NOESIS: A journey between dream and consciousness E-Book

alfio frisina

• Herausgeber: via tolino media
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Frisina's works deal intensively with the central questions of human existence. Freedom, truth and identity are at the centre of his stories, which are characterised by a profound, reflective and often philosophical dimension. He is particularly interested in the interplay between technology and human nature - how they relate to, influence and shape each other. His books are far more than mere stories - they challenge readers to engage with the fundamental aspects of existence. Following Noesis, Frisina is currently working on Axion, a novel that further explores his view of the connection between technology, consciousness and human nature. Axion not only deals with themes such as control, destiny and the ethical challenges of technological progress, but also addresses the current problems of the global order. In his works, Frisina questions the nature of the individual and critically analyses the concepts of identity, will and self-determination.

Leseprobe

Inhaltsverzeichnis

Prologue

NOESIS

A journey between dream and consciousness

A Novel by Alfio Frisina

IMPRINT

Title

Noesis

Subtitle

A journey between dream and consciousness

Author

Alfio Frisina

March 1, 1972

Publisher

Self-Publishing

Edition

Frist Edition

Year of Publication

2025

Copyright & Rights© 2025 by Alfio Frisina. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form – electronically, mechanically, by photocopying, recording, or any other means – without prior written permission from the author, except for brief quotations in reviews or academic works.

Artificial intelligence in the creative process

Cover ART AI and edited in Photoshop

ChatGPT was used for text corrections

Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, or real events is purely coincidental. The views expressed in this book reflect those of the author.

Publishing & Distribution

Publisher: Self-Publishing The current distribution platform can be found atwww.frisina-books.com

Cover & Design

Cover Design: Alfio Frisina Typesetting & Layout: Self-Publishing Layout

Biography

Information & legal notices:www.frisina-books.com

Dedication

For all those who wish for a better world –and especially for those who actively contribute to making it so.

Motto

Live with the awareness that this brief life is inevitably finite – and that there may yet be something beyond.

Noesis

The word Noesis comes from Ancient Greek (νόησις, nóesis) and literally means “thinking,” “understanding,” or “intellectual perception.” It is primarily used in philosophy, particularly in Platonic thought, where Plato describes Noesis as the highest form of knowledge.

Introduction to the Novel

Freedom – a word often spoken. But do we truly know what it means? Is it the ability to make our own decisions, or merely the illusion of choice in a life that has already been predetermined? Perhaps what we perceive as freedom is nothing more than an invisible chain of causes, a path we unknowingly follow, convinced that we are the ones choosing it. But what if true freedom only begins when we realize that we are not free? What if freedom does not lie in our choices, but in the truth that reveals itself only when we dare to question everything – even our very existence? Between fate and free will, between truth and deception, lies that moment when everything becomes clear – or is lost forever.

Prologue

Something lurked above me. I felt it like a silent weight pressing down on my soul. Not a person, not a tangible form. Something that did more than merely observe - it knew. A presence that surrounded me - inscrutable, inescapable.

Outwardly calm, I made my way to the pond behind our estate. It was winter. The wind brushed gently across the water’s surface, distorting my reflection. In the flickering, diffuse image, I saw a thousand faces, shifting ceaselessly. Silver sunlight pierced through the clouds, cascading down and shattering in the water into glimmering fragments, tiny shards of light that danced like diamonds over the gentle ripples of the pond.

I had managed to tell her that I had changed - despite my fear that these words, once spoken, would have irreversible consequences. That they might take something from us, something we had perhaps never truly possessed. My life had changed, yes - along with it, my ideologies, my reality.

I knew no certainties, no ultimate truth, and I believed that only those who stayed on the surface could be deceived by the opposite. Every time I tried to understand, I realized how little I knew. And even if it was an illusion, that little I knew was what gave meaning to my existence.

I thought I was free. But when had I ever truly reflected on what freedom meant? One day, I realized that my choices weren’t really mine: I was merely repeating what I had been taught. I was the product of a culture I hadn’t chosen. In theory, freedom was the power to choose. But everything happened anyway. My choice was only an illusion.

I looked up, hoping for an answer, a sign, a confirmation. But there was nothing. No whisper in the wind, no sign in the sky. Only the silent infinity, staring at me - and saying nothing.

The Appearance

If I remember correctly, I met Elen on a summer afternoon. I was supposed to present to her a piece I had just completed. The weather mirrored my mood: calm yet uncertain. Vacant – without tears, without warmth. As if something were about to happen. It felt as though time was granting me a moment of preparation, a breath before something significant took shape.

