853 Years in a Glorious Twilight Zone

Ancient aliens release a magnificent power so one man can work 853 years to help them go home.

With every fiber of his being he felt the scorching fire as it rose above the horizon of dry sands. It would be another hot day. That was good. The blazing sun helped to oil the sinews of his shoulders and arms and release the muscles of his ancient fingers, fingers that were made specifically for the very precise work he performed every day.

He pulled out his old bandana, black with constant use, and wiped away the sweat already forming on his brow, then wrapped the bandana around his head as he had done thousands of times before. He was so happy to be alive.

He had his work and what a great joy that was.

He was exactly where he should be, where all the paraphernalia of his work was laid out neatly ready for him to begin his day. He was not surprised, it was always so. There were the perfectly formed bricks, so precise in their exactness one to another. There was the precise mixture and amount of mortar that maintained its consistency until his job was done. His trowel, standing up in the center of the mortar, was ready for his skillful hand. He began eagerly.

The ancient laborer worked accurately and swiftly. Although he had been blind from birth, he saw his masterpiece in his mind’s eye as clearly as the old masters saw the finished form in the granite before making a single chip in its rough surface. He no longer measured anything. He had not needed to for many decades. His skillful hands worked with a precision not known before. With one movement he laid the mortar then with one movement, and only one movement, he laid the brick. He no longer needed to make adjustments. The mortar and the brick aligned themselves perfectly with those before them. His hands worked so precisely, so efficiently, his work was perfect in its execution.

The rhythm of his work matched the joy in his heart. He had never known not having such a passion as he had for this, his work.

As he had done every day before this, he laid his wall three bricks in width and just below his eye level in height. The length of his wall was determined by when he completed it, which matched exactly with when the sun went down. He never had to rush or struggle to meet this deadline, nor did he slow his work to finish at the perfect time. He never counted bricks nor did he ever adjust his work to meet the time-frame. He simply worked with pleasure and joy until the last brick was laid, the mortar was finished, the wall was complete in every respect and the sun moved past the horizon.

The ancient laborer never required rest or refreshment during his day. The refreshment he did receive from the broiling heat was the cool, bubbling well of joy he knew with every breath he took and with every heartbeat that gave him life. It had never occurred to him to consider other work. He was the work he performed now. He was the joy, the incredible joy that brought him to his beloved work day after day. And at the end of the day when his beautiful, precise wall was complete, he would go to his rest.

We find our ancient laborer waiting patiently and with tremendous joy as he experiences the beginning of another wonderful, hot, scorching day. He is again precisely where he needs to be. He knows there is no wall from the day before. He is not surprised. Somehow he knows, THEY come in the night and dismantle it or blow it apart. It does not matter what THEY do with his glorious walls. Their kindness to him is overwhelming as he feels the joy of anticipation for the work ahead. He is in his glory. Another day to perform his work, to build his wall, to feel the unparalleled joy.

Our ancient laborer begins his work with the expertise and precision of a celebrated maestro in concert. He knows the perfect mortar and the perfect bricks will last until he completes his masterpiece and the sun descends in the sky.

Today his joy knows no bounds. He is alight with the magnificence of his work. His heart sings with the glorious anticipation of the completion of his perfect masterpiece. His ancient fingers perform with the dexterity of a surgeon performing his life-or-death magic. The mortar is perfect, the bricks are perfect, and his wall is perfectly aligned.

He feels the sun brushing past his shoulders as he places the last brick. He removes his hands from his beautiful wall and, for the first time in his life, he hears his own voice wailing in glorious joy at his magnificent piece of work.

His work is complete and, for one instant, he is given sight to see his beautiful wall. He sees, not just with his mind’s eye, but with his renewed eyes opened wide. He sees the perfection of his wall’s alignment, the radiant color of the bricks standing straight like soldiers at attention. He knows he has done well.

His work is finished. His life is complete. His overwhelming joy breaks his heart and, just as the sun drops below the horizon, he drops to the ground beside his magnificent masterpiece, now at final peace.

THEY pay their respects to the ancient laborer and for his glorious, perfect work. THEY have not come for his final, ultimate triumph as THEY have every other day for 853 years. THEY have everything THEY now need for their purposes. THEY leave his wall, this final masterpiece for the master craftsman as a monument to his labors of joy.

It has taken 853 years for the ancient laborer to complete his walls. But THEY did not need walls – THEY needed steps. And so, every evening THEY carefully and lovingly took every single wall, except this last one, and laid them down one upon the other to form steps. But the steps were not laid down. The walls that formed the steps were laid UP. THEY needed the steps to reach their heaven, their home.

So THEY had, each and every one of them, traded their JOY for our ancient laborer’s expertise and years of work so he would build for them their steps home. It had cost them dearly, for all THEY were left with for that long, long time, was HOPE.

THEY left their JOY with our ancient laborer knowing he would never, ever be without the glorious JOY he found in his work. And every one of them knew the immense price THEY had paid was not in vain. With a last loving look at our ancient laborer, THEY stepped on his glorious Walls of Joy and travelled home with great HOPE.

© 2011-2012; Maralexa, Marilyn Alexander, MBA. All rights reserved.