Sunlight on the Bogachiel River
Posted by David—
It came from a call, wild as a roar and quiet as a whisper in the night. From one hemisphere of the universe to the other an echo resounded and remained the heartbeat of life.
Was it with a bang or was it with a rosy evening in one hemisphere and a husky blue morning in the other that the universe began? Was the light hot like the summer or did it shine like that of Saint Elmo’s Fire—as if water and fire could be one? Must have light travel from one end to reach the other or did it appear from everywhere at once? One thing is certain, the light dawned in the beginning.
I can imagine then all at once that everywhere in the great expanse bubbles appeared, small and large, bubbles of sky and water, each in its own family, in their own tribes, and in His own collections. Not one of the churning, mixing, self-illuminating bubbles were alone, each were moved by the presence of the other. From among all bore life: green life, red life, colored life—for out of life comes life.
Next I can imagine that a new type of light broke forth, not the rosy light of dawn nor the pale blue light of a misty morning, but white light, bright light, light of the sort which breaks your gaze. The new light began by congregating muted colors. First one popped, then another and another until everywhere sparkled in the great expanse. Early on it was like sparkles in fresh, fluffy snow in the sunlight, but as more and more of the pale light popped into sparks, darkness emerged amid the tiny pinpoints, swirls, threads and mycelia of brightness. These lights forever changed the texture of the great expanse. Eddies, waves and tides covered the heavens. Light danced from one hemisphere to the other. Deep within and among this light river dwelt life, ever-changing and alway the same, ever-seeing and always abounding.
In one special place, so infinitesimal, so humble, and so ordinary, it was decided, that life should take on special meaning. Life was given special breath to speak and special eyes to see and special hands to create. It was right here that this happened long ago, long before memory can reckon. To this life was also given a special sense. This life could love and befriend his Creator. To those wide, fresh eyes, life was most certainly paradise.
Along with this special creation came responsibility, not like that of drudgery, but like that of royal discernment. For this new form of breath who could tell living stories also had the potential to slander. This new form of eyes had the potential to covet. This new form of hands had the potential to murder. A special rule was given, unlike any law of nature, to keep danger away.
But such a regal status for such a lowly form of life was envied by one great and charismatic light. A crafty conspiracy ensued to trick the one who was loved into unfavored status, if that were possible. In perfect freedom, the special creation was deceived. In perfect freedom, the special creation ate death. In perfect freedom, guilt was pronounced.
Immediately, a counter-conspiracy began for the special creation was deeply loved even still—to the horror of the great and charismatic light.
But with death now on the beloved creature’s mental horizon, the creature could no longer bring forth life, but instead could only propagated war, for breath still brought forth the mind’s manifestations. The battle began for power over who rules where the victor rises in the depths of Hell—a battle of words and lies, deceit and lust, bludgeon and fire.
For centuries, this one-time battle ensued. There were those within the special creation who understood the tragedy and foretold the joy. As pronounced, their story came to life when the same roar and the same whisper that formed all of creation from the beginning was born into the body of the special creation—into the creature. The roar and the whisper took on the cloak of death, during which he spoke of the true life to be. Unloved and unbelieved, he was abandoned and in jealousy he was assassinated by those he held dear. And with him, so must die all of the universe too, for all that came from his roar and whisper went with him in his descent into Hell.
But like the Phoenix, out of the ashes arose the Roar and the Whisper, for infinite sacrifice begets infinite life. And from his mouth comes a new roar and a new whisper which conjugates light once again. You cannot yet hear this roar with your ears. You cannot yet see the new light of his voice with your mind. You can only know it through the eyes of hope, for we are still of the Phoenix’s ashes. So fix your eyes, fix your hands, and fix your mind on the Roar and the Whisper, for we are still a special creation. And what we love, who loved us first, will never ever abandon us. “Out of the ashes, arise!”
When he had said these things, he cried out with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out.” The man who had died came out, his hands and feet bound with linen strips, and his face wrapped with a cloth. Jesus said to them, “Unbind him, and let him go.”