My studio, where I displayed my works, was housed in an old building. I had chosen it because it spoke of a past that belonged to many – those who had suffered, wept, laughed, and loved. It stood at the edge of the ancient city walls. Once, this place had been a passageway, its gates sealed in times of war. Battles had raged before these fortress walls, as the city fought for its freedom.

I sensed that within these silent, sheltered walls, everything had happened – good and evil, violence and tenderness, life and death. Yet I wanted to remind myself that nothing endures. That we, as humans, linger in this world only for a fleeting moment before inevitably vanishing.

To deepen my creativity, I hoped to feel the same emotions as those who had lived here before me. In this studio, I felt protected, shielded from the outside world. Only the sirens of ambulances, occasionally departing from the nearby hospital, pierced the silence – a distant cry brushing against the air. I hoped this place would become the center of my new beginning – a space where I could leave my own mistakes behind.

Before Elen entered my studio for the first time, I had been lost in a familiar dialogue with my sculpture. Aletheia – to me, she was a living companion, a voice that accompanied me, challenged me, questioned me. I watched as Aletheia moved through my studio, serene – a space that was both my refuge and everything to me. Every movement of hers seemed to blend with the silence of the room, as if she had always been a part of it.

Between my fingers, I turned a small, misshapen cube, its edges smoothed from being tossed too many times. Two of its sides were missing – soft, rounded curves in their place, as though time had gradually worn them away. This was how it came to rest, but always on the remaining four faces, as if fate had set its limits – beyond which no decision could be made. Fate versus freedom. Truth versus ignorance. Four possibilities, four answers. And yet, I knew the result would always remain the same.

"Ready?" she asked, her gaze piercing, her smile an enigma.

I nodded slowly and let go of the cube. I watched as it rolled across the table, spinning, seeming to hover for a moment in midair before finally coming to rest.

I tapped the word. "Freedom."

Aletheia looked at me with an unreadable expression.

"You already know that."

I frowned. "I rolled freedom, didn’t I?"

She tilted her head slightly, studying me.

"Then roll again."

A faint hum lingered in the air, barely audible, yet it vibrated through my bones. I felt my open hand still resting on the table – and at the same time, I felt it closing around the cube, as if I had never let it go. The moment stretched, as if time had skipped, as if I could feel the resonance of my own motions.

I remembered how I had rolled the dice. I remembered how it tumbled. I remembered that it had landed on freedom. And yet, there it was again, resting in my hand – as if the throw had never happened.

I rolled again. Fate. Aletheia was amused. "See?"

A strange unease spread through my chest. "I've rolled several times, haven't I?"

"And yet," she said softly, "nothing has changed."

I stared at the dice. Then at her. My heartbeat spiked rapidly. I was certain I had thrown it – certain that it had landed. But it felt as though time had folded in on itself.

I let the dice roll across the table once more. Ignorance. Again. Fate. Again. Ignorance. No matter how many times I tried – the dice always landed on Fate or Ignorance. Always. Freedom and Truth remained nothing more than possibilities – ones that never came to fruition.

The dice spun as if caught in an endless cycle – a rhythm so seamless that it became impossible to tell whether its fall had only just begun or had been repeating forever.

When Elen knocked at the door, Aletheia moved to her usual place and froze in her true form – a sculpture of oxidized iron. Her tender skin hardened into a rough, cold, rusted surface, as if life had drained from her in a single instant. Her squinted eyes seemed trapped in that fleeting moment between wakefulness and sleep – as though the transition had halted, suspended in the space between consciousness and oblivion.

Aletheia leaned against a stone block, one arm resting on it, the other half-raised as if she were about to explain something to me.

With Aletheia, we spoke about many things – life, knowledge, the soul – our own dimension. But what did any of it truly mean?

"You should seek the truth – does fate have a choice?"

A sentence I kept repeating to myself, trying to grasp its meaning.

Who was I, and what was the relationship between my self and reality? Was I its creator, its product – or merely a fleeting thought in a greater whole?

When Elen arrived, I took a deep breath and opened the door.

Standing there was Adam Clan – and beside him, his wife, Elen. My body tensed for a moment before I heard my own voice softly utter the name Aletheia.

A sudden jolt shot through me, as if someone had shaken the very foundations of my reality. My gaze flickered involuntarily between Elen and Aletheia in the room. The same features. The same presence.

