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

I’m sitting at the foot of a tree, overpowered by the vastness of the existences that I have wandering around me. And yet I feel, from this very spot, as if I could cut the universe in half and squeeze into it! August 10th, 1922

Tonight I went through hell. On one hand, I felt the urge to speak about everything I know, unburdening my soul, but on the other hand I knew I had to push myself to bury everything deep down inside forever!

Where are you, Mother? Were you alive, I’d tell you everything! To you, everything! I know that you would always respect what is now the most sacred thing in my life. August 14th, 1922

Two days ago I happened upon Father Jacob on the street. He had returned from his trip to Italy. I thanked him for all the help and support he had given my mother during my lethargy. I told him I would visit him the day after next, which I did. We sat in his garden. How different it felt being next to him this time! All the doubts I used to have were now long gone.

“Father, I’m not the same person I used to be. If only you knew about the changes I’ve been through…”

I reminded him of my past thoughts and my disrespectful conclusions and I assured him that I do not share the same point of view with my old self anymore. At the same time, however, I felt I had no right to speak to him in more detail. He seemed very excited that faith had spoken to me.

“I was wrong father. If only you knew all the great things there are.” I stopped suddenly. The tone of my voice surprised even me. The priest stared at me with bated breath.

“Even the harshest pain is welcome, both physical and mental. Vindication will come in the end. Never should a sigh come out of a human mouth.”

And then came a moment of silence. The priest was now becoming agitated. He looked as if he were trying to make me speak without asking me to. Finally he said, “You see, my son? That is faith!”

“No, Father, no,” I replied in a calm and steady voice. “It’s not just faith that has changed me. You cannot even imagine what is actually out there. The human mind is incapable of realising the greatness of it.”

I revealed no more. But I had already said too much, more than I was entitled to.

At first, Father Jacob patiently waited for me to proceed. Then, he started asking me, in his own casual, indirect way. Then he started begging me. He called me “son”, he called me “brother” and he reminded me of our past discussions back in the winter of 1919. Finally, he claimed that it was a sin to believe that something can be exclusively ours to keep, ending with how that something would eventually become a burden on my conscience. I regretted having said all that and having spoiled those sacred truths by giving them the shape of human reason.

Since last night, I’ve been thinking that something has changed between the priest and me, and that our long-lasting friendship is now something of the past. August 16th, 1922

On summer days like these, the sky is so clear—nearly transparent—and the breeze so cool that midday resembles a crystal clear spring morning. I am joyful that I postponed all my errands for tomorrow, all the paperwork, all the boring seriousness of my everyday routine. Mornings like these are not meant to be spent surrounded by four walls. It should be considered a sin to work on such divine days. Now I understand why we, all the worms of this earth, should think twice before we refer to the divine. I was told that all the great things that surround us are far beyond the capabilities of our finite mind to comprehend. That’s why little children find joy in trifles, and based on that, they are undoubtedly much wiser than we are.

Forgive me, Heavenly Father, for my lack of faith. August 17th, 1922

When three people have a conversation on the pavement in the dead of night, naturally someone might overhear them, no matter how low the volume of their voices, especially if that someone´s open window is directly above their heads.

Half an hour ago, I experienced an annoying situation such as this, without them knowing I was listening. At first, they were talking loudly about local matters. I could hear the deep voice of the hotel owner, the characteristic intonation of our family physician’s voice and a third person, whose voice I could not recognize. At some point, they realised where they were standing and turned the conversation to me. They asked the physician what exactly was wrong with me and he gave them a short lecture on lethargy. The other two kept on asking more questions while a few “Shhhs” interrupted the conversation every time someone raised their voice.