Sognore 8.0

“...Pounding through my vein, the drug that would start a warmness that would surge along until the brain consumed it...I felt such pleasure that the whole world sympathized and took on a soft, lofty appeal. Everything was grand then. Your worst enemy wasn't so bad.”

Mateo’s eyes were glued to the television in a lull. Small images of trees and cows floated over the clouds and the main character’s dreamlike expression. It was some 90s show--Cowboy Drugstore? That doesn’t sound right. Drugstore Cowboy. Usually he never sat in the living room, but today his mom told him for sure she wouldn’t be back until next morning. The show looked like a glorification of some druggie kids in Sognore would do.

The tome lay open in his lap. Since last night, three pages of text appeared while the rest remained blank. As horrible as it sounded even to him, it gave Mateo something to do: a mystery to solve. His finger stopped at the place he had read last night. It was only a few sentences, yet it still confused him. The cutting in and out of voices from the television seemed to help him focus.

“Kabalistic knowledge...and the Tree of Good and Evil--the hell is that supposed to mean? Then the Tree of Life, a Golden Age and patrons?” He figured that kabbalism was some religion or esoteric belief while the tree symbolism was just some grandly unnecessary explanation for choosing between good and bad.

He faintly remembered the mention of the Golden Age in history class from some ancient civilization, to his own amazement. It was obvious the entire thing was about some sort of weird religion, considering the mention of God and all. He restlessly flicked the bottom of the thick pages as he contemplated all the possibilities.

The difference and similarity between human and patron is odd: they both possess an earthly human soul, yet the patron has graduated through trial and error in their incarnations in human bodies. Some naturally possess souls so pure and abundant with love that any sway of evil could not touch them and as a result there was no reason to use a human form.

Mateo flipped open his phone to search the definition of patron. He scrolled down the list of results until he came across a chart of Latin origins. “Father...a protector of clients, a defender.” The closet thing in comparison he could think of was an angel, but if the tome meant that then it would’ve said it outright. It had to be a part of this kabbalist belief. To him, it sounded like some spiritual gamble that only a few were lucky to win from the start. Either way, the book showed up to him for a reason. It was something to do since he lost Bug’s notes. Mateo engrossed himself in reading once again as gunshots and yelling came from his TV.

The first to place any of this traditional knowledge in writing is Rabbi Ismeal be Elisha wrote about 121 A.D. And Simon be Jochai, another Talmudist, the supposed writer of the Zohar, appeared about 150 A.D.

All the words he didn’t know began to make Mateo question whether he should already know them or not. After all, history class was the easiest to put him to sleep. All he could recognize was rabbi--he knew it was Jewish and something similar to a priest.

When the patrons descended upon Earth, they did not intervene in the functions of the present human life. They, experiencing what it meant to be human, knew good and evil were only words and definitions, yet that each human had a conscious choice to decide upon their own action.

“Well that would be obvious I guess…, to the mind of some overlord superintelligent being,” he remarked under his breath. The memory of the man’s curled lip as the woman’s voice channeled through and around him surfaced to Mateo’s mind. He still found it hard to believe that all of that happened yesterday. Holding the book in his hands made him feel an unfamiliar determination.

It won’t last, anyway. The inner voice which stopped by to critically comment on his actions and what he did began getting under his skin as of late. Responding to it only made it worse, so he chose to ignore it and continue reading.

What could be described as darkness knows with certainty humans can latch onto it, birthing a seed planted in their mind that grows and expands into a bloom of sickness. In time, it could create celestial dark; transcending all shred of virtue left. Light also knew humans could foster and hold it within their vessels, and spread it to others too.

So far it sounded heavily religious, but Mateo held onto an objective understanding. He never read the Bible and never seriously attended a church except the one time he had with Bug. It was more than a year ago, so he didn’t remember much. It wasn’t all bad though--maybe a bit boring, but they did sing some songs at one point.

A small smile blossomed on his face. He had forgotten the memory until now. He enjoyed spending time with Bug’s family; but they were all so put-together and kind it was unfamiliar to anything he’d seen. Even with the formal clothes Mateo’s mother forced him to wear, he wondered if it was enough to be around them. Realizing he’d gotten off track, he gently pulled his thoughts back to the present.

The aim of the patrons is to reveal to the worthy the nature of the Supreme Being, the equilibrium of contraries, cosmogony, the symbolism of numerals, the nature of man and angels, the law as revealed, the nature and destiny of the soul, and much about angels, elementals, demons, and other occult intelligences.

“Aha! So angels and patrons are different. Well, I guess I didn’t really say that, but whatever,” he took in the list again, “that’s a hell of a lot of things they have to do.” His finger rested under the word cosmogony. Another word out of the millions he didn’t understand.

The universe was created by which of Sephiroth; a numerical emanation, and the kabala teaches that all manifestation is accomplished in definite numerical proportions through actions and reactions in the fabric of time and space. Prior to creation was Ain Soph Aur, or limitless light, and the first emnation, or numerical impulse, is known as Kether, meaning Crown and symbolizing Motion or Life. Instantly, upon motion being transmitted to the non-polarized, universal, all-diffusive spirit, it becomes polarized into two attributes, positive and negatiive, masculine and feminine, action and reaction; for life or motion is impossible apart from sex, or polarity. This state of being has been transcended by patrons and only remains in physical lifeforms untethered from higher consciousness on Earth.

In essence Earth, over time, has become a playground for higher and lower entities and humans have become an observation of the polarity between light and dark, as they are made with the potential of both. Similarly, the higher or lower in worldly consciousness a being has attained, the more difficult it is for them to harness energy to create tangible action on Earth, resulting in a need for a bond with a living being on Earth.