How was this possible?

"Come in," I said quietly, almost inaudibly.

My heart was racing. I could feel the cold presence of Aletheia.

Clan spoke, but his voice reached me only in muffled echoes. I could barely hear him.

I forced myself to regain composure. My hands were damp – I clenched them into fists.

"What brings you here?" I finally asked, my voice shakier than expected.

"We’ve heard about your sculptures from people we both know. They believe they could be important… to what we’re trying to achieve."

I let their gaze wander through the room, sensing their hesitation, the unspoken questions. Their eyes finally settled on the statue, its shadow shifting in the flickering light.

"Does the sculpture speak to you, Mr. Clan? "

"I call her Aletheia," I said softly.

As I shyly and restlessly sought Elen’s gaze, I felt the calm drain from my heart.

Outside, the rain began to fall. Hesitant at first, then with force, as if the sky could no longer hold back. It streamed down the windows like silent tears, as though they wanted to smother me. And yet, I felt something inside me begin to glow.

The stiffness in my limbs seemed to dissolve. It was as if currents of energy flowed through me – like fulfilling a promise that I had long believed impossible to keep.

The world around me felt frozen, almost surreal. I didn’t know how it had happened, but in Elen’s presence, I felt as though I had finally found the awakening I had long yearned for. Her gaze – seductive and piercing at the same time – enveloped like a gust of wind, stripping me bare.

I was convinced that she knew who I was – that she recognized me at my core. It felt as if I had known her from another life. But when I tried to remember, my mind whispered:

"No, you cannot remember her."

Had I forgotten something important? Perhaps a simple detail that I overlooked? I was convinced that this was no coincidence. Had I deliberately pushed the memories away to free myself from what tormented me inside? How was it possible that I had shaped Aletheia to look exactly like Elen – without ever having met her? And yet, here she was, standing before me, beautiful and mesmerizing. Feelings of hope and despair clashed within me.

It was as if this beauty, this allure, concealed a truth I was not prepared to face.

Her perfect features filled me with reverence. I held my breath, as if every emotion was a bittersweet pain beyond words. I couldn’t shake the feeling that her eyes were searching for something within me – perhaps even someone. But I didn’t know what, or who.

At the same time, I was acutely aware of her every movement, every gesture. Her presence was polarising, even in her restraint, and I felt that once she had drawn me in, I would never be able to break free. As if I were hypnotized. I sensed that she was a danger to me – in a way I couldn’t quite comprehend.

And yet, it wasn’t just me – her presence must have left an indelible mark on everyone she encountered. I was certain of it. Elen had the aura of a leader, a muse, a figure that personified my longing for connection and understanding. She was someone who could never be forgotten, and yet she remained undefined, unreachable, vague even.

As if no one could say with certainty whether she was real or merely a projection of the mind.

To me, she was the embodiment of truth – the proof that something clear, some illuminating force, still existed. I could see it in the way she moved, in the way she spoke.

Had I been asked; I would have said that she and Clan were a distant couple. I didn’t know what they did for a living, but there was a kind of complicity between them.

Did she love him? Did she need him? And why? Did he deserve her love?

He smiled, but his expression was hollow and strained. It was impossible to tell whether it was the expression of an inner restlessness – accompanied by a need for challenge – or a smile of satisfaction over what he saw, what he could conquer or control.

In Elen’s eyes, despite their gentleness, lay a quiet suffering, a pain she carefully concealed. There was something mysterious, almost absent about her, as if she were trapped between two worlds – between light and shadow, between existing and a feint memory.

For a moment, the thought crossed my mind that Clan had buried her alive in his own way. Suffocated under the weight of his world – of rules, power, and control.

But how could I be sure? Perhaps it was only my imagination, a projection of my own fears. And yet, Elen’s silent presence felt like a cold breath against my skin. A terrible guilt weighed on me, for I was convinced I could not save her.

"Statues do not think, Mr. Nathan," Clan said, his voice authoritative, almost tyrannical. "They come into existence for one purpose only: to be what they are – statues. To serve, not to be served. I understand the obsession of artists, but I do not share it."

He ended his words with an abrupt laugh.

His words struck me with their pragmatism, leaving me feeling caught off guard, unsettled. Perhaps he was right.

Perhaps I was indeed searching for meaning where none existed, seeking hidden value in things that, in truth, were meaningless. Perhaps, as Clan claimed, only what could be seen mattered, and everything else was merely an illusion of my own mind.

