Niko’s Eye

Chapter 58.

Isis.

My life is becoming a cliche. I’m glad to have gotten over all the grubby stuff, but now I’m ready to have some excitement here. I still can’t help get over the anxiety about Aisha, but now that she’s back behind bars, I feel a bit better. My grandmother has been a bit scarce but I think I can understand why. Zainab is lesbian. Always has been. She just didn’t know it. But I think that’s pretty interesting, seeing that she never really liked playing with girls, when she was younger. How we became friends, still beats me. Alex, sigh. He’s the most precious aspect of my existence.

She sat in her car, waiting for her next lecture.

She flipped through her Biology textbook and read over the highlighted texts.

Isis had been preparing for a test that week, and she was so glad that Alejandro had helped her to take her mind off of school for a little while because then she would’ve lost her marbles.

A levels and other examinations were always unfair, yet perhaps it took a pandemic to see it. You can be amazingly clever, but if you’re disadvantaged then there is a high chance that you’ll have issues with stress deregulation in your body. What that means is, that for your body, an increase in stress will defocus your brain and hinder exam performance. For a student who lives with more affluence, there is a good chance (yet not a guarantee) that their stress response is well regulated and in exam conditions their brain achieves a higher level of focus. So, maybe the government didn’t do such a bad job of their algorithm (though there are heart-breaking stories out there for sure that need correcting), maybe it’s actually evidence that unfairness has been "baked into the cake" for generations. Perhaps that’s the "big lesson" the government needs to ace.

"When the exams come, remember that revision is a response, anxiety is a reaction. The more you respond rather than react, the better your results will be." Isis said, breathing out.

When the exam comes closer I’m all of a tingle. My body is reacting like there’s a gorilla about to beat the crap out of me instead of being faced with a sheet of biology questions. In the cool of the classroom I can ace this stuff, I know I can. I drink it in, horror though it is for the most part - who conquered who, who killed who, people who rose to power and abused it – fascinating stuff. But my body is preparing for a marathon instead of sitting still for a couple of hours. I’m going to sit on that plastic chair while my brain fights the urge to walk -no run like hell - out the door. I won’t though, I’ll sit and write the test, but when my mind is in full on freak-out mode it’s hard to recall the details.

Isis rocked back and forth on the plastic chair, not noticing how small it was for her buttocks. There was a time she fitted it perfectly, not anymore. When her eyes flitted to the small window to the examination room they left again just as quickly. How was an ordinary door so hard to look at? It made no sense. In there was a desk, a paper, a pencil and a bunch of other obnoxious kids. In two hours time her fate was sealed one way or the other. She choked down the rising bile and consciously flexed her hand, feeling at last the pain of her nails digging into her palm. When the school bell punctured the near silence she almost bit her tongue in two. She rose, oblivious to the bleach tinctured air and rested her fingers on the cool metal of the door handle.

Heart-led intelligence will beat greed-fuelled intelligence every time. For the greedy will stop when to continue fails to serve their own limited interests, yet the heart-led acts on behalf of all and thus is braver in the face of personal danger. Thus everyone whom is truly heart-led, who loves without frontiers, has access to true bravery, nobility and the ancient intuition for what love is and is not. And thus with the resurrection of love as the "supreme first principle," a future for a humane humanity is assured.

We’ll see what the results say.

She walked out of the classroom and into the parking, entering her car, she blasted her music and sped off.

Sergio.

Intellectualism is a form of power that must always be at the loving service of humanity, in service of the masses. The pen is mighty for it forms thoughts and ideology, it forms who we are and how we show up as a species. Thus when we channel our passions via our empathy, our deepest sense of love, we use our individual gifts for others. It is then the ego steps aside and lets true greatness enter. The difference is that between a gun used to murder and one used to save a community from monsters. When you are born with a power your commitment to do good must be total, you must "use the force" as a Jedi would.

Sergio parked his car outside of the massive iron gates. Pressing the buzzer, he let his identity known, before the gates opened.

The gate was open on one side, yet was so wide anything could pass. So despite their tallness and the strength of the metal, it was a simple stroll to the other side. Sergio let his hand touch the ambient metal, no longer hot from the day nor cold from the soothing effect of evening air. It was as if it could vanish, as if the atoms themselves could choose to be free, to be something new.

Walking in, he held his breath in awe.

When the dawn comes, when the light touches the land, flora responds no matter what happened before. Yet we are more complex than the simple bloom, than the plant that stretches confidently into the rays of each fresh sun. Yet after all this time waiting for gold to spill over the mountain peaks, for a new day to come, to feel real warmth once more - I find myself stretching into the direction of your sunny rays. I guess this is trust. It’s been so long that the feeling feels new. Maybe it is. I guess that’s a pretty sad comment on the state of our world, on modern culture and where it takes the human brain. Perhaps it takes this long on your periphery for that trust to come, as a shy kitten from a deep hole, unsure of what the brightness ahead promises. But I have a purpose, and you do too, one that is compatible and unique. I guess it helps that I love you, though I can’t imagine telling you so for quite some time. I guess this trust is developing as a photograph does, needing the light to come when the picture is well formed. I can see it already. I want it already. Yet I leave the timing up to the wisdom of the positive universe. If we only get one shot at this, I want the best one, and though the waiting is killing me, I’ll do it if that’s what it takes to get you and me right.

"My mind is rambling again." With that, two, huge, armed men, wearing sunglasses, approached him and asked him who he was there to see."

Just as he was about to answer, he looked up and saw him.

"Him."

The man approached him.

"This looks urgent. Kostov, Da Fonte, let him through."

Sergio and the man walked through the massive garden and walked into the house that was even much bigger.

They walked and talked.

"It seems like she wants to incriminate me into the crimes she has committed. I told you about everything she had me do for her before I found out who she was. I think she wants to use that against me."

"The conspiracy theorist would rather hold a gun than form a trusting and loving bond. They find trust more scary than bullets. Hence their irrational behaviour is rational from that warped perspective. If you can show them that society can function, that they can form trusting bonds with others they view as "different" in some way, then you have a chance to reverse some societal decay. Don’t worry, everything has been taken care of. There’s nothing she will ever do, that I did not see coming."

"And Isis?"

"Engaged to Alejandro. She’s great. Doing her second year in Med school. I know you know that."

"I’m so proud of her."

"Belvia is back. She’s good too."

"Thank you Sergio."

They wined and dined the whole night away.

Sergio thanked him and went his way. Driving back home, his heart was out to ease.

Elemental self, to level up is hard, but you did the tough bit already. You crawled the incline on limbs of blood, flesh becoming ash. Yet now you see reality. In that pain you grew strong. You are reborn a protector of heaven, a bird of flame, a phoenix, the brightest angels that can travel any darkness and shine in warmth. Dear War-Bird, fly onwards and keep going.