Continuing from entry #3…
I think perhaps it is this luminescence that sustains my phone battery. I let it sit untouched for a long while and somehow it seemed to recharge back up to full power. That is very strange indeed, for there does not seem to be any other notion of electronic technology around me. In fact, I seem to be in what I would normally call “outdoors” — though I am beginning to see that I ought not assume much of anything here is truly the same as home.
The place I stood beside the living water gave me what I estimate to be the better perspective of my surroundings.
That moment I looked up from the water’s edge to ascertain whether other living things derived their sustenance from this liquid, I realized that this “lake” indeed held other similar properties of water — it reflected. Upon first glance, I wondered how I’d not noticed it before. Water at home emanates reflections even from a distance.
I knelt and stood and knelt again, trying different heights and angles to determine why on earth I hadn’t seen its reflection before now. But at every glance, it bore the same mysterious reflection: enormous, towering, stretching, shadow-casting tree-like objects that seemingly surrounded the lake, even stood within reach, though I’d not touched or rubbed against any of them yet. I stared, utterly perplexed, and slightly terrified at the prospect of yet another dimension to this reality — and an invisible one at that.
Could I touch these “trees”? How could I, when they weren’t within reach when I dipped my hand in the water, or when I had walked about? The more I thought of the trees, the more the terror rose within me, and the more I wanted to go back to my landing site. But I dared not move, lest I stumble upon one unknowingly.
For long moments, I stood, fearful and uncertain how to proceed, staring at the grand apparitions that stood fast in the midst of the dancing, shimmering water. They were indivisible, yet separate, almost like looking into a mirror’s reflection through the lens of several other mirrors, layered upon each other, with the reflections increasingly diminishing in visibility of recognizable form.
At long last, my reason returned, and I decided I had two options — both of which I done once before without harm. I could walk away at the risk of running into these invisible “trees” unexpectedly, or I could touch the water again. My objective in coming here had been to quench my thirst, yet clearly this living water had properties my body had not come in contact with before.
I retreated from the water’s edge with a careful, pre-mediated step, letting my foot tenaciously land upon the ground. Another step, and one more, and very soon I had backed several yards away from the shore and my fears began to subside and I stopped half-way between the lake and my landing site to gauge my surroundings once more.
Though the image of the trees in the water had seared itself uncomfortably upon my conscience, when I finally stopped walking, I could not actually see anything between the landing and the water but what seemed like desert of a dry, grayish ground. It was in fact my first conscience sight of the ground, for initially, the sensation of walking had overcome all other senses.
But now, in the distance, I could see gray objects peaking above the surface in jaggard patterns. The question of how I’d not noticed them on my walk to and from the lake left as quickly as it came, for my view held a striking and surprising strong similarity to rocky deserts at home that brought tears to my eyes, this stark portrayal of wilderness, foreign yet strangely common with the empty, barren places of home. It seemed to mirror my own emotions.
I didn’t move for a long while, my vision now shrouded with cruel, dry tears, I now utterly lost in my grief, disappointment, and disillusionment. Where was I? How was I to survive when there was no drink or food? Would I ever go home again? The demanding questions received no answers.
As I recall, I cried myself into a deep sleep there between the lake and the landing and awoke to stillness and quiet. Nothing around me had changed. Bitterness and a deep, subtle, empty loneliness crept into my soul.
It was upon that moment I realized I must maintain these recordings. Thus I began my second entry which has grown now into a total of four…
These seem to be all that keep my hope alive.