Perhaps I was losing myself in the pursuit of a transcendence that had never existed, whose origin remained a mystery.

How often had I been overcome by an inexplicable emptiness, an echo I could not name? It was as if something was missing – as if I had lost something without ever being aware of it existing.

And yet, there were also moments when I felt the opposite – as if something was there. An invisible force, a higher power guiding me without my comprehension of it.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Aletheia stir restlessly at Clan’s words. A quiet relief spread through me.

I observed him: undoubtedly a businessman, confident and impeccable in every detail. His strengths were evident in his presence, in his certainty and rigidity. He seemed to have complete control over himself and his life – like all those who dressed as himself did.

I saw him as a kind of necessary evil, someone society required to be led and financed by. It was as if the world, in its hypocrisy, accepted his existence merely to maintain its own balance.

He gave the impression of a man who imposed strict rules on others, rules which he never followed. He lived above the very laws he preached – a living paradox, part of his own ruthless game, which made everything feel so absurdly coherent.

There seemed to be not an inch of space for depth or mystery within him. And yet, the longer I watched him, the more superficial his certainty appeared – almost mechanical, devoid of any spark of authenticity. That spark was what I sought in art.

I couldn’t look away. I tried to understand him without passing judgment from my own perspective. I reminded myself that I did not truly know Clan, and that his criticism should not affect me. It would have been different if someone I truly valued had said the same thing. Like her.

Elen’s shoulders sank slightly as she listened to her husband. Her movements were gentle, yet hesitant, as if she had lost all hope – the same hope that I lacked.

Did she expect to find it in me?

But how could she possibly read my thoughts, my doubts, my conflicting visions in my eyes?

Or was I the one deceiving her?

For a moment, she straightened, braced herself, and said:

"You should acquire the statue. Its form is unusual, unlike anything one sees every day. I find it extraordinary – it might pique the interest of your acquaintances."

Her words were contradictory. What were her true intentions?

At that moment, I felt Elen deep within my soul, sensed her entire being inside me. It was as if she had become inescapable in my thoughts – just as one carries a lover within oneself when in love.

The couple seemed unaware that Elen and Aletheia were nearly identical. It was, in fact, difficult to recognize – the sculpture was made of rusted metal. Only I could see her in her full vitality. And so, it happened: they purchased the statue.

It was a huge loss. As if I had handed over a part of myself to the custody of a mocking stranger.

Yet from this defeat, a quiet hope emerged.

"One last game, Aletheia?" That evening, before she was taken away, I gestured toward the chessboard resting on the table.

She smiled – as if her new destination did not trouble her in the least. Perhaps it didn’t.

To distract myself from the farewell, I lost myself in contemplative thoughts during our game, trying to grasp the nature of creation itself.

How do ideas come into being? How is imagination born?

In that moment, I realized that ideas appeared without warning – unpredictable, arriving whenever and wherever they pleased.

An observation, an experience – suddenly transformed into inspiration. Like the time an apple fell onto the head of a chosen physicist – and forever altered our understanding of the universe.

Even our interests do not arise from conscious choices. They are simply there. Or they are not.

We do not choose them – they choose us.

Perhaps they are less a product of our thinking than an inner attraction we follow – without ever knowing why.

A tiny ant on the chessboard caught my attention.

I leaned in closer, hoping to make out its details. But as it lifted its gaze, I had the unsettling feeling that it wasn’t looking at me – it was staring at the ceiling.

I felt a foreign presence.

Those invisible eyes, that inexplicable force pressing down on me like a silent hand. My breath hitched. I traced after the ant’s gaze, forced myself to look up –

But there was nothing.

A sudden wave of unease gripped me as I turned back to the chessboard.

For the briefest moment, I saw myself as a piece on the board – and at the same time, I was the one who had to make the next move.

I blinked, trying to grasp the thought, but it slipped away. A bead of sweat slowly traced its way down my forehead.

The ant drew my attention once more. I wondered how such tiny creatures could build a perfectly structured home without any visible instructions.

What guided them? Who told them which branch to carry, which leaf to climb? And more importantly – why?

There was no visible hierarchy, no struggle for power. And yet, each ant seemed to know exactly what to do – as if it were part of an invisible force, wordlessly directing them toward a common goal.

No one commanded them. No leader dictated their work. And yet, out of chaos, order emerged.

It was as if they acted as a collective Hivemind. – a principle beyond my comprehension.

Then, a thought struck me, sending a chill down my spine:

What if we humans are the same?

