In the eye of eternity

In less than a second, the colorful sphere, with a pattern like no other, collapses into a frozen, unblinking eye.

Time stops.

I cannot move ... no one can move.

I observe the frozen looks of astonishment on the faces of my children and their companions. I observe the frozen smile of Christina, who looks straight at me, her face a picture of serenity. I observe the frozen wings of the fairy-tale princess.

The timeless void suspends even private exchanges of thought and feeling.

Our silence is complete.

My silence is complete: I am a pure witness.

Looking through the eye of eternity, I ponder my place, my presence, my promise, my purpose, my progress.

I think about my place in the world, in a world where I can allow myself to be, have, do, or become whatever I will or desire.

I contemplate my presence in a world divided, where nothing is ever what it seems and where everything is exactly as it seems.

I recall my promise to serve those who would keep alive the essence of humanity before I consider my purpose in a future without this essence.

I ponder my progress as a caretaker on a path that would take away what remains of our humanity with relentless advances in technology.

And then I remember those who had chosen to die long ago as their technology overtook their humanity, perpetuating their memories by digital means but relinquishing their own subjective sense of continuity in the process.

From the solitary depths

I feel at an impasse. I am at an impasse. Everyone around me is still, silent, expectant.

The sphere is mirage-like, without colors or patterns, distorting the light coming through from behind it.

I might pull my hands away and let the sphere contract, but that would admit defeat.

I might grow virtually with the sphere, but that could go on forever, with nothing attained and nothing resolved.

I might have others join me and have them apply their hands, but this is my challenge, to be faced alone.

The expectant hush of those around me intensifies my feeling of being alone.

I realize, from the depths of my feeling, that this is a game that poses a mental, not a physical, challenge. I realize, from the expectant hush and with absolute certainty, that my expectation of growth, coupled with my intention to have a certain outcome, has nullified my power to manifest my desired result.

Looking and smiling at everyone in turn, I release both my intention and my expectation.

In a single moment everlasting, I catch a glimpse of the pattern, a magnificent pattern like no other I have ever seen.

With only seconds to spare, I withdraw my hands from the surface of the sphere.

On the edge of control

When I pull the palms of my hands away from the surface of the sphere, the sphere contracts, prompting me to apply my hands, and when I push the palms of my hands towards the surface of the sphere, it expands, prompting me to withdraw my hands.

At a certain radius, the sphere will produce a finely crafted and checkered pattern of colors, where no one color is the same as any other, but I do not know how large the sphere must be before I can pull my hands away and achieve the desired effect, and with only seconds to spare.

A checkered pattern of colors appears, and I pull my hands away, but I look and see that the pattern is not one of a kind.

I apply my hands again.

"Come on, Daddy, you can do it!"

A brisk virtual breeze blows, moving the sphere slightly away from my hands. I adjust the position of my hands.

Out of the corners of my eyes, I can see my children and their companions dance around me, chanting words of encouragement, and when I glance at Christina across from me, she smiles and waves, but says nothing, neither publicly nor privately.

I relax into the witness posture, becoming expert at modulating the enlargement of the sphere while taking distractions in stride and watching patterns of color appear and disappear on the surface of the sphere.

The sphere grows until it becomes too large for me to apply my hands for more growth.

The sphere grows until it can grow no more.

When faces appear and disappear

Smiling, I approach the sphere.

The size of a terrestrial globe ball, the sphere pulsates, bobbing level with my chest. A play of color flashes through and around its surface, but I can also catch glimpses of swirling patches of color inside of it.

As I draw near, I cup it from below with my hands, without touching, and it begins to expand.

My daughter, Ariana, squeals. "Not too much, Daddy, not too much!"

I laugh and pull away my hands. The sphere contracts. I move my hands close again, but only close enough to maintain some semblance of equilibrium with the circumference, and carefully observe the surface of the pulsating sphere for patterns of color.

My hands oscillate minutely around the expanding and contracting sphere, looking for that one optimal circumference that would allow me to detect that one prized pattern of color. When I see it, I will act decisively.

"Bigger, bigger, bigger!" I laugh at the chorus of voices rising up around me.

Bigger, yes, but not too much bigger. I am careful to modulate the sphere's expansion and contraction with fine-grained adjustments.

As expected, faces begin to appear and disappear inside the sphere as it expands, distracting my attention. Many of the faces are benign; some are not.

The faces in the sphere manifest and reflect my current moods, feelings, emotions, and intentions, both conscious and not so conscious. For just a moment, I am tempted to use my laser-like focus to close off the shouts of encouragement and the peals of laughter.

Instead, I laugh, buoyed by the love and joy that flows all around me.

A game called Omega Surprise

Four children appear, as if from nowhere.

"Surprise!"

I look more closely. I turn to Christina and smile with delight.

We stand on a knoll by the sea, in wind-swept grass, under a clear indigo sky. Our children, wearing elaborate costumes, wave at us vigorously.

Their constant companions suddenly appear beside them.

A she-wolf, sporting an idiotic grin, puts her arm around my youngest son; a fairy-tale princess, standing on the shoulder of my only daughter, throws sparkles to the wind; a friendly ogre, looming large behind my eldest son, spreads his arms wide as a greeting; and a strange little creature, the size of a small child and having no recognizable features, dances gracefully in front of my artistically inclined son.

"Time for some fun, Daddy!," my daughter shrieks. The fairy-tale princess runs circles around her head.

"Yes, father, it's time for a game called Omega Surprise," says the strange little creature, mimicking the voice of my son.

Omega Surprise.

I draw Christina close and pinch her playfully. She knows of my eschatological interests, and I am pleased.

This is her doing.

In private, she relays to me the rules of the game.

And then, my daughter, raising her hands palms up, produces a sphere.