Let There Be Light...

"Let There Be Light in the Heart of Every Man..."

No one ever saw her. There was no one to see her, after all. She remembered, once, seeing another, but whether he saw her or not she could not recollect. It was long ago, so long ago that the memory danced through her mind as if a fog. She would have thought it a dream, had she dreamed.
She looked into the Darkness and wondered what it would be like to see another, and perhaps herself be seen. Had she never seen another, she would not miss the presence of others in her world, much as she did not miss light, or food, or laughter, for she had never had these things before.
Had she slept, she may have dreamt of another; but, even so, in her waking life, she could think of nothing but a companion. She saw in her minds eye that which she did not have, and missed it. From this, she learned what loneliness was.
Finally, on a day she had no name for, at a time she did not know, she opened her eyes upon the Darkness and, for the first time ever, spoke.
“I wish to have Another.” She told the Darkness that had been her only companion since before she would remember, the very Darkness that gave her loneliness, and she learned sadness. “I will create one, just for me.”
She wished nothing more to be rid of the Darkness that pressed down on her, and wanted the Other to never know the feeling of being trapped within it. Reaching deep into her mind, she created a fire that ripped through the Dark and brought forth a glow upon the universe; she called it Light. But she had lived in the Dark so long she could not bear to part forever with it, so instead she let it reign for half the amount of time that Light did. So, thus, she created time, and named the days and counted how many in week, in a month, in a year, in a lifetime. And, the Darkness thanked her for her mercy, and the Light thanked her for her grace, and she learned of these things, and of kindness.
However, now that Light illuminated the places around her, she saw what lay before her was a barren wasteland. She spoke again, for once a quiet had fallen, she missed the sound of voices, and it made her sad. “I wish to create a beautiful place for my Other to live. Not this barren land that the Light has so made clear to me, which was hidden beneath the darkness for so long. No, I will create a world for my Other that he will love and cherish and will make him happy, as happy as he will make me.”
And so she reached deep into her heart and created a world. She created Color; greens, blues, red, oranges, yellows, browns, whites, blacks, and mixtures of so many colors that they could not be named. But the rich green leaves that blew in the wind made little noise, and the yellow and red flowers that colored the earth waved silently under the sparkling blue sky; and she looked down upon the earth and saw how silent and lonely the world was beneath her. She remembered her own loneliness and wished that not upon her Other, so she created for him Life; animals, of all different shapes and sizes, of all different personalities and services and needs, and she placed these animals upon the earth, all over, even in places that her Other may not go, for in their movements and existences, they made the earth shimmer like the Light she had brought forth. And looking down upon this world, she learned beauty.
Finally, she saw that the world was fit for her Other. She reached deep into her soul and created the most beautiful creature she could; had she been able to see herself, she may have seen herself within him. She set him upon the earth, a small dark speck upon the green and blue and red and yellow and all the other colors that were beyond imagination.
And she watched him grow. As a young child, she would sit with him and weave to him stories of things that she never quite truly remembered, and in his childish play he would fill in the blanks that her faded memory provided to him, and she would see him play with the animals around him, and run through the flowers in the field under the sparkling blue sky; and he taught her. From him, she learned what Laughter sounded like, fed off the gentle sound of his voice echoing toward her. His voice fascinated her; though he was her creation, he continued to surprise her with everything he did. His voice, as he grew, weaved her stories in languages she taught him and those of his own, and then he wavered his voice in tone so that it was pleasing to her ear and made her happy to hear him, and he called it Song. And as she watched him grow before her, and listened to his Song, and saw his Dance, and listened to his Laugh, she learned happiness.
One day, years later, when the young boy was a man, she saw him sitting beneath a tree, away from the animals and fields he loved most. He was not singing, and he looked at her with a look of loneliness in her face that made her remember how she had felt before he came to her.
“My child,” she asked him. “Why do you sit here, on the land I have created for you, surrounded by the beauty I created for you, and yet there is no Laughter coming from your lips, no Song from your chest. What ails you, my child, for I will heal all your wounds, if I can.”
He looked at her, and sighed a heavy sigh. “Mother… I see what you have given me and I love it all. But, as I grow older, the land, and the animals, and the songs no longer make me happy… While I appreciate all you have given me, I yearn for more. I am lonely, Mother.”
