- Books, Literature, and Writing
This is part of an ongoing essay
The infant came awake, a tiny figure in the coldness of the room. The room was without dimension and depth and seemed to ebb and flow as if it was breathing. It was all light and brightness. There were no shadows. It was silent.
The infants’ eyes were large and wide open. Where there should be tears there were none. To look into its eyes was too look into blankness. Blue and clear like a reflecting pool you would see yourself in them. The infants mouth opened and closed as if hungry. Tightly wrapped in a fabric that had no beginning and no end, the infant lay alone in the room.
If it could feel the infant would feel to be cold. If it could know truth it would know to be pure. If it could know wisdom it would know to be full of virtue.
A visitor appeared and stood aside from the infant , staring down on it. The infants eyes reflected an image of the visitor. Dressed all in black the visitor stood out sharply in the searing whiteness of the room. The visitor began to speak slowly in a language the infant knew but did not understand. The words floated throughout the room intertwining in an effort to form meaning. As the room became dark with words the visitor could no longer be seen. Reflected in the eyes of the infant the words began to speak in slow measured tones. The infants eyes began to move in a rhythm it had forgotten long ago. And the infant saw…….