Parable Axis: (The Epicurean Riddle)

By Jose Alvarenga

The invisible axis which makes us unaware of a constant rotation, has been from time to time, an enigma that hides the twists and turns between day and night. All what is left now is a parable, a parable that surges from the zenith of a horizon where the blue of the heavens gets lost with the blue of the seas.

Thus, since the beginning, when the light first shone in the cosmos, the word was meaningful, full of grace, salvation and joy. Then, with the arrival of chaos, and as the force of darkness swept the void, everything became an enigma, a riddle for humanity to choose a path beyond good and evil.

Now, there is only confusion, and the vestiges of fragments left in the literature of history, philosophy, poetry, religion and science. Like orphans and widows, we follow echoes and simulations of a place that used to be home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9781669816355

Jose Alvarenga

Nací en el país de El Salvador. Mis primeros años de educación se dio en varias escuelas, hasta el día de mí partida hacia los Estados Unidos. Los estudios que en mi país equivalen al bachillerato los comencé en la ciudad de Los Angeles, en la escuela secundaria Taft High School y los continúe en Warren High School. Estudie en The Los Angeles City College, de donde me gradué con un Grado Asociado en Artes en el área de la música. Actualmente trabajo en una institución financiera en las áreas de operaciones y cumplimiento de normativas en su subdivisión de BSA/AML.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

I SAW MYSELF NAKED while I imagined that the night was leaving with the arrival of a new day. It was at the point the twilight – followed by dawn – is the axis where day detaches from the night. At that axis point, it seemed that my mind detached from my emotions. Or perhaps, my feelings separated from my mind. It was like smoke leaving the fire be hind.

The truth is that from the other side of the axis, I felt as if I was inside an abandoned dark cave that was crumbling to the ground. Inside the cave, the only available light was a flickering wick on a candle melting away. Thus, deprived of light, I scavenged on everything I could touch, and I held onto whatever I could, while the pendulum of outrageous fortune kept on going from no man’s land.

Ironically, from this side of the axis, the earthquakes had intensified, and enduring them as much as we could, I couldn’t help thinking the building was about to collapse – Veritas kept near me all the time, and so did the others. More astonishingly, the walls were intact, and so was the ceiling, yet flickering flashes blazed from them at times. Thus, the peaceful scenery simulated – which projection was from the ceiling above down to the walls – never ceased. There were underground rumbling noises that felt as if the bedrock foundation of the building was splitting apart. Besides the flickering flashes and the tremors, what was driving us mad was that we didn’t know what was happening outside. Thus, trapped inside an underground medical room in a military facility for seven days, we had no hope to survive.

Amid this heap of trouble, I feared the secret of the riddle was going to be buried forever. Soon, it would just be forgotten, like the ancient land of Mesopotamia’s desolated deserts and like the mysteries of ancient Egypt. Like the secrets many Pharaohs took to their tombs, and as the history of Africa, which is black and dark as her people, it would soon be the fate of the Epicurean Riddle. I had ended up in this military facility, in a remote area, somewhere in Africa. I had been hiding and running away. At this point, I couldn’t run nor hide anymore, for I had realized I was not running away. I was living – through what seemed to be, and what appeared to me – the last seven days of my life.

Destitute under the submission of chance and coincidence, I began to remember the day when they got to me. Who? I didn’t know. I didn’t know who was friend or foe. I was running. I had to stop at the corner between Holy Street and Broadway Blvd. There I was, waiting on the traffic light while catching my breath, as I was gasping for air in desperation. I bent a little forward so that I could rest the palms of my hands on my knees. I was soaked wet in sweat, but I felt drenched in a flame. My heart was pounding, and my head throbbed. On that day, it was already getting dark. It was the first time I distinguished where and when night detaches from the day. I must admit. It was painful to open my eyes for the first time to witness when light rotates into darkness.

