The Transparent Master
“Everyone has one very special deed accomplished with true devotion while overcoming great obstacles. This deed resembles the person; it is known as the Transparent Master."
Warriors of Transcendence, Part 18
“My heart tells me that Tzalaii did not drown, as the fishermen believe”, said the Village Chief.
Sihara listened to him, a pained expression on her face.
“The village elders,” he continued, “have designated a mission for you, and I believe you will be able to find him.”
Purple fields…a purple sky. She must leave this place. She must part from the beloved, familiar landscapes; forget the colorful flowers and the sea breeze. She must, for now, let the familiar paths and beloved faces fade away and disappear through the fog of time. At dawn, she must set off on her journey, a journey from which she may never return. The village elders’ wishes must not be refused.
She had received a sealed box with instructions to carry it with her on the boat to Green Isle. What did it contain? She did not know. She was informed that an elder would greet her upon her arrival at Green Isle. He would explain the nature of her mission in full detail. From there, she would be sent to another more distant destination, but Sihara’s heart was fearless in the face of this undertaking. Her entire being was concentrated on one thought: Tzalaii.
The sun was about to set. The purple glimmer disappeared slowly from the fields and darkness spread over the world. Sihara wandered sadly among the hills near her home. Memories of her childhood caused her throat to constrict: she envisioned herself, years ago, running on the beach collecting seashells, creating childish adornments…following the sheep herders out into the pasture, crafting garlands from the flowers that covered the valleys. Her adoptive father and mother, gray-haired but still standing tall, had provided her with a warm and cozy nest in their home. An ancient beauty and wisdom pervaded their abode, shedding grace upon all who entered. Above all, Sihara had taken great pleasure in sitting by the hearth during the long winter nights, watching the fire and listening to her father’s melodious voice as he related tales of ancient times…
Our tribe derived from an ancient kingdom, he would begin. In times of old they controlled all the lands of the Ancient Progeny. In those days, we were not wanderers, divided and scattered in isolated tribes, but a united glorious kingdom. A heroic king was our leader, and his noblemen were prominent and well known even beyond the sea.
There was always an unknown element in these stories. Sihara had many unasked questions that troubled her. Intuiting that no answers would be given, she refrained from asking her questions.
How had the united kingdom fallen, leaving only isolated, wandering tribes? Who removed the king from his throne? How was it possible for the original builders of the dreaded Towered City to gain access to the kingdom? There was an implied hint of some kind of catastrophe, something that continued to cause deep feelings of anguish.
At times, her heart would fill with doubt as she wondered if the tales of ancient times had been invented only to entertain the children. In the stories, the characters were adorned in so much splendor and royalty. How was it possible that their descendents were but simple sheep herders and fishermen? With all the warmth and love she felt for the village and its inhabitants, such good- hearted, pleasant people, she felt strongly that their innocent simplicity was very far-removed from the grandeur described in the tales.
Sihara returned home. Her adoptive father sat by the great wooden table, deep in thought, gazing out of the window into the darkness.
“My daughter,” said the village chief, his words conveying fatherly concern, “the time has come.”
“Yes, Father, I know”, she whispered.
He felt as always that his adopted daughter’s consciousness touched something so deeply profound and hidden that it could not be named or described in words. He covered his eyes with his hand and let out a whimper. A sorrowful wrinkle was visible upon his high forehead, and Sihara felt that it was her task to comfort him. She was not the one in need of comforting. He watched after her as she walked away into the distance, ready to fulfill her mission.
Sihara left the village in a simple fishing boat. Time passed quickly on the voyage. Upon arrival, she secured the boat in a small bay, and was directed towards a narrow path that led to the heart of the island. The island’s vegetation was lush, more luxuriant than anything she had ever seen. Shades of green merged with turquoise and violet, emerald green merged with shades of gold. The trees, wide grassy fields, shrubs and flowers were so full of life. Their freshness filled the air with vitality.
The atmosphere was so clear; Sihara sensed that she could gaze endlessly beyond the thickness of the forest, farther and farther into the distance. On the way, she encountered an elder who greeted her and led her to a cabin. He left her there and walked back towards the sea. The cabin was not wooden, as in the villages, but built of great, cumbersome, ancient rocks. Despite its ancient aspect, a crisp, fresh breeze blew within it, entering her heart and expanding her mind. The furniture in the cabin was simple: a makeshift wooden table, a stone bench and several trunks. Most intriguing of all were the books made of animal skin parchment, organized in long rows on stone shelves. They were reminiscent of the books she had seen, on rare occasions, amongst the village elders and she imagined that they contained great wisdom. She approached the shelves full of awe and respect. The books were soft and mysterious. She stood near them, feeling their ancient spirit.
The gentle creak of the wooden door was heard: the old man had returned, bringing with him the scent of the sea breeze. He put his small basket down in a corner of the cabin. Casually, he placed a vessel containing a fragrant beverage on the fire. Sitting on the mat, he tossed twigs and small branches into the crackling fire, casting pleasant warmth in every direction. Outside, the sound of the wind could be heard.
