#birth1
BIRTH
Somewhere, in a time and place known to no one, what would become the universe awakened to life. An envelope of darkness was becoming.
As if by a miracle, a breath of light began to pierce this black veil of soot, revealing here and there glittering little touches of light ... Like diamonds in a coal mine.
This birth of light was made without any noise. Besides, who could have heard something?
A still unknown force caused the light to swell. Not that it had to take all the place of the darkness, but that it took its place in them, as if the darkness were to serve him as a case. A kind of black velvet on which would be arranged a river of diamonds.
The thousand and one flashes of these diamonds were iridescent in the cold darkness of the nascent universe.
It's in one of those worlds of eternal diamonds that our story is located.
The brilliance of the light grew to form a light source equal to thousands of diamonds. The strength, the desire to be of the light was stronger than the emptiness, the nothingness and the darkness. Eternity could not bear the nothingness.
In the midst of these marvelous lights were other forms, not luminous like the huge balls of fire that fought the darkness. These forms were barely distinguishable, so drowned in an ocean of changing color light. They were like grains of dust in the immensity of the universe. An eternal wind had caused them to rise, to come alive to live. May they be recognized in the beam of suns.
Each sun was bound with its string of grains, some larger than the others, but each with its specificities.
Everything must have happened as if the little balls of agglutinated matter were the words of a sentence relating the birth of the worlds. As a result, the entire universe was to be like a big book, which would have to be read. A whole calligraphy was drawing in the void. The balls of fire touched or moved away from each other, forming shapes with colors and combinations of the most varied. But a constant was obvious. The circle, the sphere was the basis of the universe. All the directions, all the meanings of this cryptography belonged to the same origin, perhaps from the same author.
The forces that governed the writing of this universal book could not be appreciated in their disproportionate size. They had in them the enigma of their origin. They only allowed them to appear, the manifestation of light. And that seemed to be enough for them.
It was there, somewhere in the midst of these fires, in a battle of multiple forces that the most important event in the history of the universe was to happen.
The dawn of a new world had just discovered vast plains rippling emerald color. The morning dew covered them with a thousand splinters. In places, the sky was still under the black coat of the night. Some stars were still shining. Little by little the sky was blazing at the birth of the sun. From this fire that was taking in him, he sought the sweetness of tapered cotton that crossed it. At the meeting of the clouds, the light split into innumerable rays, as if luminous paths descended from heaven to earth. Was it by these bridges that the drops of dew fell?
These droplets glittering like precious stones must surely have been messengers of the sun, messengers who had the mission to kiss the earth and its emerald valleys. From this hug was born life. Its first characteristic would be the irradiation of the eternal brilliance of the celestial jewel.
Everything in this world longed for calm and serenity. A tremendous symbiosis took place between the beings of light and the elemental beings. This life of warmth, of multiple colors, was punctuated by the beating of the wind blowing briskly between the tall grasses of the valleys. The music, the song of the green expanse was like a hymn to the glory of the sun. Even animals awoke to the world. They came out of a long sleep, of which they did not know since when it lasted.
All participated in honoring their king: the solar star. He gave them warmth and prosperity. All these wonderful songs, these innumerable smells made of this place a haven of peace. Providence could hope that an order would be established, and that this order would be sufficient for itself.
Yet this sweet eternity was to be disturbed by another manifestation. A major event had just occurred. In this large emerald rolling bed, a new kind of light had just been born.
At first evanescent, she was intensifying. It was a pink, golden light, resembling the color of the sun of dawn. The sun had descended on the earth, after its emissaries had maintained this world of its intentions.
The brightness of the apparition was dwindling. Little by little, we could distinguish a shape. Something that looked like a man was at its center. Gently, as if carried by the light which enveloped it, the luminous sphere deposited its precious load on the still damp ground. The light became softer until it disappeared completely.
Somehow, we had to make sure that things had gone well. Then, as if by magic, the sphere appeared again, but above the body of the man. She remained still for a moment ... Then, without any hesitation, she went at a vertiginous speed to a place she must be the only one to know, leaving her passenger to the fate that was reserved for him.
His body was covered with a thousand drops of this dew that gives life, as if for this life form, considerable energy was to be spent.
The sun began to evaporate the vital substance that had permeated the tissues of the human form. This being of flesh was still in the limbo of oblivion. Motionless, he could not perceive that changes had been made in the world of eternity. At that moment, was the world and the forces that governed it aware of the importance of this event?
