let there be
א
but the darkness had not understood it.
Madness (we’re doing such good work)
comes in shards of light. Creeping in the dead of night (two by two)
.
In the beginning was the word, and the word was
(What do you feel?) light, she whispers, voiceless; the nightingale in the cage can’t sing in the daylight. The story goes: hot pokers in their eyes, and all is endless night. But the nightingale in endless light will whisper tuneless phrases; her feathers will molt, her skies will fall. They stick red-hot needles in her eyes, ask her what she sees: red, yellow, blue - all the colors together make white, nothing. She sees nothing, and everything. It’s sunk into her skin, glowing like starlight.
They don’t understand. They’re doing such good work, whispering in her ear. Shining lights in her eyes until she can’t see, until there’s nothing but fractal shards of rainbow, the colors scattered in her mind. She is the crystal through which they separate, she is glass, she is shattered. They have blinded her over and over, and ask her what she sees.
let there be sight.
I can see you, she tells them. They shift in their chairs, they whisper her name in their minds. They can’t hide; they have given her light. Light everlasting, like a bubbling fountain. It chases the shadows of their faces away, strips them bare so she can see what lies underneath. They have made her this, this creature of light and grace; they have painted their faces black to hide their true intent, but she can see beyond.
Always, always. They cannot hide, there is no darkness to cloak her. They are terrified of darkness, but light is infinitely more terrifying; in light, we cannot hide our true natures. In light, we are every color, and one; and she can’t not be aware of everything it illuminates.
I can see you.