2) Sanbrekka, day 44.

Day 44,

Maybe I’ve found the truth.

The unnameable truth.

I'm dead.

It is a strong statement; I am aware of it.

But it must be like that. During the terrible storm, I was dragged into the abyss, and now I'm facing a mystical experience, waiting to burn out.

In reality, this is not a true certainty, but, at the moment, it is the only possible solution for this absurd enigma.

This incredible place must be a sort of purgatory for my soul, while my body continues to sink into the dark abyss.

Where did this truth come from?

From the lighthouse.

The lighthouse is impossible.

The lighthouse is a drug.

Its light is absurd and undoubtedly alive.

Since I went there, it’s been calling me.

Incessantly.

Maybe it's better to take a step back: Yesterday, taken by a pure adventurer’s spirit, like the ones of Ulysses or Marco Polo, I decided to go to the lighthouse to investigate who or what had ignited it.

The complex, monumentality of this absurd work cannot be understood from the village; only after having traveled the long and tortuous path - which from the village, skirted a large portion of cliff up to the lighthouse - can someone understand. It was submerged in powdery snow and dotted here and there with thin saplings which looked almost as if they were walking.

At the end of the path, the lighthouse looked like a huge boulder on the edge of the cliff, overhanging the sea. So unstably poised, yet so immutable and scornful of the place, almost as if it were supported by some universal force that had established this place as its last eternal dwelling.

The boulder was completely surrounded by scaffolding and wooden platforms that had a haphazard and rickety look, and here and there, you could see various tunnels and stairways carved out of bare stone.

However, once I stepped onto it, the scaffolding turned out to be surprisingly solid and did not seem to have suffered the bad weather of all the years past; the pulleys waved like kites in the snowstorm but appeared to be intact, as if they had been used only yesterday. The strong wind whistled furiously through the tunnels and beat the balustrades, creating grim laments.

I was assailed by a tremendous sense of oppression and emptiness, caused by those sounds, while I crossed the scaffolding. An anguish so strong and deep it made my knees tremble.

But I tried to force myself to go on, and I continued my exploration.

I had to know.

I had to understand why that light, at some times, is rekindled with the strength of a sun and follows me for a few moments, almost as if it were keeping an eye on me, while at other times it seems to be weak and dying.

Once I reached the top, I found myself in front of the huge tree with the scarlet leaves. The snow was falling very thick, and it caused small avalanches from its branches. The plant had a trunk covered with small pearls that looked like frozen tears made of a pearly and shiny resin. After a closer look, I noticed that the trunk was completely carved with motifs that resembled a dance of dragons, now faded by the growth of the plant, but which must have required hours and hours of work.

I nicknamed him the Weeping Tree.

After passing the impressive plant and its shelter from the storm, I reached a complex of solid round buildings each with numerous small, unlit windows and a massive door inlaid with sinuous motifs.

I felt really intimidated about entering those ancient buildings.

It seemed like nobody had been around for decades.

The question that had led me there became more and more pressing: Who had activated the lighthouse? Especially since that place seemed so deserted.

I entered in religious silence. It was very dark. The interior was a huge room of two floors, with columns and balustrades richly carved with Nordic floral motifs. On the first floor, there was an extinguished fireplace in the center of the bare stone, surrounded by a wooden platform with seats covered with worn fur. Near the walls, there were rough wooden planks, and at the bottom, there was a staircase that led to the second floor. On the second floor, you could see the door that must lead to the terrace of the lighthouse I had seen from the boat. Here and there in the dim light, I could see heavy shelves, but I could not see what they contained.

I closed the door to prevent the snow from entering and damaging this time capsule and quickly crossed the hall to the stairs.

When I opened the second door, I was overwhelmed.

From the terrace, the world had new colors.

I cannot explain it, but it was like that.

Everything seemed to dance, everything resounded, everything shone.

Everything was in harmony.

And I was in harmony with everything.

Suddenly, the cold and tiredness disappeared.

The anguish and pain I carried inside vanished.

All my doubts and fears melted away.

I was back in the sunny valley under the shady tree with the lazy river flowing quietly.

The light that shone inside the lantern bewitched me with its light play and fantastic movements.

I felt like I was under the effect of hallucinogens.

But it was fine with me. For the first time, I was at peace.

For the first time, I felt as light as the feathers of a hummingbird.

And step by step, the light attracted me as if I were a moth.

I wanted that moment to last forever.

I wanted to follow the light.

I wanted to enter the light.

And then I slipped.

The world came back grey, and I came back to myself.

And the light suddenly became furious, burning and screaming. It wanted me. It coveted me.

I started running. I ran out of the building, ran away from the boulder, ran away from the village, into the shelter of the boat and buried myself under my bunk.

From a dream everything had become a nightmare.

The world had suddenly filled with demons.

I cried for hours, until I lost consciousness.

I cannot bear this suffering anymore.

Maybe I'm about to die.

Maybe it's better this way.

Maybe I will find you there waiting for me.

Wait for me,

I'm coming.