Omaria | part one: the encounter

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1. SINNE'S WORLDS

Sinne has witnessed the Great War play out practically in her own backyard, but what has it really accomplished? No freedom, not for her. Not for the people she cares about, and she doesn't even believe it has for the opponent, if such a thing as an opponent even exists. She sees intense division everywhere: in politics, on the streets, within the families around her. Usually, it results in loss, especially the loss of an open mind and inner freedom.

There's so much resistance, so much frustration and rage, that it's incomprehensible that the war ever ended. Sinne feels that a mere veil has been laid over the whole conflict, and that the battle, in fact, is still in full swing, which was already the case before the war. The struggle behind the scenes, the invisible blows being dealt, can't be traced back to the war and causes all the more damage. Especially because the enemy remains invisible, and many don't even realize they're still under attack. Sinne does realize it and rightfully wonders why this battle is taking place... and what it's really about.

***

In the night when Sinne makes her journey, she wakes up on Omaria, a place where everything flows together, a mirror of Sinne's longing for a world without the rigid borders of the camp. Colors, lines, forms and her own thoughts and stories all flow together there, freed from the limitations that suffocate her in the camp. Nothing has a fixed form. Everything is in a constant, fluid state of change. It's intense and confusing, but strangely reassuring too. Because it's obviously the case, you can count on it. You're traveling through ever-varying landscapes, and this isn't just about the outer world; the traveler's inner world moves along on this wave. Thoughts and emotions give shape to what you see around you. It's a place where the logic of the waking world dissolves, and where Sinne feels at home in the confusing, albeit liberating, stream of the impossible. Intuitively, she knew she would need a suitable mode of transport here.

Sinne has never been afraid to use her intuition as a compass, while others mainly follow their heads. She has cleared her mind enough to understand that it's important for a vehicle here to adapt to the constant transitions that are so natural to this place. Her vessel has already absorbed the change; in a sense, it is the change. She can hoist the sails, and once they fill, they barely know the difference between up and down, water and air, day and night. It makes no difference to them; nothing needs to be defined for them to still propel forward with precision and carry her to the next surprising moment.

The impressive, beautiful, curved ship carries her ever further, to places she could never reach on her own. She herself gave birth to this vessel, though she could never bring another into being the same way. She's never held any tools for it; like everything in this world, it has sprouted from pure attention, love, and trust. Simply nothing more was needed. She'll never encounter the same ship anywhere else, because like a fingerprint, it's personal and unique. She and the ship are one, connected to each other in this world. It brings her to her freedom, through turbulent waters or across calm seas.

Any seven-year-old boy would scream with delight at the idea that the ship can detach itself from the water and rise up to the cloud deck or even higher. With all the ease in the world, the ship maneuvers by following its captain's thoughts. Sinne has now mastered the tricks and navigates Omaria as if she's merged with everything. Though 'sailing' is no longer the term that aptly expresses the movement she makes with her ship—it's more like continuously elevating, ascending to higher spheres.

***

The opposite is the case in the camp, both during and after the Great War. Devaluation is the word that Sinne feels best captures what she sees as she observes the movements of the people around her. No matter how civilized the original idea here may have been, or how intelligently it was conceived and eloquently expressed, in Sinne's mind it always comes down to the degradation of the greatest good: love with and for one another. People seem only capable of letting it go now, because it’s so difficult to grasp that anyone is still loved after everything they've been through. It's an understandable state of mind, and even Sinne isn't spared from it. The hopeless attitude adopted by many amplifies this despair, which then overwhelms her. The ease with which people shrug their shoulders and dismiss another's affection as mere coincidence or a way to get something done clearly shows how things have been 'devalued'. Again, Sinne feels how perfectly the word fits these circumstances and their surroundings. That she regularly takes flight to Omaria should come as no surprise. Sometimes you have to escape from what can only be described as survival.

***

Sinne has elevated traveling to a true art form. It demands more from you than just the wish to escape. It requires empathy, the ability to dream grandly, and not to be too bound by a sense of reality. It takes humor and a certain lightness; it demands grand gestures and courage. And that certainly doesn't say it all, but it's a beautiful beginning.

While Sinne lets out the sheet to take some speed from the sails, she wonders how she ever ended up on Omaria. It feels as if she has always been there, like a memory she can't quite remember. Perhaps it's a gift, perhaps an escape, but in her view, it's proof that there's more between heaven and earth than what we can see with the naked eye. It was given to her; that's how she feels it. And for her, that's the indelible proof of a higher power. Nothing and no one can shake her from this conviction anymore, and even the aftermath of the Great War cannot take away her rock-solid faith in the adventurous life, transcendent love, and illuminating light. She calls this trinity the Triad. 'God' would have been a fine word for it as well.

