CAECUS
Caecus is standing beneath a tall dying tree in the middle of an empty, brittle yellow field, where a look in the distance of any direction would only bring the sensation of more solitude. The skies are a mix of soft neutral hues, the wind is icy dry and it looks to burns his skin raw, red. He’s looking down into his hands, focusing intently on a rusty silver cross with a carving of the crucified image of Jesus Christ that all together hangs on a lengthy, dark red string of yarn. His eyes threaten to spill diluted secrets at the force of the wind. Perfectly timed, as my neighbors gather closer to watch, his long black hair falls from his tie and rushes to his face while draping over his hands, almost as if to shield these secrets from anybody who may be near. Unfortunately, there are only nobodies here. It seems his body realizes this before he does, he is too lost in thought.
Caecus moves his hair back to tie it securely, we can see his secrets revealed briefly as they quickly flood down his cheeks to brace shelter once more in his long dark beard. He kneels down slowly to the damp soil, picks up a small hand shovel, and begins to dig a small hole into the earth, just until he strikes a thick root from the tree. We watch him place the necklace in the hole and bury it with the soil carefully with shaking hands, as if some piece of material could inflict or feel pain if handled too roughly. He’d finally gotten the courage to lay them to rest, to begin the process of his own slumber. A breath of relief escapes his mouth and his shoulders lower in rhythm to rest for this moment, to reminisce before rejoicing. Caecus reaches into the chest pocket of his long dark trench coat and pulls out his wallet, opened to two pictures. He prioritized the picture on the left side for this particular moment. His family, his wife holding their two baby girls after a baptism inside of the siena cathedral. I can see it in his eyes, the yearn to be wrapped up in the tranquility of that moment once again. He turns his gaze to the torn image of a prayer script on the left, to study it and to decode it one last time
“...Merciful God,
hear the cries of our grief,
for you know the anguish of our hearts.
It is beyond our understanding
and more than we can bear.”
I have been following this man, Caecus, for nearly 3 years now. I observe in the background of
his living, particularly during his darker moments. Where he is vulnerable, under the shields of his bed covers, and inside of his 4 walled cemetery. My presence grows stronger as his pain lingers, I am a result of this infestation of negativity.
Caecus has many followers, however. The majority of these beings are of very high frequency. To lower realmed creatures like myself, we cannot see their bodies, only intense, scintillating lights. They are essentially the opposite of myself, and I to them, appear to be a moving mass of gloom. The difference between our wavelengths of existence hinders our communication greatly. I exist in the lower frequency of this fourth derivative dimension, and they hover, above all beings, in the heavens.
One thing that interests every entity in this domain, is life. We crave the ability to feel in the special way that life in the human dimension provides. Indeed it is different for every energy level here, but watching a human take their life is either seen to be amusing or upsetting. The masters will often send these souls into a loop until they make it through a full lived life. They do not accept broken deals.
Although his brighter beings stand far closer to him than myself, Caecus is only receptive to me, and the closer I get to him, the closer he gets to giving up. He is very familiar with me, he talks to me when he’s alone, when he can sense the thickened air and the pain developed through breathing it. I talk back to him every time, but my words don’t travel well across the dimensions. Many times, he has asked me to identify myself and my words have always came through to him as,“tsefinam”. He still hasn’t decoded it, not even with his brighter guides directing his attention to the mirror exactly in front of him. Blind.
“Who are you?! Why do you follow me!”, the man sobbed, as he sat in the pitch black room in the shades of midnight, staring blindly at me while I stood in the corner opposite him. He gathered his covers and pressed them against his wet face to dry his fear.
“Tsefinam, Caecus”, my attempts to communicate from this side are usually translated into his own language by this field between us, his subconscious mind. That of which speaks a language of metaphorical wisdom.
The human mind exists before the body, it does not rest in a skull, it protrudes from and within the skin, from every angle. It is the aura, the astral body. There is no hiding intentions, feelings, or any secrets from anyone or thing who wishes to witness. For the most part they mean nothing to us here, they are just means of attraction to different level beings. Caecus embodies a very dull silhouette, a gray-blue translucent cloud taking over all of his power centers throughout, consuming his health. He has no one in his life anymore, he feels alone, torn, broken. He is uninterested in his future furthermore. This thrills me, in this only way, I will soon get a taste of what it is like to feel.
I watch Caecus stand back up from beneath the tree and reach into his coat, his hand rested inside of its inner pocket for a moment as he fidgeted with whatever was inside. The winds blew fiercely at this point, forcing his long dark veil back down and over his face as the blackened clouds raced to watch the dark suspense of the scene. I make my way closer, to see him clearly. The reddened misery in his eyes, his pale skin drained, his infectious heart dripping with it’s own ache. I can feel his heart pounding, stomach twisting, head throbbing, his veins aching. For a moment, I can even feel the rain drops merge with his tears on my own face and all I can think about is what it will feel like when he finally does the deed. Intense I’ll bet.
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