"For the time being," Scott coughed, "He was talking about something interesting. We got onto the subject of Creation, and as soon as he started to present questions of "reality," I had to give him the stage. I don't regret it. Hell, maybe this will up the attendance of my students."
"Continuing from where I left off . . ." Tabris began.
Though he should have sounded perturbed by the disturbance of so many entering at once, he was not--far from it. He seemed overjoyed to have so many listening. The albino student stood with his back straight and arms by his sides, but when he talked, he habitually moved his hands--though, vastly different than most "hand talkers." Many did that. Not many favored their right hands in a manner somewhat similar to that of a conductor of an orchestra. It was subtle and mainly noticeable when he reached important points of interest, but still constant.
"Take a look around you--at every face, at every body, at every grain of wood that comprises the stands in which most of you sit, and keep that image. It is truly a worthwhile image, is it not? No--not as you know it. That is the true irony of reality and all of our kind. We take for granted what we have, incapable of finding true joy in the life around us, in our current states. We want more, but that is an obvious blight of mankind, is it not, Mr. Thompson?"
His voice was pleasant, calm, and easy to listen to, if not a little unsettling to those that listened for too long. His tone of voice was
happy. No matter what he said, from speaking of Creation to the ills of Mankind, he was always smiling--always happy, and not in a subjective, optimistic way. He could declare a newborn baby's name with the same smile he'd wear if he declared the end of the world.
To know nothing but joy--to feel no hate, no anger, no sadness, to know not the difference between right and wrong--good and evil. To do no wrong because one knew not what it was-- is it Eden?
Scott replied loud enough for all to hear him . . . without shouting, of course, "That would be correct. Not to say that it can be helped, though. Human nature is fickle. You may very well be as fickle as myself and other in this room."
He didn't seem offended in the slightest. No, there was a fair chance that nothing in the world could offend this youth. "Indeed I may. Yes, yes, I would be--you are correct. We are fickle beings, but it is justified because it is commonplace--because it is our reality. Now, I want you, any of you who wish to participate, to take that image you have ingrained in your mind and hold it clear in your mind's eye as you keep your eyes shut. And now, I want you to dim the light of that image--and dress differently. And then, I want you to picture some with their seats changed, Ms. Takamine beside of Mr. Tsukimono rather than Mr. Williams, perhaps a friend taking the place of another, perhaps one you've never met, a fantasy, suddenly in the seat next to yours."
This prompted Mayako Takamine, sitting in the far back, directly next to Zenos Williams, to open her eyes and look down the aisle at . . . someone in particular. Zenos opened his eyes, too, looking to Mayako, who seemed confused--at first. And then her gaze was downcast . . .
solemnly. It wasn't regret--no. Disappointment, perhaps? A notion she didn't want to think of, so she pictured something else--something that Zenos was in.
"They move, do they not? The lucid dreams you've concocted. They move like fluid, speak, and connect in interpersonal relationships more convoluted than you will ever know. Each of you see a different world, a different reality, and perhaps you covet that reality, but you'll never see it. Only in your lucid dreaming do you see that world, and most of you will see it once . . . and only once."
"When God shaped the world and gave Man purpose, He could have made anything. Anything at all. He could have made the sky not blue but a vibrant orange, He could have made bears the dominant species over Man, but He did not. It extends so much further, however: with the purpose of every individual person on this world, in this warm home we call "reality," we have our paths, our past, our present, and our future."
"If God had made this world different than he had, how would it differ? Would it be as you saw it? It can be asserted that reality is no illusion, but your lucid dreams are. Yes, they are a look into the Imagination--the thoughts of God before He shaped this world, a look into what our present would be if He had shaped the world differently, even if it were such a subtle difference such as the future of a doomed relationship becoming . . . pleasant. Lucid dreaming, of both uncontrolled daydreaming and unassuming dreams at night, are a look into what "reality"
could have been. Had God made one of the slightest alterations, we could be in a world of darkness or a world of fire or a world of magic. You could be a politician in that world, a doctor, an educator, a warrior, a soldier, a member of a secret society, or not even human at all!"
Or is this Eden?
His voice rose with that sentence as if a song were reaching crescendo, and then . . . it fell. He spoke slower again, softer, but his joyous demeanor remained the same.
"And perhaps in that Godly imagination, you are truly one day from paradise."
Tabris's attention had been directed to the back of the room, to the three educators--to the one in the middle, Eilert Draugr. Tabris's eyes were shut and his smile was so wide and jovial, yet his words may well have been so unsettling to the man, and without a true understanding of
why . . .
"And though we'll never know, it poses an interesting question, does it not? For the happiness of few, would you discard the reality of the whole race? Would you change the content lives of so many to provide happiness for one, two, three, or so few more people? A fickle race we are, for three fourths of you now . . . just nodded your heads, no matter how slight," Tabris stepped forward, moving towards the seats, concluding his speech before he took a seat of his own--to give the class back to Scott Thompson, "But it is not wrong, no! For to sacrifice the fickle nature of Man would be to lose empathy, compassion, and the knowledge of Good and Evil. One day before paradise--would we feel joy or contempt?"
It was . . . an eerie way to end the lecture. For some time before Eilert and Sturm arrived, Tabris had been lecturing--and on the same subject of "reality" and "Creation," with points of comparison to the nature of mankind. With his lecture concluded, there was a long silence amongst the student and faculty body--some felt as if they should be clapping, others felt as if they should be asking questions, while others decided that--now that it was over--it was time to go home. Mayako Takamine was one of them. She had been a bit . . . estranged by an earlier comment, and quietly left amongst others, with Zenos Williams quickly following after her.
You and he share the same idea of Paradise.