PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

It bobbed in the air as if testing its own intrinsic loftiness, a space-age gter-ma sent back from the future instead of left by the past. The man dropped to his knees, coming to seat on his heels, toes sinking into the coarse sand. Both subject, both object, each transfixed, one unable to take his eyes off the other, the other by whatever faculty it was able to detect the man's presence, neither at all certain of their function.

The orb emitted a low tonal frequency which upon entering the man's ear canal began erasing his memory, starting with the present moment of finding the orb on the sandy shoal of the river, lifting it gingerly, feeling its nearly weightless heft, examining briefly its silver-matte seamless surface before it vibrated ajolt, activated by his touch, then strained to be released from his grasp. An aural whipworm, the tone wend its way through his mind, first vanishing backwards the years of this life, then on to the 66,000 years of memories it is said humans store - parents, their parents, all the ancestors in all the parallel lives lived simultaneously.

When all traces of his previous personalities and their aggregates were extinguished there was left only the original beeja of divine purpose. In blessed relief he wept, then arose and commenced to walking, leaving behind his tent, his camping gear, his brand new truck, the soul-sucking job from which he was on sabbatical, his family, his friends and the woman he was soon to marry. The orb floated trailing in his wake, for now it too had a purpose.