Sinne takes a dive and sees the sunlight appear both above and below her, as if she's being swallowed by it. She discovers how easily she can change the tempo. Sinne cannot go back on her timeline; that's crystal clear. The change she undergoes is permanent, but she holds the tempo in her own hands. This gives her the ability to experience certain moments with extreme detail, while others pass in a flash.

She always had this very individual sense of time, but now she has a grip on it. She can physically inhabit the moment by slowing down, so that every second stretches into minutes, or she can let it pass by speeding up, causing hours to fly by like seconds. There seems to be a choice, yet it also happens naturally. Funnily enough, that's the case with much of Omaria. It does require a certain mindset. Desperately clinging to a situation won't work here. It's like bathing in an ocean of surrender. That is the only possible way of operating, and its outcome is freedom, every single time.

Around her, Omaria seems to answer her wonder. The light falling through the clouds takes on a golden glow, shimmering in patterns that appear to follow her movements. When she slows time, the sunbeams trace languid paths through the air, like extensions of her own will. She can see the individual particles of light dancing, splashing up like minuscule golden sparks. The wind caresses her face at precisely the right strength, as if breathing in sync with her excitement. It's a silent dialogue between her and this world, a dance in which both partners anticipate each other's movements.

Sinne gladly gives in to this. She surrenders, moving effortlessly through this fascinating and unsettling world. It’s as if she knew from the very beginning how things work here. She remembers it, without making it concrete.

“Because that's utterly pointless on Omaria!” making things concrete, that is. It's a pure waste of time. ('Who am I?' I see you thinking. But rest assured, I'll come back to this later. This isn't so important right now. Let's stay with Sinne for a moment.)

***

Back from her nocturnal journey to Omaria, she lies on her bed in the camp the next morning, pondering with more questions than answers. That's what this world does to her. It has so much weight that you can't help but feel it pressing down on you. She sees it everywhere around her. People can barely move forward, as if they have lead in their shoes. Fortunately, Sinne has Omaria to alternately feel lighter, allowing her to bear the weight here again for a while.

Then Tonio, her neighbor boy, enters. He looks at her with red, swollen eyes and an empty, dull gaze that reveals nothing. Sinne sits up and feels the cold creeping up through her body. Grief overwhelms her so suddenly that she can only bring her hand to her mouth, unable to voice the question. It hangs unspoken in the room. Things were going so badly with Tonio's mother that this is almost a relief, yet it isn't. Death is a paradox.

Tonio is ten years old, but his eyes carry the weight of someone much older. Earlier this week, his mother had been completely beaten down by a merciless inspector because she hadn't followed the safety regulations. She had a good reason for it, but this conscienceless man didn't care. It's so intensely hot and dry in the camp. Clean water is nowhere to be found, so she sought it outside the camp's borders. The boy and the neighbors' little ones were suffering from dehydration. What else could she do? She paid an unbearable price for it.

'Zero tolerance' they call it, because otherwise the massive number of people would be impossible to control. With tears in her eyes, Sinne wonders whether an uprising wouldn't be preferable to this misery and poverty. One restriction after another, and absolutely no transparency. Why are they so strict and must the regulations be so rigid?

Tonio walks like a zombie to Sinne's bed and collapses onto it. He cries silent tears, after so many have already flowed from him. His two little sisters died of hunger and thirst a few years ago. His father fell in the Great War, and now he doesn't even have his mother anymore.

Sinne is grateful that Tonio can still cry, for most people here are empty shells, emotionless. It demands too much of them. She strokes his skinny back and promises herself she'll do everything to protect him, just as Tonio's mother always did. She was the mother of mothers, who watched over the neighborhood's little ones with as much devotion as she did her own son. Secretly, she also kept an eye on Sinne, though Sinne didn't want to admit she still needed that. This woman's caring questions were like a warm blanket on cold days. She could nestle into them and feel safe. Now that he's lost the most important person in his life too, Sinne wants more than ever to take him to Omaria, so she might see a smile on his face again. She would give so much for that. For now, silent comfort is all she can offer him.

The very next day, the cremation of Tonio's mother takes place on the large pyre, along with two other unknowns who died the day before. A small ceremony is held out of some sense of duty from the administration. But one can hardly speak of a dignified farewell. The minister's words sound hollow and lack meaning, and the faces of the bystanders are expressionless.

Sinne stands beside Tonio, holding his hand. More children stand around them. She hopes those two other adults being cremated aren't these children's parents. The children look like lost sheep and will most likely be placed in the orphanage, where all young orphans are taken.

