The White Age

Come back now

Thank goodness that was over – a second more and I would definitely have started panicking – I wasn’t at my best underwater, but so often seemed to find myself in that position whenever I became conscious of my situation.

Why, I asked myself, did ‘holidays’ almost invariably end with being captured by the sea? The only time I had really experienced a watery destination and had managed to avoid going under was when I had gone to the prior existence of the light side with Peter, a place of virtual hieroglyphic communication, very close to the ancient Sanskrit lands.  How I would love to recall that tale, for it was truly the epic journey of my most sublime imagination, an Arabian night made day.

There, the water had been azure, the vista of magical blue eternity studded with islands of far-reaching heart-felt wishes. A breathtaking view indeed and if I should ever recall or revisit that fathomless beach of my Odyssey, surely I would declare unto it the homage of a thousand sighs in words, without weeping.

This was the fantasy of the East as it was in the eye of the creator, reflection in light of the land near and far, mystical pre-incarnation of a maharaja’s dream.  Never before seen were those crystal quartets of jewel-like structures, the bathing houses of ideal dimension, gleaming quadratics, defined manifestations of the glittering perception of marble queens. This was no ordinary era, it was the utmost peak of infinity.  It was the white age.

There were reams of turquoise, ether avenues of ultraviolet stone, columns of mystique, the foundations of purity in a destination almost unseen, all at the origin of eternity’s horizon, whilst onward stretched the shore of our forever on the smoothest sea of love….

It’s at this point that my memory fails, though in my minds eye I still see the crystal waters, which none can remove from my understanding of mysteries, far beyond the green of the Zoroastrian glade.

Not too far back