Yesterday he learned how the Ancients brought light underground. Today he would learn how that stone elevator worked. Tomorrow he would learn about mysteries discovered today, and the day after that he would learn about mysteries discovered the day before, and on and on and on. There would be no end because he wanted no end. She said he would learn to use his mind as she used hers but he didn’t know that he wanted that. He had spent his life learning. What would he do if knew everything? He stopped there. One day at a time. He was a knowledge junkie – no he was a learning junkie. There was the revelation – he thought he yearned for knowledge – he didn’t. He yearned for learning. The beauty was in discovery. If he knew it all, if he had her memory, if he had the whole fucking Matriarchal memory, there would be nothing to discover – would there? Hmm, he had to move away from that. It’s not about building a new barn; it’s about climbing on top of the old one the more to see. Who said that? Albert? It sounds like Albert. The Old Ones though – are they the ones through which to see more? I don’t know who, or what, they are. Probably they are of the Matriarchal line and have lived a long time. Albert thought his leather coat would last a lifetime. He was wrong about that – I think. Didn’t he have to buy another coat? Umm, enough, move on. I wonder if that lift will take me down – save all those steps. Who’ll put on the lights?
He was disappointed to learn that there was not much more to the lower labyrinths than that which he has already explored except, except there was – there was activity within the walls. As he walked the corridors he became aware of changes in the ambient noises. Not level changes – these were changes in pitch and tempo if you could attribute such parameters to what he was hearing. There was sound everywhere. No silence. Everywhere he wandered he could hear something – as in a ship where the sea could sometimes be heard and sometimes there were other things like fans or doors opening or conversation and always the steady throb of the engine and drumming of the propeller shaft only it was nothing like that – well like that but not like those sounds. These are soft sounds: Sounds of air and water – Sounds of winds and streams. There was air down here – he had walked down all the steps again – and it was fresh. It was as fresh as yesterday was fresh, and it was gentle. The air was changing – quickly enough to be constantly fresh but there was no breeze. He couldn’t feel the air moving so it must be a large mass moving slowly.
Was that true of the water? Was the water moving slowly in vast quantities? If so, where? In the walls? Were the walls hollow? Under the floor? In the roof? Was he in a giant gas and liquid machine? Was the whole thing a living structure? He sat to think and in that thinking there was discovery. Of course there was. She’s here. She’s in my fucking head.
Atlantis, this Atlantis – not the Super Atlantis expected under the Straights of Gibraltar, or the one at the bottom of Lake Titicaca. This Atlantis is alive. It’s a living structure penetrated by the Sun feeding light from top to bottom, moving air gently through, and moving water constantly up from cool aquifers, and radiating raw, hard, and concentrated into the upper chambers to cook and sterilize, and to fire the ceramics. That’s what it is. Simple. Simple science, the very best simple science is here in this building of the Ancients from around . . . when, fifteen thousand years ago? Has to be at the very least before the apocalyptic event of 10,000 BCE. Ever since that time we’ve been going down hill – down, down, down to the very bottom, to the edge of extinction only to rise up again to arrive here – where wars still rage, the air is polluted to all hell and we live only a few, miserable, years.
Need to see more. Need to see the water rising – to witness the air flowing. Why? Why do I need to find physical evidence? Old habits? Scientific conditioning? Well there is no validity without proof. I need proof to fulfil the requirements of science – it’s a religion. Science is a religion – a good one – One that works. One that’s stood by me throughout my, admittedly short, life – A mere thirty years. As best I can tell the Old Ones had been around for three hundred years and Meira’s ancestors had lived for five hundred years or more so my life is very short indeed – Too short, perhaps, to be clinging so tightly to a religion as young as science.