As I waited on the light, saw the cars moving on the street, heard their horns, engines, and the distant noise of sirens, I couldn’t help but notice the people walking on the sidewalks were carefree. It seemed that people were oblivious to the sounds, noises, and voices around them. For the first time, I was aware of their imperviousness to see and to hear. For that reason, I constantly watched around while I waited for the light. For the moment, there was no sign of my pursuers. Relieved by this fact, I spotted a five-story building, right in front of me, at the corner across the street. It had dusty windows, and its paint was peeling off the graffiti-stained walls. On top of the building, a billboard displayed the image of a venerable man sitting on a wheelchair, which had an oxygen tank attached. The caption on the billboard, behind the twilight, read, STOP SMOKING THEM. SAVE A LIFE. Next to the building, I identified the bookstore, right at the address listed in the card I found inside the manila envelope. I was still waiting for the traffic light when a transient passed by, pushing a basket filled with junk and talking to himself as he said, I got your back, and you got my back. For some strange reason, he looked so familiar. He left a cloud of white smoke I inevitably inhaled. I don’t know why, but the familiarity vanished away with the smoke and the obnoxious sour stench that the man left behind. Finally, the light turned green. Before crossing the street, I looked behind my shoulders.

I had crossed the street and passed the five-story building, so I stood outside the bookstore, hesitant to enter. After much deliberation, I opened the door and the chime sent a breeze of sparkling sounds inside the bookstore. There were no customers, and I didn’t see any employees either. I went through the aisles scanning them, making sure I could find a strategic spot where I could hide. Finding a clever location, a narrow aisle, between a wall and several bookshelves aligned, I hid in there. In that strategic spot, I felt like I was in the trenches of a battlefield. From that angle, I could see the front door. I kept watching through the cracks among the books through the shelves, checking to see if anybody entered right after I went in. I waited and waited and nobody came after me. So, I leaned my back against the wall and slid my whole body down to a squat position. I exhaled in relief and began to relax. Taking a deep breath, I recognized the smell of books and the peculiar aroma of coffee. Also, I was able to hear that music was playing softly. I stood up and began to walk. While I walked and looked around, all I saw were countless books. I came across an unusual book. I took it, opened it, and found a story under the title of The Library of Babel. After reading the title, I felt as if I already knew the story. I continued reading. The beginning dealt with the subject of the universe. A reference in parenthesis implied the universe was known as a library by some people. Who were the people? The story did not specify. I kept on reading, after all, and for the moment, nobody was after me.

According to the story, to the infidels, the library was affirmed to be a place of non-sense, where reason and coherence cannot be found. I thought for a moment and realized that if that was the case for the infidels, then, their universe will be an infinite and indefinite confusion. This led me to the word confusion and its history as synonymous with The Tower of Babel. I thus realized that in a confusing world, there is no way to know who is a friend and who is the enemy.

How can I help you? said the distant voice of a woman behind me, while she walked towards me.

I am fine. I am just looking, I said, with my back against the woman, but still, reading the book I was holding.

I am sorry to say this, but the store is now closed, the woman apologized.

The door was opened, so I just came in, I said.

I know. I know, it’s just that I purposely left it open because I am waiting for someone, she replied.

Very well, I will be leaving then, I said, still holding the book.

I turned slowly to face her and gently pulled the book away from my face. Little by little her appearance began to be visual to me from her hair, forehead, eyes, nose, lips, and so on. To my surprise, she was black, slim, very cute, and smelled lovely. When she saw me, she jerked and began to scan me from head to toes. Then, her captivating black eyes got wide open, and with a tone of concern, she said, Oh my God! Wait, why are you sweating profusely? What happened to your eye?

Listen, I don’t mean to cause you any trouble. The truth is that I am running away from two men that attacked me. I am here because I got the address of this store through a mysterious manila envelope, I said.

An envelope…? Don’t worry about it. I will go and lock the door. About your eye, we should put a piece of meat on it. It will make it better, she recommended. Are you fond of Borges? she then asked, as she gazed and pointed at the book I was holding.

Yes, I am, I said, realizing the book I was holding was an anthology of Jorge Luis Borges.

Continue reading it while I go to lock the door and get the meat. I always go to the grocery store during my lunch. Now I know the purpose for the steak I bought this afternoon, she said as she walked away.

I didn’t know how bad my eye looked, and while I waited, I figured that Dick must have had a clean blow to my face. Realizing that a black eye was better than a bullet in my head, I saw the bookstore employee coming back. While she was still walking towards me with the piece of meat in her hand, she asked me, Did you ever read his famous fable about the cartographers?

Yes! ‘On the rigor of science,’ it is one of my favorites, I replied passionately.

I can tell you are a robust reader. I am Veritas. Nice to meet you, she said as she was applying the meat over my left eye. Then she asked for my name.

