The voice from beyond

Spliced was the time between his birth and moment. As soon as he heard his own voice, his physical health also began to heal. A gradual joy relegated his traumatic experience in the basement. Like the segue of green maple leaf into red, the pale and yellow series of the bothersome memories were spliced from his brain. As though his present was connected with the slice of the time in which he was in his gestational parent's womb. Calm and cool he had become. The ascending joy of the inward voice levelled up to that extent that he then could not hold this levelling up ocean of peace and true happiness. And it flowed towards the outside too. His walk, talk, behaviour, and his stillness carried a holy-spirited halo around him. With this came Responsibility and compassion. He was aware of the fact that now it was not in his mind's hand to decide for him. He was connected to his true self. He allowed this geyser of peace and happiness to flow outward. At first he did not know how to share this transcendental joy with the cosmos, people, plants, animals, and any small or big part of the universe. Like a fakir who devotes his life in seeking truth, for not losing this voice he devoted all life's pleasures for the piano keyboard. This is how he shared the voice from inside. It was the truth's voice. At first, he was assumed to be a mad man as he sang this voice loudly on the streets. Later, he felt a prolonged happiness with this voice so much that he did not converse with others to not lose the voice with which he was at peace and total happiness. The joy he experienced was like the joy of a married couple who love each other equally metaphysically and physically. On the same par with the joyous sex between those lovers whose love is based on the synchrony of spirit and instinct. Far from the monkey mind, a pure human concordant with a pure soul. Simultaneously a pure dog and a pure god. His thoughts, worries, fears, desires, sorrows, and any other emotional and mental disorders had left him alone. Now, he did not miss anybody, but when he remembered the memories of his kind friends as well as unkind enemies, a frail smile would appear on his face. Like a writer who becomes a medium through whom the huge cosmos and the pen-tip meet, and through whom a cosmos and a dot superimposes each other, or a painter whose body reaches the stillest state so to not lose that extraordinary joy which comes from togetherness of the known world and the yonder world through him, there were times that Illeon did not make a budge. Once he discovered this voice in himself, he never asked for anything from anybody anymore. There was an answer for any question that his mind and life brought up. A permanent gladness, gratefulness, and happiness like a prolonged version of the intense temporary pleasure one gets from heroin, sex, or any other intense ephemeral pleasure. As soon as he discovered such an infinite source of energy, he began digging at the times when the basement prisoners were sleeping. For a long time he thought that this enrapturing voice inside can only exist when there is silence outside, but soon he was reassured that wherever he went the voice was within him. Similar to meditation's relaxation, this voice was there to comfort him and guide him navigate the direction towards our house.
It was a voice not a sound. It is because sound is detectable with contemporary scientific tools, but that voice's frequency was too small or too great to be heard or to be detected by the machines of the basement. He fell in love with this voice, but not like the temporary love that flips into hate often. Let's not mistake desire, attachment, and greed for the love he felt in that voice. There are times in which we feel confused and lose the peace within as soon as we are exposed to the physical noise on the outside. It is because the balance between instinct and spirit falls apart. When you are on a street where there is noise you forget what you were thinking about. As soon as you get closer to the world outside you almost lose touch with the truth inside, and as soon as you become alone you find that peaceful voice again. It is because the world in which we live is not very much designed for instinct nor spirit. If it was designed for the satisfaction of both at the same time, then why would many people be in misery. Why would people not love what they do or what they do not? It is very similar to what a stoic friend of mine used to say: " Make a physical move and get the object you desire for, you lose your peace. Don't make a move to gain the object you long for, you are in the heavens". The interpenetration of body and soul is as fragile as those delicate moments of unsourced happiness that enrapture us without any specific reason. And so was Illeon's devotion with piano. And when he played exactly as he heard it from the inward world unknown to him, without interference of his mind, he would become motionless and still as though all his nerves and tracts did not make a slight move.