Harmony is crouched, fingers clenched tightly to the cold metallic rim of the observation port. She is completely transfixed by what she’s seeing. She snatches a passing thought, ‘What is happening right now is not as simple as seeing, this is more akin to witnessing.’ And what she’s witnessing, is so far outside the realm of her previous experience, that she can only relate to it as being too far out there, way beyond the border of any run of the mill spiritual revelation. Harmony’s eyes are most certainly sending signals to her brain, but her brain seems to be rejecting those signals, one after the other, and without exception. She feels as though her mind is stuttering. Her brain is refusing to generate a coherent description of the visual information as it is being received. Her mind feels overwhelmed, overtaxed, overheated. Harmony fires out a desperate prayer that she won’t pass out. And then… She does.
Total blackness, and then, two pinpoints of light. They’re polychromatic and they appear to be at arm’s length. Or they could be miles away, like automobile headlights on a dark horizon. The lights don’t seem to be getting closer though, instead they are spreading outward, and fast. The pinpoints become dots and the dots become disks, the disks expand until they collide, integrate, and wash over her field of vision. And all at once, as if she had never lost consciousness, Harmony finds herself crouched, in the same position she had been, her white-knuckled hands, aching, her wide-open eyes still mesmerized by the dazzling light show before her. The waves of spectral color seem to be infiltrating, melding with, and extricating themselves from the molecular matter of the ceramic-clad surface on the inside of the energy containment tank. Almost as if the entire inner lining of the tank is one enormous cuttlefish. Harmony has looked through the viewport on this tank thousands of times over the past five years, always hoping to see some sign of success; some indication of stored energy. She suddenly realizes that she might have given up hope for success long ago, just as many of her friends, and most of her family, had given up on her. What she was now witnessing, was so much more than redemption, so much more than success. It was utterly miraculous!
Author’s note: As an integral part of the “True Story, as Yet Unfolding…”, the previous scene should be considered fictional creative writing. It is but one element of the continuous documentary we will be producing through the Alt Unity. While we should consider it fiction for now, I have an uncanny feeling that it may migrate to the factual side once the Grand Providentia Projection is underway.