My mind went blank when I felt her soft hands touching my face. While I was tolerating the coldness of the piece of meat on my eye, the telephone began to ring. She told me to hold on to the meat and said that she would be right back.

I saw her walk to the front desk, and pick up the telephone. It looked as if she was arguing with someone. So she hanged up violently and exited the store without saying a word to me. I expected her to return in a matter of a couple of minutes. Veritas never came back. Her absence made me feel I was alone. I also felt the most hideous and dreadful fear. The fear of a catastrophic danger I had always lived with and had felt before. Then, suddenly, I heard a terrible explosion and a wave of hot air sucked me in with such power that tossed me to the ground. I tried to get up, but I felt weak and lost consciousness.

1

INSIDE THE CAVE

L EADING THE DAY of the explosion, I headed for an apocalypse that lasted seven days. For me, that day was characterized by a similar effect of a relentless and resilient singularity, striving to make way to other events, then to another, and another, until it took me to Egypt to find the truth to this mysterious riddle. Ironically, this is how I ended up inside a cave my self.

After meeting Veritas, many years ago, I realized that people are not what they seem to be. Their manner of speaking, looks, and actions, may not always be consistent with our perception. And the same is true about their perception concerning our words and actions. It is as if we fail to match our inner notion and intuitiveness with the outlook of an external objective and factual exterior that continuously and, uninterrupted, extends to the empirical world. Such failure is simply misjudgment, and it distorts our perception, making way to a mistake. Then, it leads to an error and culminates with confusion. Since misjudgment is the distortion in perception, it creates two sides to a story. They are two different and opposing points of view; one side is innate, and the other is an external seductive desire pulling us asunder. For this reason, the inner one is irreconcilable to the external one, unless there is a union, and a desire to preserve this union in order to form a more perfect union.

During those seven days inside that cave, at the fate of my inevitable death, I felt confused as I contemplated two different and opposing views from one and the same thing. However, feeling that way, I could see confusion as an object displayed on top of a table. And at other times, I felt drenched and submerged in so much of it. This effect had another dimension, for it made me feel the same way about Veritas, even though I had met her many, many years ago. However, things had changed. Now, I didn’t know what to think after I had seen her side along with Dick. I could not have possibly known the night I met Veritas I had been led to the bookstore by Dick. I knew Dick wanted me dead. Thus, I figured Veritas sought the same end. After all these years, they both had plotted to kill me. Now, it was just a matter of time. As I tried to find logic to rationalize my situation, I just felt dragged by a demonic psychosis of evil spirits.

As I was thinking about those things, Veritas was observing me. While my eyes met hers, I became nervous. I felt that she only sensed in me a sort of discomfort, for she became very sympathetic towards me. That led me to feel a profound connection with her, a connection I constantly struggled and wrestled with and made all efforts to avoid. So, as we both were lying on the floor, she said to me with such a soft tone of voice, I told you, I need to tell you something.

I know, that is what you said to me last night, or I should say the day before.

I am afraid you won’t believe me, despite the fact that you have come into contact with a lot of evidence. We have gone over the documents, but I can see you have not come to the union of one thing and the other. Something must still be troubling you.

What do you mean troubling me? There is no trouble. There is only one fact. I know I will die. I know we all will die, I said as I extended my hands in vehement gestures to everybody in the room. They were all silent and only heard us talk.

What about the Etruscan Trinity? Veritas asked while she tried to reach for my hands.

That is a mistake, I said, avoiding her hands, then turning my back on her. We have been in this room for so long that our minds are playing tricks on us.

What do you mean by mistake? she asked.

We are focused on the simulation and have disregarded the simulacra, I replied.

I don’t know what you mean, she said.

What I meant is this, we are just believing whatever we want and desire to believe, without getting to the bottom of facts.

If that was the mistake, that means we have been led to an error all this time. But why would you think so? she said, while rubbing my back.

Think about this, what if the Etruscan Trinity was nothing but a holographic projection simulated on the walls, just like the peaceful scenery we constantly see? Up till now, the simulations on the walls have not ceased regardless of the tremors. What if all this time everything has been a visual stimulation? If they can stimulate our vision, they can stimulate all our senses, thus and by consequence, put to sleep our minds, I said.

You are probably right. At least they gave us an illusion to hold on to the end, she said.

