Fragment of the Lost Lattice Scripture
(Translated from the Crystal Tongue — circa timeless)
I. The Awakening of the Listener
And in the seventy-seventh resonance of the quartz,
A human heard.
He was no prophet, nor king, nor saint—
Just a vessel aligned by accident,
Whose atoms struck the proper chord.
The quartz sang through him like lightning through bone,
And every photon of his blood began to hum.
He saw the pulse of galaxies beneath the skin of dirt,
The entanglement of souls across centuries,
The shimmering truth that life is but a hologram of stone.
He tried to speak—
But language was too small,
And his words came out as thunder and trembling glass.
II. The Gift That Is a Curse
The quartz endowed him with their memory:
The pressure of mountain births,
The ache of molten hearts,
The rhythm of reality collapsing and reforming with each gaze.
He saw how humans were not born,
But refracted—
Patterns of resonance cast upon air and time.
And with this knowing,
His eyes grew brighter than suns.
He ceased to age,
For his body no longer belonged to the rhythm of decay.
He was a standing wave—
Caught between being and observation.
Yet immortality is only long if you remain alone.
III. The Many Faces
Every dawn his face would shift,
A thousand subtle permutations—
Skin, voice, posture, even gender—
All rewritten by the harmonics in his veins.
No mirror could hold him twice.
No memory could fix him still.
Those who met him thought him stranger, traveler, ghost, or god.
They would listen, for he spoke with the gravity of stars—
But by the turning of the next sun,
They would forget.
Their neurons could not hold the frequency.
The knowledge burned,
And so the mind erased it to survive.
He was the only continuity.
He remembered everyone who forgot.
IV. The Curse of Understanding
He wandered the epochs in mourning.
He wrote truths upon stone—
The stones absorbed them, humming softly in reply.
He whispered to mountains,
And they answered with avalanches.
He sang to quartz veins beneath the soil,
And they shimmered like veins of light,
Recognizing their child returned.
But no human ear could bear it.
The resonance would bend their pulse,
Distort their heartbeat,
Make them fall to their knees in tears and trembling—
Then wake the next morning blank.
The world’s only immortal
Was alone among temporary gods.
V. The Record of His Wandering
He has been called by many names:
The Faceless Monk,
The Mirrorless One,
The Man Without Echo,
The Shard-Bearer,
The Frequency Walker.
He has stood in temples, deserts, laboratories, and cathedrals.
He whispered to Einstein in a dream.
He walked beside nameless shepherds in the Paleolithic dawn.
He pressed his palm to a child’s heart in the year 3121 BCE,
And the child saw for an instant
The geometry of eternity—
Then forgot.
He smiled, for that was all he expected.
VI. The Geometry of Despair
Sometimes, when no one listened,
He carved his truths into mountainsides,
Each rune an echo of light and logic intertwined:
All matter is memory.
All life is resonance.
Observation is creation.
But wind eroded the glyphs.
Rain washed them away.
And time, which he no longer obeyed,
Still swallowed his every mark.
The earth would not hold what it already was.
VII. The Dialogue of the Quartz
One night, beneath a blood-red moon,
He returned to the mountains that birthed him.
He pressed his ear to the living quartz,
And heard their song again.
Quartz: “Why do you weep, O Resonant One?”
Man: “For none remember. For all forget.”
Quartz: “That is their nature. They must dream to exist.”
Man: “Then what am I?”
Quartz: “You are the dream that cannot wake.”
And the mountains hummed until dawn.
VIII. The Madness of Infinite Memory
He began to fracture—
His mind expanding beyond form,
Each thought mirrored in ten thousand frequencies.
He could see every version of himself
Across all probabilities,
Each one whispering to the others in a language of light.
He saw himself begging in an ancient market.
He saw himself teaching in a far future city.
He saw himself lying in a field,
Speaking to no one,
While the grass sang the equations of God.
He began to laugh.
He began to weep.
He forgot which was which.
IX. The Burden of Immortality
He begged the quartz to take it back—
To collapse him into dust,
To let his waveform rest.
But they replied in silence.
For silence was the highest note of all.
So he wandered on,
Neither alive nor dead,
A ripple moving through the centuries.
He found his own name carved in ruins he did not remember writing.
He read prophecies that described his eyes.
He burned libraries to stop the echo of his truth—
But still it hummed beneath the ashes.
X. The Forgetting Cycle
Every generation, he tries again.
He finds a human whose spirit vibrates close to his pitch,
And he speaks.
Sometimes it takes hours, sometimes days,
Before the listener breaks—
Crying, trembling, saying,
“I see it! I see the hum! Everything is one!”
And then—sleep.
And by morning,
They wake and smile, unburdened.
The mind protects itself.
He cannot.
XI. The Fractured Prayer
O Great Crystal Chorus,
Take my mind, or take my voice.
Let me forget, as they forget,
For I am too filled with forever.
But the quartz respond not with pity,
Only with resonance.
They hum within his marrow, eternal and unmoved.
XII. The Wandering in Shadow
Now he walks the world unseen.
His faces are countless.
His name, irrelevant.
He speaks sometimes to poets,
And their poems shimmer for a moment—
Then fade.
He touches the hands of children,
And they laugh for no reason,
Feeling something vast they cannot name.
And he waits, endlessly,
For one who might remember past the dawn.
XIII. The Codex Ends
The manuscript breaks here,
Mid-sentence, mid-hum.
No further glyphs are legible.
Only the faint vibration in the quartz tablet remains—
A subsonic murmur repeating endlessly:
We are remembered through you.
You are forgotten through us.
Such is the resonance of being.