Heaven's Rending Ch. 02a Interlude 01byAdrian Leverkuhn©
Interlude I: The Promise of Sand
Sand lies underfoot, silent, unknowing, windswept. Sun streams down on vast reaches of sand, it's journey complete. Silent sand, caressed by sun, warmed by the indifference of chaos, sand drifts along the boundary between land and sea. Between what was, and what is.
Between being and becoming.
Sand drifts just in silence, it's passage measured in heartbeats; it drifts on wind-borne currents. Rhythms of an ancient dance define the random thoughts of drifting sand. Hearts dance to this time, to this other music, as you might say hearts dance to the music of stars. This much we know, but do we really understand?
Do we really understand being and becoming?
So, from on high - as if we were gods - we watch as shadows cross sand, shadows lost in the music of chance, dancing in the measured light of an autumn afternoon. Movement so random, so full of purpose, so ancient, so new - two shadows drift in careless flight, drifting on airs so light that time cannot - would not even if it dared - measure the passing of shadows across these blowing sands. Time, yes, time is patient. This is our truth.
If you were above such a scene, if perhaps you were a seagull, if you were a god, you would see shadowed footsteps advancing across this windswept scene behind two people, a man and a woman, two forms joined - as one, moving - as one, silent - windswept, warmed by the certainty of the music in their hearts. You would wonder what purpose lies waiting for these shadows, but you would smile, for without knowing why - you understand. Purpose. There is purpose in life, even in shadow.
There is purpose in movement, even undefined, even in chance dancing. Movement toward purpose, movement in obedience to ancient music. You watch footsteps advance across windswept sands, watch purpose unfold in the sharp light of day, and in the music of sand's endless passage you see that these two shadows have been measured by your light. Measured by the passage of time. You would obey if you could - if you were anything but a god. This is life. What are you but a god?
You watch from on high as tall grass bends in the breeze, yields to the measure of the music, and you smile as grass shadows dance in discordant harmony across advancing footsteps, wandering in concert across time to a shadow on the sand, where the two - the man and the woman - have found rest under the sheltering sky. You watch as hand seeks hand, face meets face, as two become one again and again. What music is this?
If you flew higher, toward the sun where stronger winds blow, perhaps you would see other people walking on drifting sands. But why does your eye come back to the man and the woman, to those who lie on drifting sands warmed by this distant sun. Beings not unlike yourself: lost to time, lost in shadowed recesses within ever-shifting dunes, lost to their past and beholden only to a vague future. Would you see these people as something set apart, would they seem as eternal as the soothing currents that wipe the sands of their patterns? Oh! Do they so obey?
So calm the man and the woman seem from where you stay - stay on high in the music of spheres. It is almost as if they have been cut off from the rest of the world, and still you would understand. You see the timelessness these two offer the world around them - timelessness as a measure of redemption - for in their passage across the sand you would find the gift offered to you, to every god. What would surprise you? Your redemption?
A God in need of redemption?
Oh, no, you think. Not redemption. Evil lies not here in my heart. Evil has no place here.
What purpose, then, carves it's place on these drifting dunes. That in human love lies true peace? Do you, God, claim to know such peace?
That in the gift men and women give to one another in the sharing of souls, the union of one life with another, the meaning of all life becomes clear even as the measure of one life becomes self-evident. When one hand enfolds another's, when the potential of one hand to change the very sinew and synapse of life when holding another's hand in it's soft grasp, time becomes irrelevant. Space becomes meaningless. Hate becomes an illusion. And the force of destiny lies mute in the shadow of it's creation.
If, from the vantage point you have reached while oh so high among the clouds, you could still see the man and the woman in the dunes, what would you feel? Among all the beings who walk this earth, do any live - really live - who do not share their love with another? What would you think if you, God, could not love? What of this life if you could only be loved? Could you even think at all if you could not love? How could you be loved if you couldn't feel love?
From on high?
But what if just as suddenly you were as one with the sand, down within the blowing grains of your creation, you are flowing through grass and over dune. You are there, pulled by long forgotten gravity toward the man and the woman as they lie upon the shifting sand. What would you feel? Could you feel their love all around you? Would you envy that love? Could you cherish their love as they cherish you?
