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Published: December 16th 2013
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My dear fellowship.
It is time to tell the story of another part of my journey, though be aware! It might be the last part and I might well have my live lost in eternity and may prevail in your mind only. How I would have written these last words then? Imagine that while losing my life, my last remnant of soul carved these words into my hard drive to be the final good bye.
There comes a point at every journey, where you think that the journey might have no end – and no happy ending. After a while today I found myself on this never ending black road. It continued dead straight until it faded into the horizon at some point I was never to reach. The heat had grown under the unforgiving sun so that the air flickered over the black road and concealed all distinctive features to a point where the road itself was no longer a road but a living creature, breathing hot air and distracting me from the real path.
I had lost all my spirits, had run out of water and of hope. I could not turn around, no dared I look back because I knew that dark magic had long closed the road behind me and followed me with a slow but inexorable pace and if it would ride down me and my poor riding creature, it would not leave any trace of us in this world.
Nor could I stop because I knew that the large holes appearing now more often and often in the middle of the street would suck me in and melt me with the fluid to viscous tar – or what appeared to be tar. It would take my life and just leave my eyes as brown stains of dirt in the never ending black – to continue to live on forever and have to watch the end of countless journeys of other travellers. The end to all their hopes and dreams and the hope and dreams of their sons and sisters and their sons and daughters. The end to lives full of joy and meaning and lightness.
So the only choice was to keep on, push one pedal after the other and continue with any speed, as slow as a mollusc, just not to stop. After a while the hot air started speaking to me, it laughed at me, it derided and it tempted and lured me. “Traveller, why don’t you rest? It is fulfilment and relief I promise you”.
And then – when I could not decide what I yearned for more – a word from my ancestor or a drop of water; when I was ready to let go and sink deep into the black monstrosity under my wheels; when my bicycle was glowing red from the heat and my hands were on fire – a fairy tale creature appeared. She floated over the black tar and with the most fragile, but beautiful voice in the world she whispered in my ear: “Do not give up FloBo. There is salvation ahead of you. Do not stop, do not stop pushing.”
I do not know if this was a dream, a fata morgana or reality. But I pushed the pedals. Again and again. My mind was blank, my body in pain but I pushed the pedals. Until all of a sudden the black road gave way, like a curtain that had be lifted, to a valley in the most rich and saturated colours of red, green and orange, filled with trees and thousands of fountains that reflected the dark golden light of what seemed to be a totally different sun. I passed under the huge archway with the magic numbers “7/11” and heard bells ringing to welcome me in a most delightful way. Inside the valley, I met my old friends and fellow travellers, Nam, Red Bull and Fanta Satarawberrii and within seconds we were celebrating a feast of joy and plenty.
And while I still don’t know the name of my elvish saviour, nor if she really exists, I do owe her my life and I deeply bow my head in eternal gratefulness.
@Patrick: I hope that this Episode meets your expectations. Unfortunately I cycle in the morning and work in the evening, there is not much time left for such tales :-(
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