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

It’s the fourth misty, cloudy day in a row. What can one do in this weather? No friends come to visit me anymore. I’m reading a history book. Since primary school, history has always had the power to sweep me away. I remember thinking back then that we were all born in a certain place and era out of mere coincidence. We could have easily been born in a completely different country, culture and even century, with completely different friends, occupations and sweethearts. But we wouldn’t be able to know any of the things that were to happen later, that is, now.

I’m trying to read, but I’m pushing myself. Back then I used to truly engage with what I was reading. Not anymore. Today, my loneliness has reached its deepest depth. February 8th, 1919

I started seeing the priest again. He never pressured me to talk and that eased my mind. Amelia had explained to him that I needed time. He respected that. That’s why I went. He said he liked talking to me. I did as well. The conversation with him was always very interesting. He had a positive way of thinking and clear judgment, free of prejudice and stereotypes. His mind was robust and bright.

I stared at his library. He had almost everything: from the mystics of the East and the Ionian philosophers to the modern philosophers of Western civilisation.

“I see you staring at these worthless books,” he told me as if he could read my mind. “Do not expect great things from them. I’ve read them all. I know all that’s been said by the brightest minds of all times. But I will never feel the power that true love has to raise you to the highest point of knowledge. I’ll never experience a love like that.”

He turned to me. It was the first time that he, such a discreet and considerate man, had made an allusion to Anna, albeit indirectly. He was looking to me for help, for insight. He was hoping to feel what love is, even vicariously.

“She told me she’d be with me, that I’d feel her close to me from time to time. It’s been ten years since then. Never, not once, have I had a sign from her. You tell me then, Father, how is the concept of the imperishable soul that you preach about reconciled with the absolute lack of any communication with those who loved us so?”

“If you’re looking for shelter from the moments of pain, I have nothing else to offer you other than faith — any faith. But let us focus on you. And I’m talking to you as a brother, not as a priest. If I were you, I would not place my hopes and future in this promise. All these years you’ve been consumed with overthinking at the expense of your mental health. Why? Do you consider this healthy or right? Have you not had enough experience to know that one should not rely on unrealistic expectations? You need a sign? Why should Creation reveal its secrets to you? And why, with the sole excuse of a lack of signs, do you discard them altogether? And how are you sure that they haven’t been revealed to you, but found you too blind to notice or understand them?

I had no counter argument. We sat there for a while opposite each other without speaking and then we left.

That night I prayed after a very long time. I asked the Lord to calm me and show me that my doubts were unjustified. Nothing. But then I cried. I managed to cry! Could that have been the sign I was looking for? February 24th, 1919

The thought that I could leave this life, leave once and for all, was very attractive in the beginning. So many people disappear every day, people of every age. Nothing can be ruled out. Suicidal thoughts, however, did not cross my mind. I do not know if my mother or my cowardice was to blame, or rather a pure selfishness created by that open wound in my heart.

The possibility alone, however, comforted me. I was vaguely looking forward to breaking the ties. If she’s gone, I’m going with her. As simple as that. That was the thought. And she’d be waiting there for me, unchanged, and everything would go back to the way it was.

SECOND DIARY

3 years later

(the diary Paul Dienach wrote when he came out of his second coma)

 

THE AWAKENINGJuly 16th, 1922