At ten years old, Tonio is just old enough to be given a choice. He chooses a life in the camp with Sinne, and that lightens her heart in the midst of this great sorrow.

***

As soon as she pulls in her sheet, the rope that controls the sail, she feels the ship she's christened 'the Ascension' lifting. On Omaria, that doesn't mean closer to the wind, but closer to the clouds. A wave of euphoria washes over her, and she lets it roll through her with a cry of enthusiasm. The cloud deck trembles slightly. A soft echo of her excitement ripples through Omaria. The fact that she gets to steer her own boat here, and that it has so many possibilities, is a greater gift than she could ever have wished for.

Now she wants to figure out how to take Tonio aboard. She wishes him this view and such a flight through the cloud deck. Then he could enjoy, like her, the breathtaking, colored birds performing impossibly beautiful tricks in the air. Are they doing this to put on a show? A peculiar light-blue bird seems to challenge her and makes a small, almost casual turn in her direction. In the blink of an eye, Sinne has made her first loop with the Ascension! Incredible! That she can do this? It seems she only needs to 'will' it and then it happens.

During the loop, she also manages to stretch time while everything hangs upside down, without falling. How is this possible? There she floats in a strange slow motion, giving her more time to properly study the clouds around her. The moment extends, as if time itself notices her curiosity. It becomes clear to her that the clouds are small islands in the air with peculiar, abstract, transparent inhabitants. Each cloud is a cluster of small bubbles containing this life. Magical, Sinne finds it. The clusters appear to be organized. The bubbles are connected to each other in a certain way. Even now that she has a moment, this is unfortunately still not enough to discover how the clusters are categorized and, more importantly, why.

“Yet another interesting riddle,” Sinne thinks, utterly amused. She steers the Ascension toward a particular cluster that has formed into a sleeping dog with large ears. She used to love staring upward as a child, fascinated by the figures that spontaneously emerged in the beautiful, soft, white cotton balls above her.

She wishes to linger there longer, to experience this moment stretched out, and her wish is unmistakably granted. Time stretches itself, gifting her long, full minutes in which she gets the chance to approach and touch a floating bubble.

Like a soap bubble, it bursts at her touch, and the thought that dwelt within it flows seamlessly into her consciousness. A strange sense of connection floods over her; for a brief moment, she feels herself ruler of the flying creatures, as if she's become their queen through this simple contact.

The sensation soon dissipates, but its echo lingers like a subtle scent. “Flying creatures?” she murmurs aloud. “Birds!” She chuckles inwardly at herself, finding herself odd for this obvious discovery.

She lets the ship slowly descend again and gives it more speed. Time resumes its normal course, begins to contract, and before she fully realizes it, her beautiful boat is bobbing again at the dock in the small harbor, expertly moored.

Disembarking always hurts a little, a farewell to the unbounded possibilities that Omaria offers her.

***

Tonio looks at her with big, astonished eyes. "What do you mean, Sinne?"

Sinne has to laugh at the look on his face. As if she had asked him to put his underwear on his head. As that image appears in her thoughts, she bursts out laughing.

Tonio doesn't find it funny. He feels mocked. "You're being weird today, Sinne!" he shouts, and runs off into the camp between various tents, without looking back.

Sinne bites her lip, afraid he now feels she doesn't take him seriously. Which she does! She takes him and his budding fantasy world seriously. Only he himself doesn't!

So far, she's had trouble finding a way for Tonio to enter Omaria. She suspects it's because he doesn't dare to dream. The weight of camp life has damaged his capacity for surrender, that essential state between waking and dreaming that Omaria requires.

Of course he doesn't understand what she wants from him. She's being vague and evasive about it, because she can't tell him about Omaria in so many words. He'd declare her crazy! So she thought she could steer him subtly, to stimulate his imagination. The chance of a shared journey would then be greater.

But no. He finds her weird! And rightly so. She finds herself weird too, and her half-baked plan even more so. In the camp, her ideas about Omaria feel like leaden foolishness, while on Omaria they're so light and self-evident.

Sinne has the impression that traveling comes easily to her because she can completely lose herself in her rich imagination. Her mother used to worry sometimes that she always had her head in the clouds and assumed it would wear off with the years. But it certainly hasn't. Her inner universe has only grown larger.

Sinne has always taken the dream world seriously. The surreal world she found herself in at night gave her food for thought during the day. She could always distill something from it that gave her a handle on life in the factual world. Even during the day, she could take long, extensive walks in her daydreams and even get lost in them if she wasn't careful.

