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.
Evil, indeed!
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?
