Wednesday, March 22, 2017

March 22, 2017 - On Being a Seed, Part IV


[This is Part IV of “On Being a Seed.”  Click Part I, Part II, and Part III for the prior episodes.]

Now there was only one thought on my mind:  the land of liquid gold.  I had to have it.  I drove myself upward in a fury.  When I encountered any obstacle, I either bore a hole straight through it or I sent my tendrils around it.  I was on a bizarre mission, and I could see the furtive glances from the denizens of the Underworld.  There was a look of anxiety in their eyes because I was going where they could not.  And there was jealousy, too.  There was steaming, jealous anger.

But I didn’t care.  I drove myself upward relentlessly, eating everything in my path that I could.  As I ate, I grew stronger, and the water dancer seemed pleased.  Horrified, but pleased.  I was no longer her slave, to do with as she wanted, pushing me this way and that.  Now when we talked, it was as old friends, and she gave up trying to drown me.  At least, it seemed that way, but later I learned things about her which made my heart go cold.  She is a shape-shifter, that one, but that is for another story.

Bright blazing, He.
Finally, I instinctively knew that I was right near the hidden upper world.  One more knock against the hard ceiling and it would smash to smithereens.  I was the destroyer.  I stopped for a moment and looked around myself.  The denizens of the Underworld were watching me.  Some were scurrying away quickly.  Many others were cowering in a corner.  But there was a sizeable group that just watched me from a distance with a knowing look in their eyes.  There was jealousy, yes, but I thought I saw mockery as well.  Hunger, too.

It was too late to teach them a lesson for their insolence, though.  I was at the defining moment, and I was not about to lose the land of liquid gold, the place for which I had hungered incessantly.  I told myself that if I ever came back to the Underworld, I would find those who had mocked me and I would devour them.  (But I was younger then.)

At last the time arrived.  I pulled as much strength into myself as I could, and then I smashed right through that hard ceiling.  And what did I see?  Well, what I saw changed everything.

In the first second I saw the liquid gold.  It was everywhere, just as the water dancer had said.  I was in awe as I turned my head upward to where I imagined the source of the gold might be.  And then I saw Him.  He was unlike anything I had seen or known before.  In a million years, I could not have imagined such magnificence, such shining brilliance.  I had seen the King.

Truly, this was a God!  The idea entered my mind for the first time that there was a Master of the universe, and perhaps I was looking at Him.  I felt searing, burning, horrible pain in my eyes from the brilliance of this being, and yet I could not tear myself away from looking at Him for even a moment, so beautiful He was.

And then I felt tiny, so very, very tiny.  I felt insignificant.  I felt that I was nothing but a worthless wisp of Underworld.  And what was the Underworld compared to this incredible sight?  I wished for a moment that the water dancer would appear and just drown me, but she was nowhere in sight.  I was alone and tiny and useless, and I turned my head downward in sorrow.  I looked away from the brilliance because I thought I was not good enough for it.

What happened next, I will never forget.  This magnificent being put His hand under my chin and raised my head up and said, ever so gently and sweetly, “Rise up, little one.”

I felt an indescribable, beautiful warmth unlike anything I had ever felt before.  It filled my whole being, and I cried and cried.  How is it that a dirty wisp from the Underworld could have caught the attention of such a magnificent King?  It was beyond my comprehension at the time.  The King—the God!—was talking to me, had noticed me.

“You are no longer just a seed,” he said.  “See, I give you the Light.  I have chosen you for Myself.  Now you are Mine.”

Then He kissed me and gave me a shiny green ribbon and told me to wear it joyfully in my hair, which I immediately did.  It was the first color I had ever seen, and even though I would go on to see many more beautiful colors, green has always remained my favorite.  For the first time I could remember, I thought I might be beautiful.  I was so happy.

The land of liquid gold was nothing like I had thought it would be, and the King, well, He was certainly not what I had expected.  Nothing could have prepared me for this beautiful and humbling land.  I felt foolish, even stupid.  But I was able to let go of that soon enough because nothing could dull the joy I felt upon having met the King and having received my green ribbon.

Imagine my surprise, though, when I looked around and saw other tiny wisps emerging from the Underworld!  The King stopped at each and every one of them—every single one—and kissed them and gave them a shiny green ribbon, just as He had done with me.  I felt a cold stab of jealousy in my heart.  I wanted the King all for myself!  I could see the rapture in every emerging wisp around me, and I knew that they thought and felt the same thing I did.  All the love and admiration was in their eyes.  And so was the jealousy.

