Diary Log #87, The Third Day in the Month of the Moon in the Eighty Seventh year of Liberation.
A venture into the past. I’m listening to the chirping of crickets and other insects right now and am remembering my trip to Exavenamor. It was known to be a place of savage glory and splendorous might. The towers beamed light to signal weary travelers to a distance of a many miles. The people were feisty and alive at most times and in a few dark alleyways, you could see the usual drunks and junkies. The food here had many different traits about itself that one could never eat the same meal again twice. The street vendors never sold their wares at the same spot twice and each time, at the same spot there would be a new vendor. Each vendor sold his own unique twist on the famous ‘Khizmat’. The dish was what made Exavenamor famous for good and abundant food. It was rice cooked with spices and vegetables, served along with a roasted and fried sausage. The flavours, the ingredients differed among all the vendors so that nothing tasted the same. On occasion, instead of a sausage, the vendors piled up the rice in a fried basket within a bowl which could be broken and eaten as the crispy element of the dish.
Here in Exa, as the locals called their home, anyone could literally be whoever they wanted to be, just like any other place out of fantasy and idealism. Like every other such fantastic and ideal place, there was a catch, again the same as the other places of legend. An individual did at the end of the require to put in an effort to see the fruits of their labour. A writer couldn’t expect one tome to bring them glory and nor could a vendor expect the one rice dish to be enough to make him popular. The fighters had it easier, all they needed was to show off their brutish strength and they were admitted into the ranks of the training corps, the warriors who guarded the city. Life was easier here compared to the villages nearby and most people went to sleep with a full tummy and a content heart.
This city is where I first met Zorvax, the leader of the Shadow Cult. He educated me on how life was to be lived in a city like Exa and told me why the stories of failure were never popular in this place.
You see, Exa was a beacon of hope across the desert and when people thought about something so powerful, seeing it through the same lens of those left behind their wasn’t something which would ever occur. Exa is ‘the place to be’, a place where no one is left behind. A place where dreams come true and a place where you witness wonders and miracles beyond your imagination. Zorvax explained how the Shadow Cult was never heard of. Nobody recognised or accepted the faults in idealism. Therefore, those who experienced it firsthand needed a community to reconcile with. Who could ever go back to their village and say Exa failed them? Obviously, they were never capable enough to begin with!
Zor, as I began to call him further taught me about the deep rooted and unknown politics of Exa. Sure, as ideal as Exa seemed to be, so did it’s government. Officials held positions based on social merit and each time a decision was to be passed, a turn based system worked for choosing the authority figure. In plainer terms, the people who worked for the people had power and among them, one person would be selected to affirm the decisions of the group. Since Exa was a city state with jurisdiction over the nearby villages, even the villagers could rise to the top. The person who was given authority was selected on a turn based system; after a hundred good deeds, he would be given power for executing decisions for three years. Since the council was close with each other, plans beyond the immediate were never made, and those which were made were easily implemented due to collective agreement toward the objectives.
Understanding what drives a person to work was something Zor knew too well. He could with a glance point out the passionless from the passionate in a bustling street. He was mostly correct. The only reason he befriended me was because I vexed him. He could never tell if I was driven or not, perhaps because I never knew myself. I still don’t know and perhaps that is why Zor kept me by his side. The Shadow Cult comprised only those who at the time of initiation were without any passion. People whose souls had traveled the plains of desolation, emptiness and isolation that they couldn’t muster enough courage to acknowledge the bounty Exa had to offer. Zor believed that these men, without passion or direction were perhaps the most free of all.
People who lacked direction could be shown direction. A hundred souls in isolation could be brought together and be taught how to build a community. Those filled with emptiness would never need more than a day’s worth of food and a comfortable bed to sleep on, so their day could be put to productive use without distraction. The Shadow Cult had its own hierarchy as well. The moment an initiate took initiative, he was recognized and hailed as one who took a step to come out of the cage he believed himself to be trapped in. These people were then given greater responsibility into the affairs of the Shadows.
I never asked Zor what the objective of his cult was. I never asked him what the Shadows did in the shadows. I only saw a man taking the time and effort to bring those without hope into an environment where they could have meaning restored in their lives. The Cult brought people out of lethargy, laziness and indifference to a point where they could save their souls. Zor was a spiritual leader as much as he was a Cult leader. He had a power and a presence that shook people at their roots and moved them to do great tthings.
I once sat with him near a drinking saloon with a bowl of ‘Khizmat’ and a mug of beer. It was funny how the best food vendors always parked near the saloons. I asked him plainly where he thought my life was headed. As expected, he said he didn’t know. My life was my own, I was both with passion and without. According to Zor, the only reason I felt out of place in Exa was because perhaps the ideal life and the infinite possibility was overwhelming. I myself had thought a lot about why I never fit in and only concluded that the food and the people weren’t to my liking. I never considered asking myself what I liked. I always thought I knew it. “I am a traveler from a different place, here to build a life in Exa through hard work, passion, grit and determination. I am skilled in the art of communication, writing and artistic expression so I’ll find work with the Guild of Knowledge.” I never thought any of my passions to be mundane. I never thought any of the work I did was mundane. I wasn’t empty, I was only partially full. A glass half full, rather.
Zor never saw me as someone in need of help. He never felt the need to ‘save me’ as he did countless others. To him, I was an equal, a man on a journey of his own. Nothing he could do or say would change the way I would see the world because the world had already filled half my cup. All I needed to do was find a way to make it full without draining what was already in it. Zor could have taken me under his wing, but he saw I wasn’t lost. I just lacked meaning.
Zor changed my perspective on a lot of things. An ideal world didn’t mean an ideal life and an ideal life would always be a few drops short of a full glass. Exavenamor was a beautiful place, towering pillars and huge castles, a river flowing through the city, bowls of Khizmat all around the city and most of all, the beauty of opportunity. The chance to be whoever one wanted to be. Exa was the perfect place for anyone to be, as long as they understood the way things were done there, and if they made it their passion to live.
Once I left Exa to search for my path, it became clear to me that Zor had made one crucial mistake. He had seen people throughout his life and had found me to be an exception to his perception. I was unique, as all who came to Exa were, as all who ever have existed, have been. My glass half full was perhaps his perception. So I broke the glass in half, and went on living as a traveler, with no home, hearth or permanence. A feather, ever flying in the wind, or rather just a drop of water in an infinite sea.
Now as I travel, I only wonder about what Zor told me. Can my glass be repaired or did it ever break to begin with? Was my perception all that required changing or am I really a broken man? Is it alcohol in my glass or honeyed wine? Is it plain water? Is it happiness that fills it or a life learned without it? The doubt is what has always guided me to seek the truth and what I realise is that seeking the truth has never been a bad idea so maybe, just maybe, the glass never mattered at all.
~Mathayas
Water of the Skies 