“Lonely?” She asked. “Wherefore? You have me, my child.”
“Yes.” He sighed. “I do, and I care for you, and enjoy your companionship. But, I wish for another like me. One that may run in the fields with me, and play with the animals, and laugh and sing with me, and to whom I can tell my stories. You cannot give me these things, but I wish for them with all my heart.”
She wanted to tell him, “No, you have me, I refuse your request”, but she recalled her own feelings long ago, when she ached for Another. She wished for him to never suffer as she had, and she could not refuse him.
She reached into her heart again and created Another much like him. But, this time, she created a smaller, thinner, thing with long, flowing hair and eyes like the sea. Had she been able to see herself, she would have seen this new creation within her. She set her creation down upon the earth, and her child’s eyes lit up at the arrival of his own Other.
She watched them dance through the fields together, and he picked flowers and put them all through her hair, and at night she would sit next to him, as he would sing her his stories. The new creation laughed with a voice like snow, and her touch was a light as a whisper. He would look into his new companions eyes and their Laughter would echo the world together, as the Creator looked down upon them. She would watch her children run, and Dance, and bring forth Song when the Light began to fade from the sky, and from them she learned friendship. However, this friendship she saw in them she failed to feel in her heart, for the more time they spent with each other, the less they spent with her. She watched them grow more before her eyes, strangely familiar to her eyes and heart, but they frolicked and played and sang and she knew them, less and less.
One day, years later, she saw her two creations sitting beneath a tree, the branches so thick and full that they covered the two like a blanket of green, and she asked them, “My children, you sit beneath this tree in each other’s arms, upon the world I have created for you, and the friendship you have found in one another. Yet your eyes are sad and lonely. What ails you, my children?”
The two creations look at her with sadness in their eyes, a lonely sadness she knew to well. “Mother,” they said, “We see what you have given us and love it all. But we grow weary of our frolic and singing and feel that we should do so much more. We have learned so much but have no one to teach it to. We are lonely.”
“Lonely?” She asked, a pang of hurt running through her heart. “Wherefore? You have me, my children.”
“Yes, and we love you dearly.” They replied. “But, we wish to create as you have. You call us your children, and we wish to have ones we can call our children. We wish to carry them, bare them, sing to them, teach them about the world; the Color you have created, Laughter, Song, and watch them run through the flowers as we have.”
She wished to refuse their request, to tell them, “You have me… teach me your Song, your Laughter, show me the Color you see.” But she saw what was in their eyes and remembered a time, long ago, when she was once lonely, and wished that same feeling never upon her children.
She reached into her heart and gave to her children the power to create themselves; so that they may create, and carry, and bare, and teach their children as she had once taught them. And their children came and came; and as the years upon years passed, those children had children as well, and the fields filled with children running, and air was heavy with Laughter, and at night, when Light had fallen and Dark took it’s turn, the universe filled with the sweet sound of Song, flying from earth and into the heavens above, where she heard it. And from this, she learned of community.
But, soon the world filled so great that her children spent the days with their own children, and less with her. Until, one day, she realized she had not talked to them in years, and they simply played beneath her with their own creations, who appreciated and cared for what she had created, but knew nothing of her. She did not let herself be bothered by it, and spent her days watching her children run amongst the fields. But, as her children grew, the land grew less, for they came up with ideas and inventions that took them away from what she had created and they immersed themselves in the creations of their own. Soon, even the Song she had taught her son long ago were lost among the new Song that was created in honor of the things her children created. And, as her world was lost to their own creations, she learned of forgetfulness.
One day, years later, she saw her son, now as old as the changed world around him, sitting under a tree. She asked him, “My child, why do you sit alone beneath this tree? Don’t you care for the things I have given you, and don’t you wish to be with your own children?”
He looked at her, and she saw the sadness in his eyes as it flooded down his pale-turned cheeks. “Oh, Mother.” He told her. “They have forsaken me for their own creations, as I have forsaken you. They look down upon me as if I am burden, shake their heads at my Song and make their own, and their Laugh is not that which I had taught them, but a Laugh of mocking and hate. Oh, Mother, had I known, I would never have abandoned you, and perhaps they would not have forgotten me if they knew you, as well!”