For her, the dream realm is fascinating, and she has wondered more than once which world she'd prefer, if a choice were possible. How do people actually know when they're dreaming and when they're awake? Sometimes for Sinne, the 'waking world' doesn't feel awake at all. Everything here seems melancholic, flattened, mundane, rather banal even, and downright boring!

Sinne wonders who said you have to get up early every day to then go to school with all the other youngsters your age? Who determines that and why? And why do we all do the same thing? We live in little houses; we go to school, work, have a few hobbies, do sports, eat, piss, shit, sleep... There are only a few variations on this theme, and how strange is that?!

There are also only a few people who dare to do it differently, and they are usually not taken seriously or are even considered dangerous. At this moment, one would wish that work, school, hobbies, sports... even eating could be a natural part of the day. The days have become even more boring if possible, but the 'survival' of now is, according to Sinne, merely the stripped-down version of what they did before.

"Was the earlier life indeed uplifting, as some claim? Perhaps in contact with others; there's something beautiful to be found there, but the environment has always been uninspiring." That's how Sinne sees it, and this very attitude is what led her to find the way to Omaria. At least, that's her conviction. Her irrepressible desire for an adventurous life, one of the elements of the trinity, simply cannot be stopped!

If only Tonio could form an image in his head of his ideal vehicle, then he too would have taken a step toward more adventure in his life. How hard can it be? But she knows, deep down, he doesn't view the world the way she does. She rocks back and forth, feeling somewhat guilty. She shouldn't have put so much pressure on him. For him, her plan is insignificant, especially after losing his mother. Patience.

***

The next day, after eating some crumbs that unfortunately couldn't fill their bellies, Sinne takes out her diary and tears out some blank pages. She does this with a heavy heart, admittedly, because paper is scarce here and she needs it more than anything to regularly write her thoughts away. But for her, there are more important matters.

She has taken it upon herself to make Tonio a participant in Omaria, so she'll have to do everything to make this possible. She behaves semi-nonchalantly, hoping he won't notice how important this is to her. She sits down with the paper at the small box that serves as their table, and begins to draw while humming.

She draws the Ascension, though it's difficult for her to capture something so fluid and changeable in fixed lines. The essence of the ship doesn't let itself be caught on paper so easily—how do you draw something that follows thoughts, that changes with its captain's mood?

"What are you doing?" Tonio finally asks.

"Just felt like drawing. I used to draw a lot and it's fun to do."

"What are you drawing then?" The boy leans forward to get a better look.

"Whatever comes to mind. I usually just start and see where I end up."

He nods, as if he understands. "It looks like a ship," he says quietly. "Is it a ship?"

"Also," Sinne says without looking up.

He follows every line she puts on the paper closely, until Sinne suddenly stands up. "I really need to go, be right back!" and she disappears.

Tonio pulls the drawing toward him and is confused. It looks like a ship, but then again, it doesn't. Sinne really can't draw, he thinks without malice and with a grin on his face. A vague memory surfaces: his own drawings from before, the pride he felt when his father admired them. Before he fully realizes it, he takes a paper and begins making lines with Sinne's pencil.

First a rough outline, but soon a certain line begins to emerge. He sees a form appearing, unintended but beautiful, he thinks. He sharpens some lines and then nods, satisfied. He had always loved to draw. His father, when he was still alive, often said something along the lines of: “Beautiful, son, but unfortunately it won't put bread on the table.” Tonio felt discouraged by this, despite the compliment. In the fields, he proved to have two left hands. With digging potatoes, for instance, he wasn't handy at all, and at least with that they could scrape together some food.

Why did he have to excel at something useless? That's how he'd built his own discouragement policy, without realizing it. One day the pencils disappeared into the cupboard and never came out again.

Sinne appears again in the opening, taking the light from the room with her. He looks up. He's been far away, lost in thought, and has meanwhile finished his drawing. Now he looks at it again and is surprised by what he sees before him. He's drawn a rocket, and yet not. Are those the engines? It's as if his hand had a will of its own.

He wants to push it away like a crumpled ball, but Sinne rushes toward it and lets out a sigh of relief. Excitedly, she exclaims: “How beautiful this is, Tonio! Really, magnificent! You're a true artist! Will you tell me the story of your drawing when you're ready? Even if it keeps changing?”

Tonio has to laugh at her exuberance. What a good friend he has in her, even if she is quite crazy! The nice kind of crazy, he's decided. The kind of crazy who regularly pulls him from his grief. The kind of crazy who gives him hope for something better. The kind of crazy that few others here seem to have, who just trudge gloomily through the camp with their shoulders hanging, as if an invisible weight pulls them down. With Sinne, at least there's still something to experience.

“He would soon enough discover how much he'd get to experience with her. It's going to be a bumpy ride…”