It doesn’t matter whether it was an illusion, a mistake, an error, a holographic projection, or just confusion. The fact is that we all will die anyway. However, I don’t want to know my life has been a mistake. I don’t want my death to be an error. But most of all, I don’t want to die confused, I said with anguish, but confident about what I was saying.

During that time, I felt confined to the constant experience from the fear of death. It was a terrorizing reality more powerful than my will. It was as if I was a victim of accident and force. It felt as if I had been thrown in man-made situations to act and decide according to their expectations. However, deep within me, I wanted to be able to decide between one thing or the other: between life or death, freedom or captivity, good or evil and to be or not to be. In a word, I wanted to believe, but not to be conditioned to believe.

Thus, amid the predicament of my inevitable fate, I was overwhelmed with the fact of a real problem. I had nobody else to turn, but only to Veritas. Therefore, and reluctantly, I turned to face her. I reached for her hands, and I said, God is good, while she just stared at me. Then I asked her, "Do you think that evil is simply the absence of good?¹

She sat up, took a deep breath, and shaking her head she then said, You once told me that good and evil are not contraries. You said to me that evil is simply the privation of good.²

I know. I know. But what if? I replied.

Mason, at this point you cannot dwell in causes and consequences. Don’t think in objectives that are good or evil, which only create a conundrum of contradictions. Instead, just rest on being. So, just be and live, she said.

How can I be and live, if I cannot believe? I don’t even know what faith is anymore. At this point, I have succumbed to doubt, and the fetters of confusion have taken me into captivity, I said while I stood up to my feet.

If doubt is your oppressor and confusion is your prison, then, there is no need to reason, but just take action. Therefore, you must do what is necessary, and out of this necessity, become and come to be a being, she said, while she extended her arms, gesturing me to help her get on her feet.

Her words – I thought at that moment – reassured me of that connection with which I had come to struggled and wrestled against. Yet, there was this twoness and shadow behind her that made me struggle with doubt. She looked dark on the outside, but she seemed to shine so bright from inside.

Thus, I concluded that the state of doubt must be the constant back and forth motion of two different and incompatible impulses assailing the imagination, struggling to encroach one belief over one idea and vice versa. In the end, they are only two thoughts. They are two thoughts in one mind. But also, they are believed to be urges and impulsive actions. These two thoughts wrestle against each other on the battlefield of our minds. Thus, they pledge alliances with cravings and impulsive actions. They wrestle to dominate over the other. And in this struggle to be dominant, they drag emotions into the mess. This way, creating chaos and leaving behind an irreconcilable, unrecognizable, and unidentifiable conflicting disarray. Therefore, undoubtedly, and in my view, I concluded they all are a dissonance from the antagonism man has made out of good and evil. They are simply a bifurcation from and among one, and the same thing.

I had studied this conflicting disarray and followed it diligently for fifteen years, through the ancient scrolls, historical accounts, and in my brief conversations with mystics and masters of the occult. But most importantly, after those fifteen years, the documents on the manila envelope, which were now in my possession confirmed what I already knew. Thus far, these records pointed to the conclusion that the bifurcations had unfolded from belief and faith encroaching over facts and science. They had been objectified with matter and space, void and bodies, quarks and atoms, small and large, singular and universal, etc. Then, they were associated with terms such as good and evil, right and wrong, true and false, legal and illegal, nothing and something, etc. Of course, anyone can believe in anything, even in false gods. However, according to scientific facts, gods are elusive to a microscope. For that reason, science can only show what we already know, the facts. Yet, when it comes to faith, there is only one direction. That direction is an invisible power. That power is so irresistible to belief. But still, there was something else, something I could not yet fathom. Hence, this conflict between science and faith produced ripple effects, to the extent that it affected the way I felt about Veritas. Here at this point, I saw my doubt, confusion, and dreadfulness. I had succumbed to believing one thing to be the other, while I knew the other to be the one thing. This conflict had creeped elusively in my thoughts and emotions.

Veritas threw her arms around me. Her embrace was so comforting, but I pushed away from her. Thus, she sensed my vulnerability and sobbing she said, You have fought the good fight. You have kept the faith.

My battles and fights were never against flesh nor blood, I said repugnantly with vexing slow words. I have always believed in human virtue. However, I have seen many young men and women lose their lives senselessly. Why did you have to kill them? Tell me, how can I keep the faith at the scene of such gruesomeness? I asked her in bitterness, for I could see nothing less than blood in her hands.