We believe we make our own choices.

But what if, unknowingly, we are being guided by something beyond our grasp?

"Your turn." Aletheia noticed that my thoughts were elsewhere.

"Aletheia, why are Fate and Freedom on opposite sides of the dice – but not Fate and Chance?" I asked, my hand hovering over my next move.

Aletheia paused. A quiet breath, barely perceptible. Then she slowly lifted her gaze, as if weighing something in the air – an invisible balance between my question and her answer.

"Oh, so you've returned to the dice game," she said with a laugh. "Because Chance and Fate are the same. They cannot be opposites."

Her answer surprised me. I frowned and looked at her questioningly. "What do you mean by that?"

"The real question is whether you are free within it."

Her voice was calm, but her words sliced through the silence like a scalpel.

"Fate is like a river that follows its course, undisturbed by your will. Every drop, every current, every branch of its path has always been predetermined.

Chance is the same river – you just call it by another name because you are unaware of where the water comes from or where it flows. Because you believe it pours at random, without pattern, without direction.

But even then, it follows its path, drawn by invisible laws, beyond your comprehension.

Both carry you with them. Both guide you. Both take away your choice.

But freedom… Freedom is the shore you step onto when you decide to leave the water."

Her words made me pause and reflect. I stared at the board in front of us. The game had barely begun – yet it already felt as if I had lost something.

"You think it was chance that brought Elen here. But nothing happens without reason. Every decision, every encounter may seem random, yet they are part of a greater plan – one you may never fully comprehend. But that does not make them any less real."

I picked up the dice, letting it slide through my fingers, feeling the cool weight of the symbols engraved on it. Something about what she unloaded on me was unsettling. I lifted my gaze.

"But then why Truth and Ignorance? Why not Truth and Lies?" I asked. "You don’t expect me to believe that Truth and Lies are the same, do you?"

"Because humans cannot truly know what truth is.

Truth is merely a lie that has yet to be exposed.

But even lies can be true.

Only knowledge can stand against them."

"How can a lie be true?" I asked, stunned.

Aletheia remained silent for a moment, as if giving me the chance to figure it out on my own. I decided not to take it. Then she said calmly:

"Imagine a father telling his sick child, ‘Everything will be fine.’

He doesn’t know it.

He cannot know it.

Is that a lie?"

I pondered for a moment. "Yes… He is making a promise he cannot guarantee."

"And if the child believes him, finds hope – and recovers?

If everything truly does turn out fine?"

I hesitated. "Then… then it is no longer a lie. Then it became the truth."

"Exactly." Aletheia tilted her head slightly to the side. "A lie is sometimes just a truth that has not yet been proven – or one that creates itself. People often prefer to deceive themselves rather than face the truth. Truth is not simply what we know. It often lies beyond what we can comprehend."

I felt an eerie sensation spreading within me. "But that means… if we equate knowledge with truth, then knowledge itself is merely a lie that has not yet been unmasked?"

Aletheia smirked. "That is why Truth and Ignorance stand on opposite sides of the dice – not Truth and Lies. Because lies can be true. But knowledge defies."

"But can humans attain knowledge, or will they always remain ignorant?"

Aletheia observed me for a moment, as if weighing how much she should reveal. Then she smiled – a smile that was neither warm nor cold.

"You feel it, don’t you?" she asked.

I swallowed. A mixture of reverence and unease spread through me.

"What do you mean?"

Aletheia looked at me as though waiting for me to say it myself. But the words did not come.

"That you are not truly free," she finally said.

Her voice was calm, yet it struck deep.

"Not in the physical sense," she continued. "Not through cages or prisons. Not merely through social or cultural constraints."

I held my breath, where was this coming from?

"But through something far more fundamental," she said softly.

A tightness started building up in my chest.

"Our thoughts are not truly free," I finally said.

Aletheia nodded.

"They do not arise from pure will," I continued, barely recognizing my own voice. "They are shaped by conditioning, instinct, and invisible boundaries that we do not consciously create."

Silence.

I looked at Aletheia, and for the first time, I felt as if I truly understood. Just as an ant or perhaps a chess piece could not foresee or plan the completion of its purpose, we could never fully comprehend our own decisions.

It was like the game of chess: we could anticipate a few future moves, but the end remained hidden. The choices we made were always limited – bound by circumstances and the rules of the game. It was as if the game had already been written for us, and yet we played it as if it were our own.

---ENDE DER LESEPROBE---