Could you become lost in a sigh if you could not hear it?
Could you taste the limits of human experience in the shadow of a kiss?
Could you recognize the very meaning of eternity by looking at a clock? And feel your life ebbing away in the echoes of your love?
Could you find in your mind the meaning of love if all you could see when you look at the stars that surround you was your reflection?
Could you watch unashamedly as man looks into woman's eyes and the meaning of his existence becomes clear? What? If you but chanced to dance alone?
Could you feel the electric warmth as one hand finds another - as one heart reaches out for another - as two souls become one in the recesses of the dunes? Are you afraid, God? Afraid of your own creation?
What would you find within yourself - within your heart - when you watched two smiles become one? Would you smile? Or would you choose to turn away in shame?
Would you turn and walk away from us? Is chaos your home? Is the German guilty of the Jew's blood on his hands? Is the Israeli guilty of the Palestinian blood on his?
Why did you make this thing called Love? Why is it that in the drifting sand we find love, and when we lift our eyes to the stars we feel you and feel love? How could you have made us so blind?
Why did you? Why did you turn away from the beauty of your creation? Why did you leave us to bathe in our brother's blood?
What is this? This joining, this fusion?
Is there really purpose in the circles you marked out for us?
Oh? Free Will?
And just as suddenly you are adrift in the black reaches of space. You are winging through vast clouds of matter where hot young stars burn all around you. Everywhere you look matter seethes and burns in coalescing fury, knotted proto-stars coil and ignite in glowing nebulae, planets form in myriad accretion disks, and the overwhelming vastness of the universe is laid before your wings. Creation and death surround you, purpose not yet fathomed claws for your voice.
And now you are winging at impossible speeds toward unimaginable worlds, and as you race above molten landscapes, as you dive through primordial seascapes you are crushed under the weight of a devastating realization. In all this universe, in all of this vast terror of loneliness, the universe has kept your secrets, and you and you and you alone have known the truth of love.
In all of this vastness, in all of this inchoate matter, how rare is life?
Yet even more burdensome, how rare is that swirling matter which becomes aware? Aware of it's self and it's existence? Aware of it's life, and it's death? Aware of the possibilities that define a life apart from chaos?
So, what is this awareness?
Aware of love? Of the music in a sigh? Of the warmth of one body touching another?
All of the matter in the universe, all silent, unspeaking, unknowing, and we ask you how this came to be? How could this be? Why is love so rare?
You find the vast cold reaches of space have vanished, and once again you are above the sands, looking down on the man and the woman. You are looking down on the miracle of life, the simple truth of love. And you know that in the vast, cold reaches of your universe few things could match the beauty of this moment, the absolute truth in this touching.
You find that here, now, lying under the warmth of a distant, burning star, matter has found matter in this vast chance dancing, and for a brief shining moment truth has been born from chaos to flower in this brief light. In all of the chaos this universe you have invited us to see, here on the drifting sands, truth has been born, here truth will live, and here truth will perish.
And here in the shadows, truth will be reborn.
For such is the promise of sand.
We drift towards life in chaos. We choose to pass from chaos. We are born of chaos. We will return to chaos. Is that so?
As sand drifts in random patterns, reality takes shape around us.
The promise of sand.
That in this drifting chaos we inherit from our universe, we take shape and form reality around us. Matter, lost in the indifferent gaze of time takes form, creates reality anew, creates life, and in the outrageous audacity of your plan, finds purpose, and strength, and resolve.
Born of love, we can only truly live within love's warmth.
As sand drifts, so too do men and women. Chaos, ancient music, purpose, two hands in silent union, birth, life, death, chaos. All being from becoming in a kiss, in a lover's knowing look. As sand drifts in random chaos, so too do lovers, but in the passage from chaos to purpose, the passage from matter to awareness, we come into the light. In the light of our creation, we see stars as sand, random, drifting in chaos, coming together as if in planned union. Coming to the miracle of life.
Being and becoming. Purpose and chaos. Love and chance dancing.
All being coming as to us - as to us in the promise of sand.