Context

Yet once again the maelstrom of commuters erupting from the subway's depths seethed past casting fleet images through the arched dormer window of Paul's basement apartment. The incessant clatter of heels peppered the pavement as pumping legs fractured and split the feeble autumn ray intent on reaching his dim world. From his bed, Paul blearily eyed ankles in high heels, trousers in shining shoes, sneakers hiding below scuffed jeans, and his mind refuted the urgency that hammered from above. With bone-aching weariness, Paul mindlessly completed his morning routine, and by the time he had locked his door and climbed the dank staircase to street level, his thoughts were enveloped with the challenges of the coming day. Outside the thunderous roar of traffic briefly assailed his senses before he, too, was swept into the roiling tide of arms, legs, and bodies. Paul's strapping 190-centimeter frame angled easily through the crowd as he passed squared shoulders, hunched shoulders, stooped frames, and proud heads. He watched the crowns of trend-setting business cuts and unkempt shaggy locks and caught sight of the occasional splatter of stunning red tresses all bobbing in unison. Glasses, beards, and even the flash of a bright headscarf hid each remarkable feature and disguised the purposeful trek of morning commuters. Paul found himself following a cascade of flowing blonde hair and immediately his eyes fell to shapely legs that ended in glossy black stilettos. What's her story? he wondered. Had those legs and shoes glimpsed the dimness of his apartment earlier, and where were they destined to arrive today? He appreciated the long powerful stride and smiled quietly to himself.

After a tiresome, troublesome day at work, Paul turned off the evening news with the thought that very little in the world today held any joy or reason to celebrate. He watched the light play through the caramel-hued liquid as he poured his third Scotch after dinner and wondered yet again why he felt so weary. Twenty years earlier he had risen each morning brimming with the confidence and effervescent enthusiasm of youth. After graduating with an honours degree, Paul carried his father's mantra on plunging into his career: "Work hard laddie. Keep your nose to the grindstone and make us proud." And that's exactly what Paul had done. He had applied himself tenaciously and worked hard, long hours well into most evenings. Swayed by the influence of his peers, Paul had married a few short years after graduating, and his second child had arrived just prior to his rise to assistant manager. Still, the mortgage was crippling, and as soon as the children were in school, his wife had returned to the workforce. Mounting bills for two cars, education, and healthcare expenses, and ever-increasing insurance payments finally broke the stability Paul had strained to maintain, and he now found himself in the unenviable position of living alone and paying alimony. Visitation rights once a fortnight were a communication disaster.

Paul's inner psyche suffered from severe anxiety. He felt guilt-ridden for the failed marriage, and he harboured feelings of inadequacy when compared to the young graduates now entering the workforce. Holding on to his recently acquired department manager position seemed especially perilous in today's precarious business climate.

As he drained the remnants of his drink, Paul grasped for a feasible explanation as to what had gone wrong. Outside, the world settled in brief hibernation as Paul wrestled with his thoughts. He sought understanding, but each line of examination brought the recurrent, negative responses of self-blame and frustration. With crystal clarity he recalled friendly, well-meant words of advice from his pastor, his boss, his father, his friends —

"You're a good man, Paul. The Lord is known to dish out tough challenges, you know. Only the good are truly tested."

"The world's changing, young man, and we must change with it. Work hard, keep on top of your game — never stop learning."

"Well, marriage is the seat of all satisfaction. You didna' find the right woman, son."

"We're all in the same boat, Paul. It's just the way life is. You win some and you lose some — just let yourself get out and live a little."

Against the weight of mounting evidence, Paul knew in his heart that it was all wrong. He had missed something somewhere, and now he resolved to find it. Insidious clouds of doubt cocooned his mind into an uneasy sleep.

As Paul climbed the dank staircase the following morning, he noticed a small book which had obviously fallen into the entrance earlier. It lay askew, its pages flipping in the breeze furling and eddying with the passing traffic. Placing the book in his pocket, he intended to leave it out the next morning for its wayward owner. Paul was moderately intrigued by its title — The Atlantean Parable; its author, W. O'Nereh, drew little response from his vast knowledge of reputable writers. Hence, Paul's morning discovery lay forgotten in his pocket until he undressed later that evening. After dinner, Paul thumbed the opening pages. Should only take a couple of hours, he thought as his gangly frame settled into a well-padded chair and he began to read.

Dusk painted a grand landscape as the great tribe came to rest by the waters of a bubbling spring flowing gently down the phosphorescent hillside. They had wandered for many days across barren and fertile plains in search of their new homeland. Finally, here, not far from the coastline, their elders gathered the disparate nomads and proclaimed they would travel no further — they had found their place. Beneath the eye of the next whole White One it was announced: there would be a Gathering where each of the elders would impart his wisdom for "the time that is left to us." The elders retreated from the bemused tribe to a nearby glade, leaving the nomads to split into smaller groups and set about preparing food and building shelters for the evening.

Several days later, when the whole White One rose triumphant, trailing a cascade of shimmering brightness, the tribe came as one to the place of Gathering. On a slight mound in this vast open space, they found eight of their elders seated in a circle which enclosed a ninth in the very centre. Each of the eight sat three paces from the central figure, facing his opposing partner. Relying heavily on his walking staff, the tenth elder appeared frail and in poor health as he slowly paced the outer edge.

The Grounding

The great tribe settled in hushed awe on the uneven ground around small fires that echoed the sparkles of the vast darkness domed above them. With a clear, resonant voice, the tenth elder began to speak as he continued his slow pace around the circle.

"Here, where I walk, we have the ground. It is on this ground we will live and move from this time forward." To accentuate his point, the old man ceased his pacing, and raising his staff parallel to the ground at shoulder height, turned a full circle to indicate the area they would inhabit. "As far as you can see in any direction is where we will live. This is our home for all time to come. When the new day arrives, be sure to look well. Be sure you see far and hear the sounds that describe it. Smell the land; learn to know it without eyes; feel the ground and know its mind. Is it fine — will it scatter? Where...