As soon as he sat down, his appearance visibly altered as his body became slightly elongated. His white beard gathered neatly at his chest. His eyes shut as he hummed a little tune to himself, like a preface to something. And then he was silent. The wind died down outside as well, and a great silence hovered over the land as if the entire island was filled with mystery; as if the trees were bending down and the grass was creeping secretly closer to the cabin: as if everything expectantly awaited the old man’s words.
Slowly, very slowly, the old man prepared to reveal the contents of the chest Sihara had brought with her. He placed it on the simple wooden table and opened it. A gentle, yellow-crimson glow radiated from the stone within.
“The Transparent Ones believe that I can decipher its meaning,” the old man said slowly. Sihara glanced at him and her head shot up in wonder.
“The Transparent Ones? I have never heard of them.”
The old man smiled his peaceful smile, put the stone down and turned to Sihara.
“If that is so, why were you chosen to come here?” he asked, “And why did you agree to this assignment with such ease? You left the village of your youth, aware that you may never see it again, and yet you were not in the least afraid…”
For a moment, attempting to respond to his query, one word alone filled her aching heart: Tzalaii. But to her surprise, she found herself voicing something else: “A mission.”
“A mission,” repeated the old man.
They both remained silent for some time. He seemed to know the contents of her heart. She began to sense a real meaning behind the hazy, vague feelings she had experienced for years. The search for her brother would only be the starting point of a hidden path, with many crossroads and destinations.
“Do the village elders know what my mission entails?” she asked.
“It is possible,” said the old man, ” but it is also possible that only the Transparent Ones who participated in the gathering know its true purpose.”
A hidden hand, with all encompassing power, creating feelings, thoughts, situations and connections had led her to this place. She suddenly felt different, and a secret- her secret, seemed to be making its presence felt. A new path was evident on the horizon, just for her.
“So,” she continued animatedly, as if she and the old man were friends in a secret order, “who are the Transparent Ones?”
The last rays of the sun illuminated the old man’s face, revealing the marks of many years. His high, white forehead was illuminated and he said: “You are young in years, my child, and have seen very little- but your heart has the ability to listen. It shall understand the words and their hidden meaning- those that are revealed and those that are concealed”.
Sihara listened. The air in the room was filled with a buzz of mysterious life, casting an enchantment upon the old man’s words.
“A majestic kingdom stood many years ago in the Land of the Ancient Progeny” he began. “Its legendary beauty attracted many of the Ancient Progeny. Elegant towers and steeples, adorned with precious stones crowned its streets. The city dwellers wore beautiful golden cloaks, and their faces expressed splendor. The mightiest of knights were their heroes. Most impressive and wise were their kings and noblemen. Grace and truth lit their paths. Lovely and gracious were their actions”.
For a moment his face was blank, and he sighed.
“I was not one of them, but I did see them”.
He was silent for a while, and then spoke slowly, as if asking for the strength to continue, “I witnessed its wealth and splendor, as well as its devastation and calamity”.
Fear overtook Sihara‘s curiosity.
“Were you there, hundreds of years ago?”
“No,” answered the old man, “I was not actually there. I viewed it in the Tunnels of Time.”
“The Tunnels of Time? What are they?” questioned Sihara.
“Slow down, my child” said the old man, “the day in which you shall discover them on your own draws near.”
“And how do you know all this?” She could no longer restrain herself from asking.
“Those books- do you see them?” He asked as he pointed to the wall.
She nodded her head, expectantly.
“Everything is written in these books. Everything that was and everything that will be, from the foundation of the Ancient Progeny until the return of the Prince of the Ancient Progeny.” He hesitated and then added, “And beyond…”
“Do I appear in the books as well?”
“Of course,” answered the old man, satisfied, “But you will only read about it at the end”.
“Now listen,” he said solemnly. “An ancient covenant was formed between the Kingdom of the Ancient Progeny and the Transparent Ones. It is because of the power of that covenant and because of your power that I am here”.
“Are the Transparent Ones timeless men, like you?”
The old man smiled.
“The Transparent Ones are timeless: they are beyond time. They are not human, but are produced by humans as products of human spirit and the creations of man’s thoughts.”
“I don’t understand…” Sihara murmured.
The old man understood. This was all new to her. She had never before heard of such things, yet at the same time she was vaguely familiar with them.
“A person’s actions are never lost. When good words are uttered, when good deeds are performed, a Transparent One is created.”
“If so, everyone has their own Transparent Ones”, said Sihara, suddenly understanding.
“Yes,” said the old man, “and everyone has one deed, one very special deed accomplished with true devotion, triumphantly overcoming great obstacles. This deed resembles the person; it is like a precious and successful child, and it is known as the Transparent Master.”
Enchanted, Sihara asked, “And who is my Transparent Master?”
The old man smiled before answering. “I am.”
The old man smiled before answering. “I am.”
To be continued.
***
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