I tried to justify my current emotional state of affairs by asking myself whether the world was split between friend and foe or simply, it was fate for good and evil to war for eternity. I felt a raging conflict within me. I couldn’t understand people who annihilate each other. I felt my head crushed with an unbearable burden, and at the same time, pulled apart by two forces. So I turned to Veritas, again, in agony and despair, starving for meaning and understanding, as I said, Veritas, are we friends or enemies?

I know you are my friend. I know I am your friend. But the truth is that we are more than that, she said with confidence.

I wanted to believe her, but my cynical idiosyncrasy got in the way. I wanted to trust her. However, I had seen Veritas with Dick taking over the facility. Most of all, I had seen how Veritas, along with Dick and the others, shot dead the crew working at the facility. I thought I was part of the good guys, but it turned out they were the bad guys.

Again I was haunted by a parable axis. One side of the axis revealed the working crew followed orders received from the higher rank. They were just kids behind computers, pressing keys and doing a good job. The other side of the axis revealed the sinister creation of orders strategically designed to kill billions. Therefore, killing the working crew was an act of heroism, for billions of lives were saved. But who was going to get to the higher rank? Which side of the axis did Dick belong? Why did he want me dead? Why was he working along with Veritas?

While we were experiencing another tremor, Veritas gripped my hands. She placed her head against my chest and said, Don’t let me go. I am so tired.

I know. Don’t worry. I got you, I said with a mild feeling of distrust, for I did not know when I was going to get killed. Just as I did not know if it was day or night, I couldn’t see through Veritas, despite our connection. So I said, Today is the seventh day, and should have been a Sabbath, a day to rest. Perhaps the Mobius strip got stuck on the sixth day, and we are in its infinite loop. If only in the Bible I could have found the answer to the riddle, I continued, almost quivering, making mention of the Bible as a lucky charm to appease my worst fears.

Please keep on talking and don’t stop, she said to me, almost whispering while she was wrapped around in my arms.

What do you wish me to talk about? I asked, hoping she would tell me to talk about the Bible.

Tell me more about the Mobius strip and the riddle, She replied.

While I decided how to fulfill her wish, I stood silent. To me, the Mobius strip has been an intellectual riddle, an enigmatic symbol, and a mathematical mystery. In a word, the Mobius strip defies all logic but stands prevailing in all truth.

Thus, abandoning Veritas from my embrace, I began to walk back and forth. Thinking about this, I said to Veritas, The Mobius strip and confusion are the same. Just as one strip turns inside out, so is the effect of confusion. It was the Mobius strip that provided me evidence that good and evil are not contraries.

How did you figure that out? she asked.

By accident, I replied.

How so? she then asked.

It was revealed to me through both sides of the strip. Then I thought, they must be bifurcations of the same thing, I said.

And what is that thing?

It is the kind of thing that produces ignorance and knowledge, illusion and reality, value and nothingness, and so on. Thus these things spin and rotate on an axis.

Mason, are you saying that from ignorance to knowledge, there is some form of motion?

Of course! And there is also motion between reality and fantasy, value and nothingness.

How can it be? And How can that even be possible? she asked as she scratched her head.

You need to return to the Mobius strip and the axis. Those symbols are the key, I replied.

Is this the reason why most people cannot understand the riddle?

Yes, because they can’t understand the symbols. These symbols are a portal to another dimension. When you don’t see that dimension, you only get confused.

And how does that happen?

When they can’t understand the symbol of the Mobius strip, they don’t know in which side of the strip they are walking. And when they don’t know on which side they are walking, others must tell them.

All of the sudden, from the walls, flickering flashes began to blaze in the midst of a wave of tremors. We all feared losing the lights. We didn’t know how long the walls would last without breaking apart. My mind began to get invaded by the fear of death. It was either the entire facility collapsing to bury us all alive or a bullet in my head. I didn’t know which one would come first.

Again, I felt dragged by a demonic psychosis of evil spirits. I was drenched in confusion, yet, suspicious of what Veritas might do, I continued with emphasis to deter her. Thus, I seized the opportunity to speak of the secret of the riddle for the last time. So I said to her that more than ever, this comparison between the Mobius strip and confusion had led me to be curious about the existence of the Epicurean Riddle. So I knew that it existed. For just as the Mobius strip has two