Mateo stopped reading. Whoever had written the tome clearly had a liking for elaborate, over descriptive explanations. His brain had already begun to hurt a bit.

It’s way too complex. But maybe it’s for a good reason.

“...the more difficult it is for them to harness energy...resulting in a need for a bond with a living being on Earth.” The memory of the man’s cold, knowing face warping into a mocking smile replayed through his head. He let the book lay open on his lap; for some reason he liked the old smell of the pages. He rummaged through his memories, back to when the book first appeared.

“I was--I had seen shadowy fingers, three long fingers drop the book.. Then I had passed out, and Yasmin found me but she didn’t see the book, even when I pointed it out. I had some weird feeling that I just had to pick it up.” The pounding in his head grew. Mateo combed through the sequence of events again, though it felt uncertain.

“Wait, no! There was a blue thread in the forest, well, not a real thread, it was more like a strand of colored air I guess. And there were more threads, they stretched out behind the one in front of me and through the forest. Then I saw the shadowy fingers holding them, and some crashing noise and I fell unconscious.”

Mateo rubbed his thumb back and forth the center of his palm. He folded his body in on itself, and the book was pressed against his chest. His eyes shifted back to the television as he confronted the onslaught of memories.

The phantom taste of electricity saturated his mouth at the remembrance of the blue particles twinkling in his dark room. He had reached for the cup of water by his bed, and when he had, the neon blue bolt nearly hit him in the face. The struggle between him and it still felt unreal. He figured it was because it had awoken him from a deep sleep; he was still delirious and the only thing that managed to save him was pure survival instinct.

Still, he didn’t feel like the book was out to harm him, even though the blue energy lines came from it. They had connected to his body through his hands, into his veins and perhaps even his nerves. The sight of the book he had left behind in the forest was equally as shocking as his rude awakening that night.

The same day Yasmin had dragged him over to the Sacred Heart school. Not dragged. I just can’t ever seem to say no to her. Annoyed, he brushed through the images of that night--the suspiciously warm vial Lee had found, supposedly of blood, then the old school ID card Bug found, and finally the intricate painted symbol on the ground which collapsed into some creepy hole. The symbol that created the hole had only come to life when Bug had dropped the vial into it. They had to be connected in some way. Even so, when the vial burned their hands, Mateo was the only one that was actually able to see the welts and marks it had caused.

Akuji Abara. Akuji Abara. He strained to pull the small, dusty image of the girl’s face into memory. All he could remember were her forced smile and the streaks of marker which blocked her eyes.

His headache tapped persistently, causing a rift in his thoughts. He stretched his arm out, laying his head to the side and drawing his knees to his chest. Mateo closed his eyes to relieve his headache. The regular wave of fear that came with the darkness subsided before it even began.

“You just put a thirty day hex on us, that’s what you did. Our luck just flew out the window for the next thirty days,” came the voice of the show’s main character. The crinkle of balled-up paper and footsteps filled the blankness of Mateo’s sight.

His headache reminded him of the potholes he often rode over: bumpy and deep. The feeling of parting from his friends suddenly descended upon him. A strange sadness blanketed him; one he had been too stressed to feel that night they explored Sacred Heart. The flailing of a desperate animal broke through his contemplation. It was held tightly in a woman’s hand, only a fraction of her face visible in the all-consuming darkness. His heart constricted and Mateo opened his eyes. He had forgotten completely about it. That night he had rode as fast as his bicycle could take him--away from those filthy trailers and the woman who watched from her porch.

Mateo hugged the book. “It’s too much. Too many words, too many things I don’t understand…” He began to regret skipping school today. It would’ve been nice to see everyone, but he felt too tired to get up. Now even going outside felt dangerous to him.

A rush of tingles crept up his chest and he looked down to see bright blue, pulsing light emanating from the book. Mateo sat still, unsure whether to push it off. The feeling was hard to put into words; it were as if it was absorbing something from him. The voices coming from the television became blurred as the beat of his heart grew louder and louder. It were as if he was no longer the owner of his body, but rather only an atom of it. A persistent line of ringing flowed through his head and out his ears. The ache in his head surged a final time before rippling into two and vanishing. The light shot back into the book’s pages and his body felt as though it had lost all circulation. He sat there for a while with a blank mind.

“Should I even be surprised anymore? he said dryly. His body felt relieved, as if it were a little less heavier. Mateo got up unbothered, letting the book fall to the floor without picking it up.

“I’m hungry.”

He walked to the kitchen barefoot and reached for the two week old package of Instant-ramen. It was his staple food. Probably bad for him, but there was nothing else to eat. Unless he wanted to drop by the only gas station in town that Lee now happens to work at. His lip twitched with a smile as he stood silently for the beep of the microwave. He reluctantly shoveled down the half cold, watery noodles. He looked distastefully at the sight of the tome on the floor.

My mom’s off doing who the hell knows right now. He’d had a faint understanding of what she was doing and where she often went, but Mateo didn’t like to think about it. Being in the house alone felt good. He wasn’t questioned for doing normal things or slipping outside of the house, even though she usually didn’t care. Mateo realized it would be a good opportunity to leave, but there was nowhere for him to go. At this point he awfully wished that Yasmin would text him out of the blue and invite him to do something bad for him that would probably mess with his mind for a bit.

He picked the book up anyway, just because he knew it would pester him later if he didn’t. Mateo flipped open his phone. No messages. He closed it again with a deadpan face. He threw the book under his bed and tugged the sheets over his head. His room was hot as balls but there wasn’t anything to do about it; the AC bill wasn’t paid anyway. The fear of sleep didn’t come to him this time. He wasn’t sure if it were evening or the afternoon, but all he hoped was that he didn’t wake in the middle of the night.

He no longer wanted to think of his life and all the burdens within it, and so Mateo let sleep become his savior.