Chronicles From The Future: The amazing story of Paul Amadeus Dienach

“Tomorrow afternoon we’ll go down to the Valley,” Stefan told me before he left. “Did I tell you it was tomorrow afternoon? It’s important. You have to prepare the troje, the formal piece of clothing designed for the occasion, but that should be the least of your worries. Above all, prepare your heart! Take a retrospective look at your life and pray from your heart. You’re one of us now. Just make sure that your thoughts are pure. Everybody is praying these days. You should pray too; for mother earth, for the institutions, for our dead, for the final deliverance from barbarism, for the end of prehistory.”

I’m sitting on the terrace with Silvia, waiting to hear the bells. Stefan told me that it’s been a week now since the regular, morning bell-tolling started from the spires of the Unsung Martyrs. These days are known as the twelve days of prayer before the memorial service. Silvia is sitting next to me holding my arm. “Sometimes, our inner being is in need of a gentle sense of solitude and tranquillity, accompanied by a caring and loving presence, away from the bustle of the world, an isolation that serves as a sign of respect and appreciation for all these beloved places ...” she whispered.

I told her that I honestly couldn’t agree more and squeezed her hand warmly when the first bells rang. There is something about these sounds that reminded me of Christianity even though their intensity and aesthetic value is greatly enhanced.

With eyes closed and both palms pressing her temples, Sylvia listened in silence, lost in her thoughts and focused on her prayer. “Oh, let me hear the bells,” she had said shortly before, when I tried to express my excitement in a few words.

We shouldn’t be talking here. After the holy bell-tolling, Stefan told me that no one, in no other circumstance and nowhere else in the world, could ever hear a melody as divine as the one that comes out of the spires of the Martyrs. It's incredible that it has no match around the globe.

AN AMAZING RESEMBLANCE

In the afternoon we are scheduled to descend to the Rosernes Dal. And this is the day and time you chose to visit me Anna? And in this way?

On June 29, 1906, while we were lying on the grass of the small, joyful valley of our homeland, dreaming about our future together, you told me verbatim: “How thirsty the human soul is for solitude sometimes! How thirsty for a sense of peace, for a view like this, alongside your loved one…” I remember that five days later I was leaving for Rome. Oh, my dear Anna, you deserve all the happiness of the world, wherever you are…I used to say that the purpose of my life was to protect you and guard you from all evil. On July 8, I had similar thoughts in Piazzale Napoleone at sunset, on the long terrace of Valanie overlooking west Rome. “We should see this together,” I had told her.

In the summers of 1913 and 1914, just before the Great War, when my life had already taken a downward spiral, I went back to that part of the south, to that same terrace of the French architect.

Oh my! The case is so similar… Of course, Silvia hasn’t got the slightest idea about that since I’m being fanatically cautious, hiding it very well from all three of them; Silvia, Stefan and Jaeger. Does my destiny have any more surprises in store for me? My soul bows before this miracle that managed to annihilate the abyss of memory and time. 13-VII Again

(Quite a while later)

I think that what made my love with Anna so divine wasn’t the intensity of the erotic passion, but the quality of our emotions. What we lived has become “holy” precisely because it was so pure and kind, a genuine reflection of what today is called the Samith. And that’s why the possibility of our love was not extinguished by physical death. Time failed to erase it…

DOWN TO THE VALLEY

Sightseeing in the city14-VII

(2 a.m.)

From five p.m. to midnight I spent my time with Stefan, going from terrace to terrace, ascending and descending their famous and fantastic elevatores, a kind of public lift we would call them, and using all their new vindebros—bridges designed for mild hiking—without the slightest effort, among countless thousands of late-nighters, like us, pilgrims all dressed in formal, mandatory uniform of the Valley. Stefan was striving to explain to me, in the best possible way, everything that we saw in the oldest part of the sacred state.

Unlike in Norfor and the other cities we’ve visited, I never felt the need to lean on Stefan while in the Valley. You can never feel lost or terrified here. The river and surrounding villages always give you a clear sense of direction. The feelings of indisposition, helplessness or hesitation that I’ve experienced elsewhere do not apply to this place.