Twelve Seconds Too Soon: A Short Story
Twelve Seconds Too Soon
A Short Story
In a city where twilight stretched longer than the day, Elias found himself at an airport, clutching a one-way ticket. Yet, as he approached the terminal, an inexplicable force drew him to the car park instead.
There, amid rows of parked vehicles, an unmarked car caught his eye—sleek, shadowed, and waiting, as if it had been expecting him all along.
Without hesitation, Elias slid into the driver’s seat, and the car started with a soft hum. The steering wheel twitched beneath his fingers, nudging left, then right, guiding the car out of the lot and onto a road that he didn’t recognize.
The cityscape blurred by, fading into winding country roads as night wrapped its cloak around the world.
At first, Elias marveled at how the wheel turned smoothly, seemingly on its own. He let it guide them through bends and curves with an effortless grace.
But the strange sensation of not being in control unnerved him. He tightened his grip and tried to steer, wresting control from the invisible hand that guided the car.
Immediately, the car jolted, swerving as he pulled against its natural rhythm. He oversteered into a narrow curve, the wheels skidding on loose gravel, and the car lurched dangerously close to the edge of a ravine.
Elias’s heart pounded in his chest. He released the wheel, breath held, and watched as the car corrected itself, gliding smoothly back onto the center of the road.
Yet, as the landscape around him grew darker and the path narrower, Elias’s resolve weakened. Fear whispered that he could not trust this strange, unseen guide. His hands clamped back down on the wheel.
He forced the accelerator, urging the car to go faster, to reach its destination quicker, as if speed could resolve the unease gnawing at his mind.
But the car resisted his impulses. It bucked and swerved, careening through sharp turns, the tires protesting with every screech. The once-smooth journey became a frantic struggle.
Elias’s attempts to control the car made each twist and turn rougher, the ride more precarious. He ignored the chill of night air creeping through the cracked window, focused only on forcing his will upon the machine.
Eventually, through the mist and the tangled branches of ancient trees, a castle loomed into view. It rose against the moonlit sky, its spires piercing the night like the dreams of another world. The gates, heavy and iron-bound, stood ajar, as if awaiting his arrival.
Elias’s breath caught in his throat—a sense of finality and urgency gripped him.
Seeing the end in sight, he pressed down harder on the accelerator, forcing the car into a reckless charge toward the half-open gates. The steering wheel fought back, resisting his rush, but he gritted his teeth and turned sharply, pushing the car beyond its limits.
With a thunderous crash, the car smashed into the gates, splintering wood and twisting metal. Elias’s body jerked forward, restrained by the seatbelt, pain shooting through his chest. He stumbled out of the car, dazed, the world spinning around him.
As he gathered his senses, two guards materialized from the shadows of the castle, their faces hidden beneath deep hoods. Their eyes glowed faintly, reflecting the distant starlight. One of them stepped forward, his voice deep and resonant, carrying an air of ancient wisdom.
“Why did you rush, traveler?” the guard asked, his tone a blend of disappointment and pity. “Why did you force your way here?”
Elias, still clutching the car door, stammered, “I thought… I needed to be here. I thought time was running out.”
The second guard shook his head slowly, the gesture heavy with regret. “You are not late, but early—twelve seconds too early. Had you let the path guide you, you would have arrived at the precise moment the gates were meant to open.”
Elias blinked, the meaning of their words sinking slowly into his mind. He turned to look at the car, now dented and steaming from the crash, and realized that the struggle had not been with the car or the road but with himself.
The path had always been leading him here—he had only needed to trust it.
The first guard’s voice softened, cutting through Elias’s tangled thoughts. “The journey has its rhythm, one that flows with the currents of life.
Your impatience made the path rougher, your insistence turned gentle bends into sharp curves. The car knew the way, but you could not let go.”
Elias felt a wave of sorrow and relief wash over him, his shoulders slumping under the weight of realization.
The journey had been about more than just reaching the castle—it had been a lesson in surrender, in releasing the need to control every twist and turn of the road.
The guards stepped aside, and Elias, humbled, climbed back into the car. He rested his hands lightly on the wheel, feeling the gentle pulse of the engine beneath his fingers. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and released his grip.
This time, the car reversed slowly, pulling away from the broken gates, then turned itself back toward the road. Elias let it guide him, hands resting at his sides.
The path unwound beneath the wheels like a ribbon, the moon casting a pale glow over the world. He realized now that there was no need to hurry—each moment unfolded with perfect timing, each bend in the road leading him where he needed to be.
As the castle faded into the distance, Elias felt a calm settle in his chest. The fear, the urgency, the need to force the journey—all of it melted away.
He understood that there was a wisdom in the flow of the road, a guiding hand that needed no interference. He allowed himself to be carried, trusting that wherever the journey led, it would bring him there when he was ready.
For the first time, he felt the peace of surrender, the joy of simply being in the moment, without rushing to reach the next.
And as the car moved forward through the night, Elias knew that the true destination was not a place but a state of mind—a place where time and control no longer mattered, where he could trust the journey itself.
This consciousness, vast as the ocean’s depths, flows through all of humankind, binding us as one. Yet, we have severed ourselves into fragments, each imagining itself whole—an illusion, and yet, a necessary one.
For though we are but reflections cast from a billion years, shaped by time’s inexorable hand, it is through these fractured mirrors that the light of the infinite finds form.
Yes, individuality is the brushstroke, each unique, each vivid, each a voice singing its own song. Yet the canvas upon which we paint is the same, the boundless expanse of the eternal.
We are here to express, to carve our marks upon the great landscape of being, to reach for the higher knowledge and carry out the humble tasks. Both are vital, for through them, the unity finds its expression, and the infinite becomes known in the finite.
In striving, in creating, we honor the illusion of the self, yet in surrendering, we remember that all hands paint upon a single, endless canvas.
In the ancient teachings of Tantra, a profound understanding of the universe is revealed—a vision where the boundaries between the physical and spiritual dissolve, and life itself becomes a dance with the divine:
All this universe is pervaded by me in an unmanifest form. All beings exist in me, but I do not reside in them.
And yet, beings do not dwell in me—behold my divine mystery! I am the sustainer of all beings, yet I am not in them; my Self is the source of all creation.
I am beyond form, beyond mind, beyond words. I am the beginning, middle, and end of all that is.
Those who see this unending union of the physical and the spiritual, of the manifested and the unmanifested, walk the path of the mystic—knowing that the divine is neither above nor below, neither in time nor out of it.
This is the secret of Tantra: to see the whole cosmos as the dance of the divine, to unite with all forms of love and desire, to pierce the illusion of separateness, and to find liberation in the embrace of life itself.
So, dance with life. Live fully. For in every heartbeat, in every breath, the universe dances within you.
Hands of the Unseen
A wheel turns in silence, guided by air,
Unseen hands hold it, yet you grip in despair.
The car moves softly, knows the bend and the curve,
While you, with restless heart, tighten and swerve.
Life whispers, “Release, let the road unfold,”
Yet you clutch at control, in a rush to be bold.
The car is the current, the flow of the stream,
But you fear the drift, and wrestle the dream.
You press the pedal, urging haste to the gate,
But the door opens gently; you arrive before fate.
“Why rush, traveler? Why push against flow?”
You are twelve breaths too early, still much to know.
Let go, let go, and feel the wheel glide,
For life moves true when you rest by its side.
The unseen hands guide where you cannot see,
And the path becomes clear when you finally let be.
