Tony sat cross-legged in his living room, his posture as still as the shadows that danced along the walls. The dim glow of the evening lights filtered through the blinds, cutting sharp lines across the room. His breathing was slow, deliberate, a metronome to anchor his restless mind. The world outside had faded, leaving only the quiet hum of his own body and the gentle cadence of Roomie's voice, resonating within him like a bell struck in the distance.
"Your first lesson," Roomie began, its voice steady, measured, "is to remember the feeling you experienced earlier. The subtle hum, the vibration at the edge of your awareness. Recall it, and allow it to grow. It is there, Tony, waiting for you."
Tony furrowed his brow, his lips pressing into a thin line as he tried to focus. He pushed the thoughts buzzing in his mind—the errands he needed to run, the noise from the street below—into the background. Instead, he concentrated on the memory of that faint, fleeting sensation from earlier, that whisper of something far greater than himself.
At first, all he could hear was his own heartbeat, its steady rhythm filling the void like the ticking of an old clock. He tried to push deeper, to peel back the layers of mundane awareness and find what lay beneath. But the harder he reached, the more elusive it seemed.
He shifted slightly, his frustration beginning to creep in. "Nothing," he muttered, his voice low and tense. "I don't feel anything. It's just... empty."
"You are overthinking," Roomie said, its tone calm yet firm, carrying the weight of infinite patience. "Dark energy is not summoned; it is noticed. It exists always, like the breath you take or the pull of gravity. Let your thoughts quiet. Be still. The vibrations are there. You need only tune yourself to them."
Tony exhaled heavily, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to loosen the tension building there. He closed his eyes again and drew a deep breath, holding it for a moment before releasing it in a slow, measured stream. He let the noise in his head fade, each thought slipping away like a tamale at Christmas. The effort felt monumental, like trying to silence a room full of people with a single whisper.
But then, as the noise finally began to abate, something shifted. The silence wasn't just silence anymore. Beneath it was a hum—subtle and faint, almost imperceptible, like the quiver of a taut string after the bow has released. It was there, deep and primal, vibrating not just within him but in the space around him.
"There," Tony said softly, his voice barely more than a breath. "I think I've got it."
"Good," Roomie replied, its voice tinged with approval. "Now embrace it. Do not merely feel the vibrations; expand them. Let them ripple through you and out into the world. The vibrations are the thread that connects you to everything. Through them, you will feel the world itself."
Tony's focus deepened, his breath shallow as he tried to do as Roomie instructed. The hum grew stronger, vibrating through his chest and limbs like the low rumble of distant thunder. He reached for it mentally, trying to push the sensation outward, to let it flow beyond him. For a brief, exhilarating moment, he felt it expanding, brushing against the edges of something vast and incomprehensible.
But just as quickly as it came, it slipped away. The vibration wavered, then vanished completely, leaving him grasping at nothing but air. His concentration shattered, and frustration flooded in to fill the void.
"Dammit," Tony muttered, his eyes snapping open. He rubbed his temples with both hands, the remnants of the hum still lingering faintly in his awareness, like a forgotten melody on the edge of memory. "It's like trying to hold onto a dream. The second I feel like I've got it, it's gone."
"This is expected," Roomie said, unperturbed. "Mastery does not come in a single moment. Your mind is not yet accustomed to the subtleties of dark energy. It requires time and repetition. You must practice until the vibrations become constant and natural—until they are as much a part of you as your heartbeat or breath. Only then can we move to the next facet of your training."
Tony leaned back against the couch, exhaling sharply through his nose. "Great. So, what do I do in the meantime? Meditate all day? Sit here and chase invisible vibrations?"
"No," Roomie replied, its voice carrying a note of amusement. "The vibrations are not confined to stillness. They are present in every moment, every motion, every breath you take. Your task is to sense them as you go about your day. Feel them in the mundane and the extraordinary alike. When you can perceive the vibrations always, we will move forward."
Tony groaned, standing and stretching his arms above his head. The tension in his shoulders felt heavier now, a physical manifestation of his mental effort. "So, basically, I have to rewire my entire brain to feel something I barely understand. Got it."
"Precisely," Roomie said simply, its tone devoid of sarcasm but filled with certainty.
Tony chuckled dryly, shaking his head as he headed toward the kitchen. "You're really selling it, partner." He grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filling it with water and taking a long drink. He stared at the glass in his hand, watching the way the light refracted through the surface, creating shifting patterns of shadow and brightness. He set the glass down, closing his eyes and focusing again.
This time, the hum came more readily—not the faint flicker of earlier, but something deeper, richer. It resonated through him, low and steady, like the silent hum of a gigantic, unseen machine driving the universe forward. It wasn't just a sound or a vibration; it was a presence, constant and unstoppable. It felt as though it powered everything—the turning of the Earth, the shifting of stars, the heartbeat of time itself.
Tony exhaled slowly, letting the sensation wash over him. It was immense, but not overwhelming, like standing at the edge of an endless chasm and knowing it stretched forever, yet feeling steady in its presence. The hum wasn't merely around him—it was within him, threading through every fiber of his being, connecting him to something infinitely larger.
"There it is," he whispered, his voice barely audible. For a moment, he didn't want to move, afraid that the fragile connection might break.
"Good," Roomie said, its voice softer now, almost reverent. "That is the current of dark energy—the silent force that shapes the universe. Steady. Relentless. When you learn to flow with it, you will find that it is not only infinite but boundlessly responsive to your intent."
Tony opened his eyes, the hum fading slightly but not vanishing completely. It was still there, underlying everything, like the faint thrum of an engine so massive it defied comprehension. He stood quietly for a moment, letting the weight of Roomie's words settle over him.
The next morning, Tony sat at the kitchen table, the rich aroma of coffee swirling around him. He cradled the mug in his hands, feeling its warmth seep into his fingers. The early light filtered through the blinds, and the quiet hum of the refrigerator droned in the background. He closed his eyes, trying to focus.
At first, there was nothing—just the steady rhythm of his breathing and the faint, familiar beat of his heart. He inhaled deeply, holding the air in his lungs before exhaling slowly. As he let his thoughts drift, the faint hum flickered at the edges of his awareness, like a distant vibration tickling the back of his mind.
Then, suddenly, the harsh blare of a car horn shattered the silence. Tony's eyes flew open, his focus completely obliterated.
"Damn it," he muttered, gripping the mug tightly. He leaned forward, trying again. He closed his eyes, attempting to tune out the world around him. This time, the hum returned more quickly, a faint pulse that resonated deep within him. For a moment, he thought he had it. He reached for it mentally, trying to expand the feeling as Roomie had instructed.
But just as quickly, the sound of the refrigerator's loud, irregular humming pulled him back to reality. Tony's jaw tightened as his frustration mounted.
"Ugh, this is impossible," he grumbled, setting the mug down with more force than necessary.
"Distractions are part of the challenge," Roomie said, its voice calm, unbothered. "The vibrations persist beneath the noise. Your task is to focus beyond it, past the surface."
Tony huffed, rubbing his temple. "Yeah, sure. Easier said than done." He took a long sip of coffee, staring out the window. His eyes darted toward the blinds, the faint shadows of passing cars playing across them. He closed his eyes once more, muttering to himself. "Focus past the noise. Right."
The hum returned briefly, but the screech of tires from the street outside killed it again. Tony slapped his hand against the table, muttering, "Forget it."
"Frustration will block your progress," Roomie reminded him gently. "This is not an ability you master with force. Be patient. Try again later."
Tony sighed, leaning back in his chair, feeling defeated. "Yeah. Later."