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The Beaded Tapestry

Exploring the writing and inspirations of Elisa Weeber

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September 2018

Letters from Oxford – Letter 3

Dear Victoria,

I have escaped to a quiet corner of the Bodleian library to write my next correspondence to you. This late in the evening the library is near deserted and I welcome the absence of enquiring voices and curious onlookers.

There is but one remaining comfortable seat left in this section of the college, and I have made this wingback chair my refuge whenever the outer world threatens to overtake my sanity. The return to lecturing has brought back the reason I quit teaching years ago. Even now, hours later, my brain still pulses from the bombardment of questions from my audience. Both the profound and ridiculous are equally trying, negating my ability to concentrate on anything other than maintaining my frustration. I have come to my oasis by the fire, curled up on the tapestried cushions, to sort out my options. It helps to write it out to you, picking through the events that have lead me to this point. I yearn for the analytical person who fled when my arm disappeared. She would be more than capable to control these events. I realize the need for my activities here, keeping my tenure open at the college as my body regenerates and retaining access to the lab facilities for my continued research. I only struggle to relate to my audience a subject I no longer believe. In the past five years, my studies have taken my knowledge so far away from what I need to relate in my weekly presentations that it seems a farce to me.

I want to share what we have discovered during these last years of research. I know this if forbidden, but I feel foolish passing on information to these eager minds that in recent discoveries, negates their existence. We both are aware how groundbreaking my studies have been for the Louvre. It is difficult to relate the lie when the truth hides itself within the confidentiality of our project. What will these people think when the true nature of my findings are announced years from now. Will they look back at my lectures with disdain, knowing I was well aware of the deception? Saying I was hiding the truth behind a veil of secrecy and subterfuge. This is necessary, I know.

To announce the discoveries we have made about the nature of the Anomaly in the Alpha Centauri system now would be premature. I just find it difficult to base an entire lecture on the chaotic structure of the array, informing an entire auditorium of academics that there is no parallel between the neural structure of the brain and the signal pattern detected from the system. We both know how untrue that is. Attempting to debate this question with the crowd has drained my system. It is hard to take the wrong side of the argument, knowing you are promoting misinformation. I am only relieved I have only two lectures a week. I do not think I could survive more than that.

The reconstruction engineer I have been assigned to here at Oxford has been very encouraging about the progress of my regeneration. He said if all goes at this pace I will be able to return to my normal activities within six months. That is several months ahead of my original timeline projected by the surgeon. So very encouraging. It is too soon at this point to arrange a return to London, but the anticipation of an early commencement of my own research for the Louvre will allow me to survive my time among the academia. I love Oxford, but the subterfuge is against my nature. I only hope I can hold on to our closely kept secret long enough to return to the London Headquarter of the foundation.

Tell me about Mars in your next letter. I would love to see it through your eyes as you make the red planets acquaintance.

Love, Annalis

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Paradigm Shift

The quiet is palpable. A solid force surrounding the masses. Darkness hovers above, broken only by the flicker of lucifer flames.

Symbols appear across the open space. Shapes traced out by emitted photons in the green and blue spectrum, evoking the magick, a precursor to the addition of wavelengths to come.

A single figure is illuminated in blue, positioned in the center of the raised platform. Diminished only by the immensity of the venue, but remaining larger than life. The force is seated, cradling an implement of power to his body. The instrument is adjusted for ease and a single cord is strummed, filling the vacuous space with the final component of the spell. He evokes the following notes in succession, building on the foundation of magick laid out at the start.

With each measure, more figures join, and each is brought to light in a different emission, creating a tapestry of color across the forum. Greens and golds dance across the stage, following each form as they join their additions into the connotation. The observing masses add to the pressure, creating the ebb and flow of the tide as it washes through the medium.

A sudden crescendo threatens to overpower the spell, sending the crowd into a frenzy that will quickly cascade out of control. The lone figure still seated on the stage, takes control, bringing the magick back into synchronization and leveling the energy to maintain order. Passing his outstretch limb across the horizon in a single arch before returning  his concentration to the strings.

The symbols circling the venue, morph from shape to shape, taking direction from the architect, leading the magick to its final destination. A lengthening of the vibrations creates deep reverberations through the core of each individual present as the tide once again crests. Running its course as it heads for fruition.

One by one the figures retreat, taking their frequencies and wavelengths with them. There is no decrease in power, only a change in the complexity of the signal.

At last only the seated figure remains, strumming the final notes of the enchantment. The blue illumination flickers out, leaving the assemblage in darkness. Merely the fading afterimage of the symbols remains before the multitude of eyes and the last notes of the connotation reverberate out into the endless expanse of space.

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