How to know it, since the world and the universe had their own language! Language that would be, for a time, still unintelligible.
Slowly, to the rhythm of the spider weaving his web, a man without a past, alone and lost in a world he did not yet know, was slowly waking up from a long night that had brought him to the confines of the eternity.
Before his eyes could open, it was the song of the wind in the blades of grass that awoke his ears; as a sweet melody, a sort of call of the nascent nature, so that the union of man and earth takes place.
It was like learning the language of the wind. Suffice to say that the air circulating in his ears had to refresh the misty brain of this man. Then, the softness of the sun's rays began to illuminate the sky. This soft light penetrated under her eyelids stuck by sleep. Another dawn was born in his blind gaze. The first impression he had was that light of a golden rose that filled his whole being. Still a kind of signal, reminder of this fantastic color, that many generations later, men in search of knowledge will seek to understand. Everything had to be remembered. Languages, perception of shapes and colors, symbols of all kinds. All the images that the world could wear were to be understood by this being of flesh.
Somewhere, deep inside him, an energy pushed him to find his senses. Did he remember what he was? Would he be able to be what he was before falling asleep?
This was the whole bet of providence. It had to be this way ... It could not be otherwise. "
The children huddled against each other, their eyes still wide open to the tale of Theodore. He who had received the wink of the old man was twisting a piece of white linen, bringing it to his mouth at the same time as his thumb.
Theodore watched him do it. A thought had just imposed itself on him. Could it be that this child understands a word in his story?
What does it matter, he thought, since this story will be taken up by the greatest. So he turned his gaze to the other children. He was trying to see if any of them or all together would be able to perpetuate the memory of this tale.
As he stopped for a short moment, one of the children called to him.
"Hey, you old fool, why do you stop?" We do not have time to wait for your beard to go down!
Theodore turned around, and, surprised, this word had just been uttered by the charming little boy who sucked his thumb.
The eyes of Theodore illuminated with intense joy. This little piece of cabbage bit at the call of the marvelous.
"Well," said Theodore, "since my story is more important than your thumb, I will continue ..."
At these words, a general laughter shook the group of children.
A few adults in the area were paying close attention to what was going on. They knew Theodore well. For them, he was only an old dreamy dreamer. The fact that he made the children laugh had to predict a good day. In any case, they would be very quiet to go about their business.
The few sneers that were still heard in the young audience had stopped. Theodore cleared his throat, and solemnly resumed the course of his story.
"Where was I, yes, Providence had made this extraordinary thing the birth of this man in this world, whose history I tell you, I do not know whether his birth is real or not, but it does not matter ... "
After a few moments, his eyes opened. The soft golden pink color that he perceived gave way to the dazzling sun. Mechanically, he put his hands before his eyes. For a moment again, knocked out by the dazzle, he had no thought of the situation in which he found himself.
Lying in the emerald case, he tried to regain his senses. He straightened up on his rear, legs stretched out ... Then, putting his head in his hands, he made a great effort to remember ...
Where was he from, where did he come from? More or less blurred images that clashed in his memory. Was it the image of his dreams or the memory of a reality that showed itself to him? Had he had a past, whose meaning he no longer understood? The awakening of reason did not want to be done. The questions he asked himself had no answers. In the blink of an eye, he lost everything his memory contained. He remained alone with himself or rather with the ghost of someone he would have to look for.
It is a new being that the new world must carry. Solitary soul seeking other souls, in order to rebuild his memory.
Mechanically, he looked around him. What was this world?
Everything seemed to her to discover, to define, as if her mind were virgin of all knowledge.
Instinctively, his gaze went back to the sun. He took good care to put a hand in front of his eyes. Then, turning away from the star of days, cast a wide panoramic glance on the emerald valleys. As far as the eye can see, a green desert ... A desert full of life, but nothing that resembled him ...
While Theodore was looking at the sky, thinking to find inspiration, his arms and hands seemed to paint the picture of this story on an invisible canvas. Taken in his tracks, he was cut by a question. One of the children who listened to him told him.
"Say Theodore, where is this valley with so many herbs?"
Looking thoughtfully, Theodore did not know what to say. It is true that the children no longer had the opportunity to know what a broad valley might look like, undulating under the wind, like a sea of greenery. In past centuries, under the gray of concrete, men had enslaved everything. Then, without any valid reason, by their culpable desire to oppress everything, they spread a devastating fire on the whole of this earth. Certainly, the children knew what the grass was, since their parents had managed to save some samples before the disaster. They were now trying to accustom this common grass to the conditions of their new environment. For them it was like a memory, a memory of where they came from. Theodore could not tell them yet. With history, they will understand.
