Distances

This is the first chapter of the next Light Fields book: Invisible Mountain

“Ok,” Claire said. “We’re here.” James and Claire stepped off the caterpillar and onto the broken pavement. The Caterpillar making a sound like a stream of air, as it lifted up and curled up in its first motions to its next destination. As always, James was distracted examining the lines of each break in the ground, until he finally noticed how close they were to the door. James had been to the magic officers center before, but only in dreams, and, physically, in the remote viewing systems within the Research facility where they worked. “They taught me everything,” Claire said. “This is a new moment for you, James. I think you’re ready for this.” James smiled, “I hope you’re right Claire, and by the way, you never told me why you thought we were in danger.” “James, I don’t know,” Claire said. “I only know fragments. They may want the solar research we’ve been working on, but I don’t know. I’ve thought about it over and over for days, in stolen moments in the research center, which I will never get back.” “I always wondered what you were working on,” said James “No one ever gave you any assignments.” “There’s so much I can’t say, though I’ve told you everything,” Claire said. “Not in words, but in the moment I fell apart, and you put me back together. In your reflected light.”

As Claire spoke, James paused, and then suddenly looked at his surroundings. They were standing a few inches from the door. Claire was leaning on the side of the building, almost becoming one with it. “OK, I’ll see you when you return,” Claire said. James reached for the door handle. “Claire, I’m scared.” James said. “Just go in,” Claire said.”You’ll find yourself in here.” “Well,” James said. “I guess this is goodb-” Claire stopped him from speaking. ”No it isn’t.” Claire said. “There are no goodbyes.”

James looked up at the door, took a deep breath, and walked inside. The hallway was enormous. It’s white halls softly lit by the sun of the afternoon, through two windows above the door, and on the right side of the wall, leading to a large opening, to where James did not know. James stood in the hallway for a moment, and then walked up a small flight of stairs to where a door was open, leading to a small room. James walked inside. Inside, there was a small kitchen, a screen, and four windows, with yellow window blinds, through which a warm glow passed through into the room, creating an almost sunset haze in the glowing environment. There was a bed, with brown bed coverings, and a small desk. James put down his things and sat on the bed, looking up, and then he saw it.

A small painting was on the wall across from him. He gazed into it deeply, until time stood still. At the center of the painting was a seated, orange figure, framed in yellow, blue, and brown, appearing on the surface, yet seeming to exist in real space. James expected them to move, but they were silent, seemingly for infinite time. He got up and walked toward it.

James may have stood in front of it for hours, he just didn’t know, and then turning around he looked at the rest of the room. He didn’t notice before that directly across from the orange figure, on the wall, was another painting, seated like the one he was looking at, yet this time, this color was blue. He knew this one. This was one of the images of the constellations, the color of the night sky, for healing, as night often does, at the end of the day. The room was completely silent. At least he thought it was. He may have just imagined it was, but either way, there was nothing blocking him from being lost in thought, of these images.

James swiftly moved in circles around the room, like the chalk in the drawings of the magic officers, looking from one painting to another. “This is language,” James thought. “It’s almost as if they’re talking to each other. These aren’t paintings. This is a conversation.” “And James, you will learn their stories, their language,” came a voice. James turned around to see who was speaking. In the open door stood Claire, resting her shoulder against the wall of the door. “I told you there were no goodbyes,” Claire said.

Artist, designer, and composer living in the East Bay.