We looked guardedly at one another.  This was not going to be easy.  I made a decision to continue to painfully grow, and I raised my head upward toward the King.  There was much to do and not much time in which to do it.

[Click here for Part V.]

Wednesday, March 8, 2017

March 8, 2017 - The Painter and the Sculptor


Once upon a time there was a painter and a sculptor, each the best and most talented among his brethren.  Their fame spread far and wide throughout the land, so far it seems, that even Mother Nature had heard of them and was interested.  It takes some doing, I can tell you, to peak her interest for there is nothing new under the Sun.

With their fame, however, came an odd feud between the people who revered them.  Each side felt that the artist they supported was the superior artist and the other was second-rate.  This might not have mattered so much, but the problem was that each “side” wanted the other “side” to capitulate, to admit that the artist of the other side was superior.  Each side sneered at the other.  It went from sneering to mocking to yelling to throwing stones and even worse . . . until a great deal of noise was upsetting an otherwise beautiful world.

The uncovering . . .
It was at this point that Mother Nature began to take notice.  It was not so much that she was impressed by either one of the artists because, as I told you, there is nothing new under the Sun.  What made her take notice was the constant din in the world she had agreed to fashion.  It had become so obnoxious that many of the animals were going away and hiding on the edges of the world just to get a little peace.  Usually when something like this happens, she simply smites the humans and starts over.  Wouldn’t you?  But this time, since she did recognize the extreme talent of both artists, she decided to hold a contest to see which one was best.

I might as well tell you here and now that Mother Nature did not believe one artist was better than the other.  She simply recognized their very different talents and hoped that she could bring that recognition to the people by holding the contest.  After all, people often need help to see what is right in front of their eyes.

Well, the day of the contest came, and people came from far and wide to see what the artists might do.  Each person held in his heart the idea that his artist would finally be recognized as superior and the other would have to bend his knee.  Each person was filled with false pride and condemnation.  Each person relished the idea of being “right,” not because “right” was best but because “wrong” was simply out of the question.  With “wrong” comes condescension, and with condescension comes condemnation.  It is a fatal human flaw.

The trumpets sounded loudly to announce the beginning of the contest, and as always, Mother Nature had to make a grand entrance.  (You must know that this is her habit as she is anything but dull.)  With a great clap of thunder, the Earth shook violently, and then a blinding flash of light was followed by a cloud of deep grey smoke.  Everyone fell to the ground trembling in fear.  The smoke quickly cleared, though, and Mother Nature stood in their midst, wearing her gown of ever-changing color and scenes.  As she moved, she seemed to appear and disappear depending upon whether the scene in her gown matched the surrounding area.

So she sat upon a great golden throne, which everyone swore that only moments earlier had not been there.  The trumpets sounded again, and the people were told to sit and watch the contest.  Of course, two groups formed, each filled with the members that supported their own artist—either the painter or the sculptor.  It was all very black and white with no in between, and this caused a heavy sigh to come involuntarily from the Lady on the Throne.

Not one to wait around for small talk, Mother Nature stood quickly and clapped her hands three times.  At once, a large canvas appeared in the clearing, which was surrounded by hundreds (perhaps thousands!) of vials of paint and many brushes and spatulas for the painter to use.  As if on cue, he appeared to a thunderous applause from his followers.  He was a flamboyant young man dressed in fine silks with a cap and a feather on his head.  He bowed low to the ground before Mother Nature, who rolled her eyes and yawned at his conceit and groveling.  She said not a word—not one—but merely pointed to the canvas with a long and bony index finger.

The painter went at once to the canvas, drawn by the vast array of beautiful paints.  He had planned on making a vivacious show, but he was overwhelmed by the beauty of the paints before him.  Without further comment, he set straight to work.  He was a strong and vigorous young man, and he moved quickly between the vials of paints, mixing this perfect color and that, splashing them on to the canvas with a look of true rapture in his eyes.  It was evident that even though he was a flamboyant and overly showy young man, his art was sincere and humbling and true.

A hush came over the crowd on both sides as they watched him paint the canvas.  Future painters watched him with the utmost admiration, holding deeply in their feverish hearts the desire to be just like him.  As he worked, the most beautiful woman ever seen appeared magically before the eyes of the beholders.  She was so delicate and so pure and so perfect, that every man there desired her immensely and every woman both loved and hated her most jealously, indeed.  Even Mother Nature was taken aback (and perhaps a little annoyed) by her stunning beauty and the talent of the man who had painted her.