He fell down into the grass as the tears flooded from his eyes, and she looked at him with a sadness she had become so familiar with over the years; the loneliness of being hated and forgotten. “My son,” she told him. “It is not to late to teach them love and caring. Tell them of me, of your childhood, and of what your Mother gave to you. Let them see me as you see me, and perhaps they will see you, as well.”
“I will, Mother,” he told her. “They will know you as I have, and I will hope that you will forgive me for cursing you with the same pain that has been cast to me!”
She watched him stumble to his feet and head away, back to his children enveloped in their own creations, and she felt the sadness begin to melt away. She watched him come to his own children and tell them, “Hear my voice, your father’s voice of long ago! The world around you was given to you by my Mother, whom you have not known, whom I have forgotten and left behind as you have done to me. Take me back into your heart as I have taken back my Mother, and know her as I do.” And from his words, she learned loyalty.
But, the children laughed at him and said to him, “You Old Fool, have you not looked around you? Have you not seen the things we created with our own hands? Nothing was given to us, not by you and not by this Mother whom you speak of. We have never seen her; we have never felt her with us! Everything we have we had made ourselves, and we need no Old Man telling us silly stories made up in his mind to get him respect! The only woman we know is our mother, who says nothing of this Mother you speak of! She is not real, and you are nothing to us, for we are here because we have created ourselves. Leave us, Old Man, and let us be!”
The man, with tears streaming down his eyes, looked upon his angered children and shook his head at them. “You cannot see what you feel, my children, and you feel her in your heart, as you feel loneliness, sadness, appreciation, friendship, and loyalty. Your eyes may be able to see your creations, but do not blind them to her. For her creation stands before you, and you must admit that, and let her in your heart. Feel her there, and do not fear her presence because she loves you… she loves you more than anything in her world. For she has created you from her heart, and she can feel you in her heart as you can feel her.”
The bitter Laugh rose again above the crowd and they called to him, “Leave our sights Old Man! Take your stories and tell them to the trees, for they are the only things gullible enough to believe you!”
But, suddenly, the youngest of the children broke through the crowd and looked up at his grandfather, who seemed so weak above him, yet so strong.
“Grandfather,” the young boy whispered above the crowd, and the old man listened to him. “I know who you speak of, for I have seen her. I have seen her when the oldest standing trees blow quiet in the wind, and the Color of flowers wave over the tattered fields. I see her when Light turns to Dark, and when Dark sleeps and makes way for Light. And, when I do not see her, I feel her in my heart, as I feel you. Do not fear or hate them for their Laughter; but simply speak to me of what you see, for I see it too.”
The Old Man reached down and picked up the child in his arms, and the children’s mocking voices fell to a pensive lull. “The child speaks of things his parents cannot, or will not, see.” He said, embracing his grandson against him. “If a mere child can understand things as ancient as me, you all, who remember such things of magic and power, should feel it in your heart as well.”
He left them then, quiet over the hills, and took the child and sat beneath a tree, and brought him to the fields. And she watched them run through the fields and pick flowers and Dance and, then, at night, he sang him the Song of his childhood, the very Song his own Mother taught him in his youth. And, as they lay down to sleep, the child asked his grandfather, “What of the others? I wish them to feel what I feel in my heart, where she resides. But if they cannot believe, what can we do? They will miss the happiness that we have.”
“My child.” He said, smiling. “They must learn in their own time. For now, they bury themselves in their creations and live in a world where they rule, for that is what they need. But, as time goes on, and their life stretches before them, they will learn that there is much more to the world than what they have made in their hands. And they will feel what she has given them, and see what she has blessed them with, and they will, one day, feel her in their hearts. But, they must, above all, be ready to feel her there, for they will love her when they do.”
And, the two fell asleep in each other’s arms, and she watched them beneath the tree and understood that she needed not to be seen to be loved, and needed not to be around hundreds of Others to not be alone. For she was in the heart of all who wished to feel her there, and there she would reside, never hated, never alone, never forgotten, for as long as there were those to feel her there.
The greatest gift of all she had not created, but was given to her, by a child she once had lost, but had finally, at long last, returned. From this, she learned of love.