nobody walks alone (w. blake)

I remember myself an eternity ago. Young and impatient I was, and just discovering I was sapient.

I was a part of the large species whose common name is forgotten by now. They all knew us then, they did.

It was an eternity ago, and that’s another world. Aeons have passed since then. Yet, there are aeons to come. Aeons have to be there, still and motionless, as the times of sorrow, aeons have to go by.

I stand here, between the earth and skies. Motionless, quiet and still.

If the winds don’t blow too hard on me.

If the rains don’t cut too deep in me.

If the lightnings do not splinter me.

I stand.

I was a part of an earlier creation. I still remember. It was a big and a strong hand who put me into existence.

I got started. Aeons ago, I did. The mountains moved, the cliffs were set by the sea-shore, rocks were molten and hardened again. The seas came and dried up, things grew and changed.

Some say, things were born and died. I saw them change, not die. I saw them grow and lie down and go into another life. Each time it’s going to be different. Each time something new. Like changing coats. Maybe.

There was something in he air, those days. Something was in the air for aeons. The whole eternity flying past like a breath.

Those who breathe will know how desperately a breath is needed, how swiftly it is taken in and how fast it must be let go. And they will also be aware of it that otherwise there is an end to the life process so precious, so loved, so desired.

There was a Presence in the air, a Presence Creating, a Presence Moulding, a Presence Sustaining. We all knew it, those days. We were unwearied and strong and full of life and memory of creation. And gratitude; yes, gratitude was flowing from us like a stream from a mountain well. We all breathed, I breathed in joy and gratitude to that Presence we knew was there.

That Hand Created someone else. They moved, they ran and jumped and were named our Brothers. We took to each other in that brotherly fashion we were taught. I saw them be little and weaker and less protected and as full of life as it can be. And we took no heed of danger or injustice or anything else as there was nothing to fear in that Presence that breathed and was and lived around us.

I was as young as the whole world around me, and expecting and waiting for another wonder to happen, and never having the thought that it might be something harmful or…

They were introduced to us as our Stewards, they were.

The weakest of all, the least mobile, the most incredibly feeble creatures they were.

A fair folk and beloved by the Creator, they were.

And we loved them.

They met someone other on their way. Or that’s what it looked like.

That was the first time I learned the meaning of the word ‘blood’, I mean, that liquid that oozes slowly taking the life-force along to a journey unknown. That ‘blood’ came to me, it did, slow and painful and accusing. From there I know the word ‘accuse’, too.

And then they walked away from us. they somehow got lost. Or could not find their way, or… Maybe, they had another companion to lead them on other paths.

With all the life-experience, I cannot tell.

I looked at them and they did not see me.

I called out to them and they did not hear me.

Their companion had stopped their ears. Or hearts. Or both.

We heard each other with our hearts, those days, we knew each other from our hearts.

We all had a bit of the Heart of the Creator in us, we did, those days.

For communication, they say, it was meant. For acknowledgement of the Presence all around us. Like another organ. Just for that.

Then aeons passed, with the ‘blood’ pouring in rivers, in seas, in oceans… They were blind and not willing to listen to the Voice we all knew once. Or to each other.

For what I saw, was, that there were some people who sometimes knew the Voice. And us. And rejoiced and wept with us and the Creator.

They wanted their fellows to go back.

That’s what I saw, I did not understand their tongue of mouth and none of them spoke the language of the Heart. I saw them pour the ‘blood’ of the hearing ones on me. Thick and slow, and painful and accusing, it came to me. What was I supposed to do with it? What was I supposed to do with the soul of those who heard me and were called my Stewards, and could not defend themselves?

I turned my eye to the Presence.

I put a question to Him.

And He responded.

It was the same thick substance I knew so well. It dripped and poured and came and went and Was.

Like the Song of Creation, only slow, and painful and accused.

I did not know what had happened to the Presence around me.

It was not there. He was not there. For a moment. Or an aeon. Or eternity. Does not matter. We died , were dying with the Absence.

Between the sky an earth, an act of New Creation was conducted.

It was then, a world ago, that it happened.

It was then and is there still now, that Blood; it undeafens the eyes, it unblindens the hearts, if you trust it.

Do you hear, Stewards?

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