The Invitation
This time, the dream was intense. He knew he was dreaming, but the mysterious scenery was too compelling for him to even want to wake up.
The Unnamed in him loved the dream beyond understanding. A strong pull into the unknown mystery was constantly inviting him ever deeper. He would have followed the pull without blinking an eye if there wasn't an equally strong resistance within. He was in a state of a total paradox, reflected in the dreamscape in front of him.
There was an island, an ocean, and a storm. The storm was unlike any he had ever witnessed. Winds blew with terrible intensity, and enormous cresting waves met the island's shores with majestic force. The darkness embracing the island was lit by an intricate dance of lightning. Despite the raging storm, he could feel serenity emanating from the waving ocean. He couldn't figure out what created this peculiar sense of peace, but it definitely gave meaning to the storm winds. It was this strange stillness in the raging ocean that the Unnamed within him longed for. The immense gusts of wind penetrated his ethereal body, and the roars of thunder cracked open the whole dream-reality. Despite the storm's ferocity, he felt safer clinging to the storm than approaching the Unnamed's tempting whispers.
A temple stood on the solitary island. There were a thousand bells in the temple, both big and small, crafted with immeasurable skill and precision. As the storm winds blew, the bells pealed out in unison, creating a symphony of an overwhelming balance of sounds. It was perfection, plain and simple, continuing for an undefined time without beginning or ending. He knew there had never been a time when he had not heard the symphony, and he knew there could never be such time. He witnessed a symphony that echoed in all eternity.
Then, he started falling. He plunged through the cresting surface of the ocean toward the bottomless darkness below. Slowly and steadily, the surface above moved further away from him. The whirlwinds of furious energies and flashes of lightning became only distant perceptions in the corner of his eye. The island was gone, the temple was gone, and the storm was gone. Still, he could hear the bells pealing out their magical symphony in the unknown depths of the ocean. It was now loud and clear, without any interference from the storm winds and roars of lightning.
Like an uninvited guest, panic started to infiltrate his mind. He realized how tiny a fragment he was in the ocean, embraced by infinite masses of water and endless depths of unknowable blackness. An urge to inhale grew stronger moment by moment. He craved to get back to the surface where he could breathe with the storm winds and witness the violent flashes of lightning. Yet, at the same time, the symphony of the bells was sending his whole being into raptures. The Unnamed within him was home with the stillness of the symphony and depths of the ocean.
The urge to inhale became unbearable.
Breathing would mean the end of him.
He chose to breathe.
Michael was afraid to open his eyes as he lay sweaty in his bed. Trembling, he took a deep breath and slowly opened one eye to see if the storm was really gone. The bleak ceiling of the hospital's room was steadily in place and greeted him with a silent 'good morning' just like many times before. For a short moment, Michael was certain that he could still hear the bells, but when he tried to listen more closely, all he could hear was silence and his slowly steading rhythm of breathing. The dream had occurred every night since the surgery, but it was very different and alive this night. Now, it felt like more of an invitation.
Michael felt gently assured by the intense pounding of his heart. The old trusted machine beating in his chest brought about such simple peace he had never known before. He could not hear the bells anymore, but a silent clarity had fallen down on him. His thoughts were crystal clear. He knew what had to be done.
One week had passed since the doctors had told him the words that would steer the rest of his life: "Michael, we're sorry. You have three months to go, at best," they had said. Many other things were also said, but most of it was covered with blurry memories and a hazy rollercoaster of emotions. He was now slowly recovering from the surgery, which had given him the extra three months' time.
The impact of those heavy words had struck him down hard. His life wasn't supposed to go like this. Most importantly, it wasn't supposed to end like this—withering silently in a bleak hospital room. He was 'Michael, the business emperor’, a successful entrepreneur who had the most wonderful life by the standards of modern society. He had a busy schedule, a vast network of friends and acquaintances, money, and resources beyond imagination. He had big plans and a calendar full of important meetings that would literally slingshot his company up into the interstellar space. Michael was a success, as people would always say—few with admiration and many with jealousy, or that's what he had always thought was lingering behind people's eyes.
Michael had unconsciously taken the phone in his hand after waking up from the dream. He remained motionless, staring at the black screen. His whole life stared back at him from the blackness with empty eyes and depressing silence. A shudder went through his body. The short moment of peace that had followed the dream was already gone. He let the phone drop to his side on the hospital's bed, relaxed his head on the pillow, and took a deep breath. A lonely tear ran down his cheek.
