Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Wednesday
13.12.05
In the Beginning
The Father was dreaming. I could see it in His eyes - the sparkle. It was there again.
“What is it You see, my King?”
He didn’t turn, but kept His gaze fixed on the great emptiness – the massive, bounding, unending space. The more He looked, the more His eyes would dance. I knew He saw something.
I looked in the same direction. I leaned forward and stared intently. All I saw was emptiness. All I ever saw was emptiness.
I hadn’t seen the sphere He had pulled out of the sky. “Where was that?” I asked as Hi began moulding it in His hands.
“It was there,” He replied, looking outward. I looked and saw nothing. When I turned, He was smiling. He knew a seraph’s vision was too limited.
The same thing happened with the water. “Where did this come from?” I asked, touching the strange substance.
“I saw it, Michael.” He chuckled as He filled an ocean from His palm. “And when I saw it, I made it. I saw it near the stars.”
“The what?”
“The stars.” Out into the void He reached. When He pulled back His hand, He kept it closed as if to entice me to lean forward. I did. And just as my face was near, He opened His hand. A burst of light escaped, and I looked up just in time to see it illuminate His face, too. Once again, He was smiling.
“Watch how they sparkle,” He revelled. And with a flip of His wrist, the palmful of diamonds soared into the blackness until they found their destiny, and there they hung.
“Won’t the children love them?” the Maker said as together we watched the twinkling begin.
I still wasn’t sure what or who these “children” were, but I knew they occupied a place in the Dream like nothing else. Ever since the dream started, the Father spoke often of these children – what they would like, how they would respond.
I remember once, the Father held the sphere in one hand and motioned to me with the other. “Come. See what the children will see.” He then put His fingers to His lips and blew gently. Off His fingers floated tiny whiffs of white cotton balls of fluff.
“What do they do?” I asked as the train of puffs sailed toward the globe.
“Oh, Michael,” He boomed with excitement, “they do everything. They give shade. They give rain. But most of all, My children can watch them pass and, if they look closely, they will see Me.”
That was the way He thought about everything. All the Dream was for the children. And in all the Dream was the Father. With a waterfall, He said, “I made it small so they could run in and out.” With the dandelion: “This is just the right size for the children to blow,” and the rivers in the canyon: “They can sit right here and watch the water race into the valley.”
“But where are the children?” I once asked, looking into the same space from whence had come the rest of the Dream.
“Oh, not out there,” responded the Artist. There was urgency in His voice as He repeated, “Not out there.”
But that is all the Father said. And that’s all I asked.
With the coming of the creatures, I almost forgot. We laughed so much as He made them. Each one was special. The tiny wing for the mosquito. The honk so unlike any other sound for the goose. The shell for the turtle. The darting eyes of the owl.
He even let me decorate a few. I put violet in the butterfly wings, and He loved my idea to stretch the elephant’s nose.
What fun it was as the heavens gave birth to fowl and fish, reptile and rodent! No more had the little ones scurried of His palm than the giant ones appeared, he grabbed the giraffe and stretched its neck, and He put a whole in the whale’s head (“so it will come to the surface to breathe and the children will see it”).
“What will we call them all?” I asked.
“I’ll leave that up to the children.”
The children – I’d almost forgotten. But he hadn’t. As the last winged creature left His fingers, He turned and looked at me and I knew.
“It’s time?”
“Yes, it’s time.”
I expected to see His eyes dance again. But they didn’t. I anticipated eagerness. But He didn’t begin. For a long period, He sat looking out into the void – longer than normal.
“Do You see the children?”
“No. They are not to be found out there.”
“Then what do You see?”
“I see their deeds.”
He spoke softly. The joy was gone from His voice.
“What? What is it? What is it You see?
Perhaps it was because He thought I needed to know. Or maybe because He needed someone else to know. I’m not sure why, but He did what He had never done before. He let me see. As if the sky were a curtain, He took it and pulled it back.
Before I could see it, I could smell it. The stench stung my eyes. “It’s greed you smell,” He explained. “A love for foolish, empty things.”
I started to turn away. But my King didn’t, so I didn’t, I looked again.
It was so dark – a darkness unlike the starless sky – a blackness unlike the void. This darkness moved. It crept. It shadowed and swayed. It was a living soot. He knew my thoughts and spoke.
His words were slow and spaced. “They will put it out.”
“What?”
“They will destroy that which makes them mine.”
It was then I saw for the first time. He reached into Himself – deep into His own self and pulled it out. A flame. A shining circle.
It glowed brilliantly in His palm. Much brighter than the constellations He had spread out or the sun He’d ignited.
“This is...” I began.
“This is part of Me,” He confirmed and added what I couldn’t have imagined. “And out of Me, I will make my children.”
For the first time I saw. I saw why the children were so treasured. I saw the uniqueness in them. They bore His light – the universe He created, the children He fathered.
“But the darkness?” I had to ask. “Why?”
“Just as I chose, so they must choose. Else they won’t be Mine.”
Just then His face lifted. His eyes brightened. “But they won’t all forget Me. Look.”
Into tomorrow I gazed. At first I saw nothing. Just swarthy darkness billowing. But then, as I searched, I saw. First, only one, then a cluster, then more – lights they were. Flickers of candles, weakened but not lost in the darkness. Like the stars He had cast against the black heavens, these flames flickered in a stable sea.
“It’s My children.” There was pride in His voice. “My children remember.”
The look on His face, I cannot forget. His eyes had sparkled when He suspended the planets in space; His cheeks had danced as He heard the cat purr. I had seen His face alive before – but not like now. For this moment – when He saw His children alight in the darkness – when He saw those who were His seeking Him – He celebrated. His countenance exploded with joy. His head flew back, and laughter shook the stars.
“My children, My children, My children,” were His only words. And then, He paused, wiped tears from His face, and pledged a promise for all of Heaven to hear.
“You haven’t forgotten Me; I won’t forget you.”
Then He turned to me. “To the work, Michael; we’ve much to do. We must make the Dream come true.”
And I thought making the animals was a delight. “No two will be alike,” He vowed as He began reaching into Himself for balls of light. “Some big, some small. Some timid, some bold. Some with big ears, some with little.” And off His palm they came. Generation chosen. Destination determined. Each with a different thread of character or shape of body.
But each with a bit of Him – a light within.
And He even let me help. “Look what I made, Father,” I told Him. “I call them freckles. Let me show You how they work.”
And He smiled.
Posted by nayrakroarual at 7:25 PM
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