When the painter finished, he stepped back and sat quietly on the ground.  He had planned earlier to make a great and raucous fuss upon his completion, but in the end, he sat humbly in front of the canvas with love shining in his eyes.  In that moment, he could not have known how beautiful he himself was.

“You have done well!” Mother Natured boomed, surreptitiously wiping a tear from her eye.  This contest had already become much more than she had anticipated, and that made her uncomfortable because things rarely ever happened without her anticipating them.  But even the maker of this world has to follow the Law.

Then she abruptly stood and clapped her hands three times yet again.  At once, a large piece of marble appeared in the clearing, which was surrounded by dozens and dozens of hammers, mallets, and chisels of all shapes and sizes.  Some were pointy and sharp; others were dull and raspy.  Anything the sculptor could need was there.

As if on cue, he appeared to a thunderous applause from his followers.  He was a very old man, bent and crooked and crippled.  Unlike his flamboyant and almost floating counterpart, he was slow and quiet and dressed in dirty and torn clothes.  He nodded briefly and absentmindedly toward Mother Nature, who narrowed and fixed her eyes on what seemed to be almost impertinence to her.  She said not a word—not one—but merely pointed to the marble slab with a long and bony index finger.

The sculptor limped quietly to the marble, drawn by the beautiful tools at his disposal.  He had planned on using his own old chisel, thinking it the best tool ever, but when he saw the fine tools before him, he was overwhelmed with the thought of what he might create.  Without further comment, he set straight to work.  He was an old man, old and tired, and he moved slowly around the marble as he hammered and chiseled this way and that.  He had never used such fine tools before, and he was surprised and humbled by their exactness, having never before thought of the workmanship that might go into the creation of his tools of trade.  This gave him a humble appreciation, even a reverence, for the quiet workers who had helped him in his art all these years without him ever having known.

A hush came over the crowd on both sides as they watched him split and chisel and shave the marble.  Future sculptors watched him with the utmost admiration, holding deeply in their feverish hearts the desire to be just like him.  As he worked, the most beautiful man ever seen began to suddenly appear out of the marble.  He was in a reclining position, sleeping peacefully.  His features were bold and strong and warrior-like, and every woman there desired him immensely and every man grudgingly acknowledged his superior alpha form.  Even Mother Nature was taken aback (perhaps a little feverishly) by his beauty and strength and the talent of the man who had sculpted him.

When the sculptor finished, he jumped back quickly in a movement that startled even himself, and he let out a little yelp.  He had planned earlier to simply walk away upon his completion, but in the end, he grinned broadly at the beautiful marble youth before him, enjoying his own talent in a way he had never done before.  In that moment, he could not have known how much more human he had become to the spectators.

“Well done, old man, well done!” Mother Natured boomed, secretly feeling her own heart aflutter by the beautiful marble man.  This contest had become so much more than she had planned.  How was she to choose between these two artists?  How was she to say which one was best and which one was second-rate?  For surely, they were both masters.

She decided, as she always decides, that Truth is best.  And this is what she said:

“Painter, you have reached into the secret garden of your heart and mind.  Even more than that, you have reached into the secret gardens of the hearts and minds of everyone here.  You have found what is best in beauty and grace, and somehow you have managed to convey that on your canvas.  You have been able to combine the secret desires and longings of every person here and put them magically on your canvas, and because of this, we are all made better and humbler.”

The followers of the painter cheered wildly, and even some of the followers of the sculptor cheered as well, having realized the gift of beauty and color that had been given to them.

“Sculptor, you have uncovered what is hidden in every person’s heart and soul.  Even more than that, you have let them know that grace and beauty are always within and can be revealed at any time, should one be brave enough to mercilessly use the hammer and chisel.  What appeared to be nothing at all is now revealed to be everything, and because of this, you have sparked the courage and bravery of us all to uncover our hidden gifts.”

The followers of the sculptor cheered wildly, and even some of the followers of the painter cheered as well, having been given the gift of the knowledge of uncovering.