Michael couldn't bear the idea of telling of his situation to friends and colleagues. What terrified him even more was that he had no one he would first tell of his surgery and condition. A wave of loneliness washed over him. For a fleeting moment, the whole room felt threatening. Michael closed his eyes and yearned to get back to the dream. He tried to listen to the symphony of the mysterious bells. Still, he could hear only the silent whispers of his own loneliness.
Some subtle rays of the sun penetrated the window blinds. The lifeless white wall of the hospital's room was painted with an unmoving dance of light and shadow. It felt strange and discouraging that he would not see such dance anymore after three months, more or less. His life was about to end. 'Michael' was about to be no more.
"Good morning. How are you feeling today?" The nurse came in, carrying a tray of breakfast. "Any pain or discomfort?"
Michael tried to smile and quietly shook his head. He thought the nurse must have seen through his forced smile. It took a significant effort to hide the bottomless loneliness that had just unfolded within. During the years in business, he had grown accustomed to concealing his feelings and wearing the ’Michael-mask’, as Jason would sometimes say. Thinking of Jason elevated his mood a little, even though he was just a colleague and not a friend. Michael slowly rose up to sit at the bedside and examined the breakfast.
"Nice one today. Thanks," he said and forced a smile again.
"The chefs were on fire this morning." The nurse smiled back at him with a compassionate look in her eyes. Maybe the compassion was really there, or perhaps it was just Michael’s imagination, something that he wanted to see—needed to see.
"It's going to be alright. I know you're feeling down at the moment, but you'll get better for a while now. You'll have the strength to put things in order. But don't procrastinate. Time is not on your side,” the nurse said quietly, walked to the window, and opened the blinds. For a short moment, the whole room bathed in blinding light before Michael's eyes adapted. She turned back to face him with the familiar compassionate look on her face. ”Just buzz if you need anything. There shouldn't be any pain from the surgery now, but if there is, the doctor must take a closer look at you."
Time is not on my side, the echoes of the fateful words whirled in his head as the nurse walked away. "Time..." he whispered and could taste the bitter word in his mouth. Time had always been on his side. It had been his closest friend on the way to glory and fame. Time and his skill of timing were the most pivotal reasons for his success. But now, time had left him alone and deserted in a small hospital room. Michael felt nauseous, unable to touch the breakfast. Silently, he lay down on the bed. Even though waves of loneliness and anxiety came and went, the dream returned to him as a warm memory. It was the memory that finally steered his hands to grab the phone again.
"Hi, Jason," Michael said immediately as Jason answered the call. He did it on purpose to keep control of the call to himself. "I've been invited. Don't ask where or why, but this is an invitation I can’t decline. I'm gonna be away for a long time, and I'll make sure the board will have you selected as the CEO for now."
"Uh," was all Jason could say after a short and confused silence. This wasn't like him at all. Jason was usually the one who was always talking and would have the quickest answer to everything. However, the bomb Michael just dropped seemed too much for him. Then he cleared his throat. "Mikey, what's going on? First, you take a week of vacation, which you haven't done like forever, and then you tell me this? Has something happened? Is everything ok?"
"I've had surgery," Michael responded quickly to get back on track with his own thoughts and plans. "The doctors say I have three months to go at most. But that's not the important thing here. What's important is what I just told you."
"Fuck you, man!" Jason breathed out, using language Michael had never heard him use. Then after an awkward short silence, Jason whispered. "Is it really terminal? What is it? Cancer? Something else? I'm sure you can afford the best of the best to treat whatever it is. Don’t just take their word for it, but instead, fight. Michael, you need to fight."
"Jason, I've already got the best of the best treating me. They're the ones who gave me the three months extra. Now listen closely,” Michael said and improved his posture. ”You need not know what the illness is. You need not know what has caused it. You need not know anything about my condition, and I would appreciate it if you didn't tell people about this. Time is not on my side now, and I feel I'm already running late for my invitation. I'll handle the board to have you take my place. It shouldn't be too hard. I believe they like you much more than they ever liked me."
"Invitation? What are you talking about? You can't do this. Isn't it against some laws? Shouldn't you handle some stuff you've got going before doing this?" Jason was clearly perplexed.
"I can do it, and I will. The empire is yours. Take good care of it. Take good care of yourself. I must go now. Maybe I'll contact you later." Michael hasted to end the call as tears swelled up in his eyes.
The memory of the dream literally pushed him to abandon everything that made him the man he was—his business empire and all things connected to it. The decision was hard, but he had no other option choose, which made the decision quick. The feeling of being invited echoed in the remnants of the dream. He was left with no alternatives but to follow the invitation. For some reason, Michael knew when and where, but nothing very exact. He slowly stood up, gathered his belongings, and prepared for the last journey of his life.