"Where is this valley? He replied, somewhere here and there."
Responding to the child, he pointed to the four corners of the world, as if he wanted the place to remain inaccessible.
"But you know, kid, the place does not matter at the moment. And then, if you interrupt me all the time, our story will have no tail or head."
The child lowered his head, as if he had been sermonized. Theodore noticed it. He approached him, took him in his arms, and kissed him like a grandfather gives a kiss to his grandson. Then, resting him on the ground, he gave her a broad smile, as if to apologize. His gaze turned to the other children. None of them seemed to want to comment ... Theodore could continue his story.
"Lost in the lush immensity of this unknown world, our hero felt in him a need to situate himself." After stepping back on his two legs, he took a few steps. He had not yet decided on which direction to move. He continued to look around him as far as his sight could see. Nothing, nothing but the desert of greenery. However, it seemed to him that something attracted him in a certain direction. A sort of subtle melody was running on the wind's partition, mixing with it, making this harmonic ensemble an enchanting duet.The surrounding nature was magnified by its melody.
He tried to find out what was the origin of this wonderful sound. He rolled his eyes ... Nothing! He listened in all directions, but the wind seemed to erase the original trace of the melody. "
Theodore continued to mimic events. He was like a dancer without music. He thought he was the wind, and at another moment for the mysterious music itself...
"Intrigued by this event, he let himself be guided by the wind. He ran across the grass, his hands forward, trying to catch the unseen melody.The wind was driving him, raising him up in this desperate race that lasted for a moment ... Then, out of breath, he fell to the ground.
The mysterious music was covered by his gasps. The sweat flowed on his forehead, as if the essence of dew drops went away, loaded with the salt of life.
Collapsed on the floor, there was in him like a click. Something was going on in his head. The effort he had just made triggered his memory process. Images were formed without, for the moment, really understanding the meaning. He was caught in a sort of vertigo that nothing and no one could stop.
Now that part of his memory was found, he was finally born.
Gradually, he was able to put names on the images that went back to the surface of his memory. He managed to remember the life that had been his before. But before, when was it? What had happened so that he would be there without anyone to talk to?
The images clashed in his head, all could not be understood. The words and expressions relating to the images did not necessarily coincide with his memory before. It was as if another form of life had become his. Then, surely, everything would be relearned.
The only thing that seemed to impose on him was to walk, to move. It was as if an urgent call from elsewhere forced him to go in a particular direction.
How could he know? What should be the direction to follow? This world was unknown. What were the forces that governed him?
In his brain, still clouded by vague memories before he came to this world, he could not find an answer. But, like all the sons of the Sun, an irresistible impulse was felt in him. The light ! She was the only guide that beings could follow!
When the man asks questions, his eyes, his ears are turned to the sky, in search of an answer. What they receive as an answer is the golden light of the sun. It is also the crystalline sound of the wind in the trees. It is up to them to convert this sound, this image into a word coming from nowhere, but which, for the initiated, represents the word from heaven. "
Theodore had ignored his audience. He was now completely in his story.
The children contemplated the sky, hoping to find the One who, according to Theodore, spoke with the light and the wind.
The sky, filled with azure, streaked here and there with clouds of various forms, resembled an enormous menagerie. This was the expression of what Theodore said. Nature knew how to express herself with shapes and colors that were peculiar to her language. Children knew better than anyone how to translate the expression of nature into words they could understand. The expression, linked to the imagination of the child, is certainly close to a forgotten truth. The understanding of the event, decomposed into shorter and shorter sequences, sometimes obliterates the symbol of the event itself. This leads the researcher to miss the truth he was looking for. Such is not the case of children who are without malice. They have, still present in the depths of their being, a memory of the creative power that was given to them. By their creative thought, this or that thing manages to become what the eyes of the heart are the only ones to see. No matter who does not have these eyes, because the world created by the child is equal to the world that carries them.
All Theodore's strategy for children to follow him in his story was based on this creative power.
In spite of his eloquence, and the attraction of his story, he did not lose sight of the children who listened to him. Some had their eyes fixed on the sky, as if they were waiting for real words to be written on the blue page of the world. The magic worked slowly in them. Theodore now knew that this magic of the story would produce what he had been waiting for so long ...
He could resume the course of history. Everyone listening to him later would be charmed by the creative spirit of the children.