hands, the rows moved.

“You try complete, impossible. IMPOSSIBLE! HahahahaHAAA!!”

Frowning and smiling at the strange man, the Major handed over some money. He looked at the interesting device the man had sold him. A time waster, he thought, something to do on the train home. Satisfied, he walked off to find some food.

But when he passed by again some time later, the stall was gone.