The Light.

Day by day, Adam and the Light journeyed further into paradise. The growing boy discovered new kinds of creation, gave them their name, and spent enough time with them to commit their nature to memory. Eventually, the wanderers arrived at a small valley set within a series of titanic mountains blanketed in green. The springs and the rain collected in a shallow, island-pocked, emerald lake that hid no dark secrets beneath its surface – only smooth stones and dazzling fish. The trees grew in such a way that shade and shelter could always be found. Soft grass covered the entire ground, transitioning to silky sheets of white sand on the lakeshore. The birds here seemed to have rehearsed far more than others as their songs transcended melody. A tiger cub pranced jovially away from the deer fawn that chased it. Both threw their legs up and their heads back in joy. They ran between Adam’s legs, circled him for a moment, and carried their game into the brush. The entire realm was magnificent, but this was the first locale that left Adam stunned. “You like it?” the Light asked, surveying Its own work with great and justified pride. “I…,” Adam began, unable to take his eyes off the majesty of it all. “I don’t know if I’ve learned the word for this yet.” The Light let out a quiet chuckle. “I’m not sure there is one strong enough, my boy.” “I know it’s good.” “Ha! I suppose that will do.” “Can we stay?” The Light sighed softly; the same way Adam did when his morning swim was cooler than he’d anticipated, or the ripest fruits were far out of reach. “Let me show you something first.” They descended, along with the sun, into the valley, across the pristine sandy shore, and into the lake. The crystalline water rose only to Adam’s knees and the Light walked atop it beside him – bright schools of fish following awestruck in their Maker’s glowing wake. They arrived at an island near the middle of the lake. Upon this key grew two trees unlike any Adam had discovered before. He stumbled briefly when his foot caught a dark root breaking through the stony lakebed near the bank. The first tree had bark whiter than birch and was definitively smoother. The trunk separated here and there, rejoining itself in a wondrous pattern that left dynamic holes and tunnels from root to crown. At its height, the tree’s greenery erupted like a geyser and fell back down toward the ground like a waterfall. Within the wispy, long leaves, on tender branches, Adam spotted humble, green apples – each one free of even the smallest blemish. The second tree was built like stone. Its outer layer of dense, powerful brown crust felt as though it could withstand a rhino’s horn. These branches started low, at about Adam’s chest, and were as tough as the trunk from which they grew from and twisted around. Astonishing crimson leaves grew in perfect sequential rows, increasing their frequency the higher up one looked. It reminded Adam of a peacock frilling its tail. Its fruit (less plentiful than the first tree) was translucent like a jellyfish. It seemed to contain an entire sunset within its core; the light refracting in a multitude of colors that shone pure beauty. The Light noticed Adam’s observation shift into wondering. Wondering about what he would call these new specimens. “These already have names,” the Light informed, standing back from Adam who was getting a closer look at the flora. “What are they?” “That one,” the awakener nodded to the white, flowing tree that Adam circled around curiously. “Is the Tree of Life.” “What makes it special?” the boy asked this of any creation he found that did not readily provide the answer itself. “It is the heart of this paradise. All this,” It beckoned in a circle to the mountains. “Flows from it.” “And what about this one?” Adam carefully let himself hang from one of the other tree’s sturdy branches, testing if it would hold him. It did not even waver. “That,” the Light let out another small, strained sigh. “Is the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.” “Evil?” the unknown word tasted sour in Adam’s mouth. The Light pondered silently for a moment. It knew this day would come for Adam and that there were more like it ahead. It measured Its words before breathing them out in Its symphony. “Evil,” the Teacher explained. “Is that which I do not provide.” “But you provide everything,” Adam remarked innocently, now swinging from the branch and reaching for another. “I do, but I provide it in measure. In purpose. In… well… goodness.” “I don’t get it,” Adam swung again, flew through the air, and landed clumsily in the sand near the Light. “That’s okay,” It said, rustling his hair gently. “We’ll get there.” The Light crouched down, face to face with Adam. For a brief moment, the boy thought he might have seen his Maker’s own eyes for the first time. “Listen to me, Adam,” the Light’s voice was steady, Its chorus more concentrated than usual. “Do not eat from this tree’s fruit.” “Why?” Adam’s face contorted. He’d been told not to swim too far out before he was strong enough. Not to climb as high as the monkeys. And not to squeeze the birds too tightly. But never had he been told to deny this paradise’s fruit. “If you do,” the Light’s voice narrowed even further. “You will die.” “Die?” Another unknown word gnawed at the lad’s tongue. “All of this,” the Light took Adam’s hands in Its own. “Will go away.” “Why?” the boy asked again. “Do you need me tell you why in order to obey?” Adam thought for a moment, not wanting to simply give the answer he knew he should. “No. I don’t.” The Light, at last, let out a sigh of relief rather than strain. “Good boy,” It kissed Adam on his head. “That is another matter we will learn on our way. “Now let’s get back to shore. It’s nearly dark and we have mountains to explore tomorrow.” They walked away, but, left in the mystery, Adam felt more isolated than ever before.

Raphael rounded the final corner of the golden road and stood, at a distance, before the alabaster citadel which housed the Throne. The angel noted that the Light had even dismissed Its ceaseless throng of worshippers. The citadel gates were barren of procession. Its windows void of echoing song. This was where the thunder and lightning were born and cast into the clouds overhead. Raphael took one deep breath and pushed open one of the colossal twelve glass doors leading into the palace. The heavy movement echoed into the abandoned foyer whose ceiling stretched up and far out of sight into a white haze. A hundred Trees of Life, same as the one placed and now protected in the humans’ paradise, lined the walls in onyx pots. The angel normally admired their brilliant stature and fruit on its way to the Throne, but not today. The threshold to the audience chamber was sealed by dual doors made from the white wood of Trees of Life and accented with gold studs and strapping. One of these two doors swung open while Raphael was still fifty yards away.

Coming soon.

Coming soon.