When the cheers subsided, the crowd grew quiet.  All eyes turned expectantly to Mother Nature, who was now on the spot to make a choice.  But before she could make a pronouncement, noises were heard in the clearing by the canvas and the marble.  There a group of children were playing with the paints and sculpting tools.  Some were merrily throwing the paints and tools around into a terrible mess, but others were earnestly trying to paint and sculpt.  Yet all of them—each and every one—was smiling and laughing.  Art and beauty, after all, will not be denied.

Several people from both sides then walked away together, having formed a third group.  These people would go on in the future to become the wise men and women throughout the ages of man who would try to guide humankind in truth and fairness.  The other people who were still left on one side or another walked away in their own directions, marveling at the talent of their artist, whom they all agreed was clearly the best.  Painter or sculptor, it did not matter to these people.  What mattered was being right.

In the end, Mother Nature was left all alone with the painter and the sculptor.  To each she gave an unlimited supply of their respective tools of trade, and both of them thanked her profusely.  They left together, the old sculptor leaning heavily on the arm of the young painter, who willingly and humbly supported the old man.

And now all that was left was Mother Nature, the painting, and the sculpture.  She took two bits of cloth from her ever-changing dress and draped one across each piece of art, and immediately each one began to move and shift, appear and disappear.  She left the art to flow into the forest, and I am told if one has a discerning eye, one can still see the beauty here and there.  In the end, though, there is nothing new under the Sun.  Things are merely revealed when we are ready to see them.

Friday, March 3, 2017

March 3, 2017 - On Being a Seed, Part III


[This is Part III of “On Being a Seed.”  Click Part I and Part II for the prior episodes.]

It was not the first time I had died, and it would not be the last.  The dancer held me mercilessly under the water until I had drowned completely.  My struggles were weak and in vain; she was too powerful.  But more to the point, she delighted in it, and a passion like that cannot be stopped.  And so the darkness poured out of me and the water poured into me.

This was the first time I remembered feeling the pulse.  It was in the water itself.  It was the water.  It was a feeling of going back and forth, back and forth.  It was a swelling and receding, and there was a faint sound to it, a rhythm.  Because in the beginning there was sound, and there was an inexplicable pull.

But I was free . . .
But I was free from my prison.  There I lay in the cool, dark Earth.  Dead.  And all around me were the denizens of the Underworld, each in a different state of death.  It was all so beautiful.  I’m not sure when it happened as I lay in the darkness, listening to the pulse, but I began to feel a tremendous hunger.  I don’t know where it came from.  Perhaps it was from the point that had fallen inside of itself, that point from so long ago, that point from the other world.  It doesn’t matter, though.  All that mattered was the incredible, insatiable hunger.

And so I ate.  I ate the creatures of the Underworld that were all around me.  I ate and I ate incessantly of the most delicious substance.  I didn’t ask permission, and it wouldn’t have mattered to me if they had said no.  Like the water dancer, I was consumed with passion.  All that mattered was that I must eat—and eat I did!—and as I ate, I began to feel the ripping and tearing again.  Where had I felt that ripping and tearing before?  That should have been enough to stop me, but it did nothing to slow me down, nothing at all.  As I ate, I ripped and tore myself in a terrible process that I would later learn was called “growth.”  Growth was horrible, indeed.  Dying was so much easier.

Sometimes the water dancer would come around, but now that I was larger with many tendrils reaching outward, she could no longer drown me.  That didn’t stop her from trying, though.  It was a continual dance we danced.  She would flit this way and that, and I would trap her in my many tendrils.  Once when I had swelled so large and threatened to hold her in an endless embrace, she said that if I let her go she would tell me a great secret.  So I let her go, and she told me.

“High above you,” she said, “There is a hidden world of such immense delights that it makes the Underworld pale in comparison.”

“Pah!”  I scoffed at that.  “What could be more beautiful than the darkness?”

“There is a land of liquid gold, I swear it!”

I wondered to myself.  Liquid gold?  I had already seen the hard and glinting gold of the Underworld.  It was beautiful, indeed, something to be coveted.  What must liquid gold be like?  Gold that moved and flowed?  Already, the hunger for the gold was beginning.  The water dancer began to sound the drums again, louder this time.  The pulse was beckoning me.

“Upward!” I screamed, and I began my relentless climb up and up.

“But there is a great King who guards the gold!” she shouted after me.

Ha!  A king?  We shall see about that, I thought.  I relished the idea of a new world and new delights to eat.  Perhaps I would eat the king.

[Click here for Part IV.]