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“I hope this is not too inconvenient for you, Mr. 6, but I think you can help him,” The Timekeeper had spoken.
In the suitcase, two seekers of Truth sat together with cups of tea by the window, watching the rain pour. They could not be any more different on the surface: one prim and proper clad in scholarly robe, another wild and deranged, bound by a strait jacket. The one whose face was unmasked did not show much expression. The other one, however, articulated his emotions with his whole body save his fully covered face.
For an instance, 6 felt like he had returned to the hallowed halls of Apeiron.
The questions Aleph asked were the same questions he had asked when he was still called by the name “Atticus”. The answer Aleph found was the same answer that led him to the liberation in the form of the number “6”.
At the end of the quest for transcendentality, he found himself whole, albeit hurting from feeling the world’s pain. Yet the man before him ended up shattered, consumed by his own pain that multiplied within, wrecking him up from inside out.
The only difference was “Atticus” had not been alone in his quest, while “Aleph” only had himself.
How could he not shatter when he found the truth saying that there is no “self”?
The gentle philosopher watched the restless physician unravelling endless theories. He could have told him his secrets, that true transcendentality meant opening up one’s heart for the world to take shelter in. Still, those are not the words fitting to be administered to a man in agony.
He simply rested his hand above the other’s, warmth seeping through among the shards like gold building a broken bowl anew.
The frantic idealist seemed to lose all words. Rhetorics died at the tip of his tongue, but he did not feel the urge to mourn their passing just this once. The never ending turmoil in his vein settled when he heard a voice so soft like the waves lapping on the sand on a lazy summer day.
“Have a sip. How does today’s tea taste?”
Suddenly the million facets of truth felt insignificant compared to the sensation of aromatic liquid against one’s tongue.
The forlorn seeker was able to discern the truth of one moment among the endless web of interdependence that constructs one’s reality.
Perhaps transcendentality has never eluded him. He had only been squeezing it too hard within his grasp.
“The tea tastes incredibly sweet in your company.”