The Green Book

I am alone, sitting in front of the only table of the house. A broken window. Wilderness has invaded everything, the walls, the floor. Vines climbing through the roof: wild, lively pillars. A young forest sprang from the old forest on the hill and now adventures into what used to be civilization. Former trilled fields are now brimming with wild life, an ocean of tall grass. Frogs, birds, crickets. The sun is setting behind the Forest.

I remember that day. It was my first day in that run down house, and my life was also run down. As within, so without. But fair enough. You know what is worse than that? Being run down inside in an orderly and civilized place. That is what crushes you. But that house? That house spoke to me in the same, whispering words that I was speaking at the time. But it spoke a strange language. After all this time, it had lost its human voice. It is said that after a hundred years, a house loses its humanity. The same is true for objects.
I am an artist, a storyteller. But inspiration had dried up, my inner fountains, streams, rivers. All those springs, cascades and ponds. Everything was dry and empty. A godless desert that manifested through blank pages. I remember my editor calling me, day after day, back in the city. I had been publishing books with that same publishing house for years. They were good friends of mine. I was a classical fantasy writer. You know? Elves, dragons, wizards, stuff like that. I became quite good at it. Not a particularly good writer. No. I was just good at producing that serialized stuff in a way that was kinda compelling and entertaining. That’s it. So when I stopped writing, a sort of balance was broken between us. The Order of the universe was altered. Loki opened the gates of Asgard and the Giants started destroying the Cosmos.* Ragnarok.

But there is nothing you can do with lack of inspiration. Just write anything! We need that manuscript for Sunday! Just write anything. I used to be that kind of person. But I was tired, exhausted. I couldn’t betray myself for much longer. I had had enough.

My inner fountains, streams and rivers. I must find the origin. Yeah, the place where all my Waters come from. Something is blocking that place. Somewhere within the mountains. And I must find it.

I burn the boats, the masks, the clothes.
I burn the pens and the manuscripts.
And I just roam the lands, now.
A vagabond.

And I got baptized by the forest
and the elements.
Striped from everything that clothed
me.

Naked.
I was terrified, but liberated.

Within the dark forest
I was guided by something
invisible. By a sort of wind.
Every crossroads, I always knew
which path to take.
I would never stop thinking,
I just kept going.

And I realized that I had always had
that power within.

We all have.
But we forget.

And those windy paths brought me
to that run down house
at the foot of a wooded hill.

It was a big house with many rooms, but no furniture was left except for a table near a window.
And I sat there. And just at that time, a breeze blew through the broken window and caressed me. Kissed me. Welcomed me. But it wasn’t a human embrace, it wasn’t a warmth welcome. I couldn’t describe it with words, so I desperately searched for something to write, to paint, to play.

Anything is fine.

There were three drawers under the table. Within the first one, there was an old ocarina and a flute. Within the second one, there were three brushes of different sizes and a box with acrylic paint. And within the third one, there was a book, an old pen and an ink pot. The ink was of light blue color. That was pretty strange. But for me, the strangest of all was the book. It was covered in green moss. And it seemed to me that it was breathing, as if it was alive, a little creature that had been dormant, hibernating, for a long time.

What the hell is this?

Carefully, I caressed the book’s cover, as if I was petting a little animal. I remembered my cat, back in the days when I used to live with my family. I think I smiled, a nostalgic smile. Those days, I barely smiled. Then, I took the book, very slowly, and I placed it on my lap. And I stayed like this, in silence, for a long time. Staring at the book. Outside, the trees are swaying. A cool wind from the north. A raven caws. It echoes from the depths of the forest. Only now I realized the forest was quite close to that house. It formed a sort of natural wall with the field surrounding the building, and climbed above a hill. It looked quite small, but the trees were big and old, a dark forest. The raven caws, again. It seemed to come from very far away, as if the forest was bigger than it seemed. That’s not possible. I am just tired. It’s been a strange journey.

I took the green book and placed it over the table. And, just as it touched the wooden surface, something changed within it. It’s waking up. Now I can see very clearly the breathing. A book breathing? Then, I noticed it staring at me, in silence. But there was a weight in that silence. Not unlike this feeling when you enter a sacred place.

The book is piercing my Soul. It knows everything about me. Even the things I don’t know about myself.

The stone on my chest is vibrating.
My ears are ringing.

I approached the book. The stone vibrates more intensely. The ringing in my eyes is almost unbearable. I have to open the book. If I don’t, I will go crazy. Maybe I should dispose of it, bury it somewhere. Or maybe I should burn it. There is something ominous about it that I can’t describe. Something inhuman.

The only thing I know for sure is that, once I open it, nothing will be the same.
No turning back. No way back.

And this time, for real.

Burn the boats, the masks, the stories.
Everything I have been.

How many times I burned everything down, just to go back and take back the ashes? And build the same things with those same ashes, again and again?

But that Book was different.
I knew I could never lie to it.

The Book of Truth.

Liber Veritatis.

It’s time.

I opened the Book.

A surge of Golden Light came from within and flooded the whole room, the house, the forest. The whole world. And that golden light had its origin in two eyes. The eyes of a girl. A girl is dancing in the wheat fields, freely, in all directions. I join her dance. And I feel a surge of an intense joy in my chest. She smiles, her golden eyes are smiling. All her body is smiling, in harmony.

Look at you! Such beautiful, silver eyes! – she says, with her singing voice – You got them back!

I got them back?

She nodded and kissed both my eyes.
And I found myself back into the room.

I blinked, confused.
In front of me, the first page of the Book. It’s blank. Nothing is written there. But somehow, I can see my reflection on it. A blurry reflection, like looking at a pond.

It is my face. But there is something new on it.
Two big, grey eyes.

They are shining with an intense light.

My heart is beating, wild, unleashed.

-What did you do to me?

But nobody answered.