The Light was--well that's not quite right--the Light is a being of supremacy, it's true, but hardly a god. And heaven knows she is no titan. Neither is she a figure whose character may be defined by saying simply that she created the universe, or that she is the mother of all gods and creatures. These things may be true, but are merely haphazard compared to the grand spectrum of her influence and power. Of all men on planet Earth, perhaps Plato knew her best.
Whether she and Plato were intimates, I know not. Of the thousand epic stories of their love affairs, who am I to say what is true and what is not? What I do know is that he respected her as an entity not to be prejudged. He knew not to trust what he could not comprehend. He knew he would need to reach a higher state of knowledge, to escape his rudimentary senses (to step outside the cave, so to speak) if he were ever to truly love her as a near equal. He sought for this transcendental sight all his life, and yet his eyes remained unopened. We have not, in the English language, developed a word to describe the feeling he must have felt trying to reach her. Desire, longing, the feeling that something is “so close, yet so far away,” fatal attraction; these terms only scratch the surface of the feeling. However, in my attempt to communicate it, I have developed a metaphor for its description. I will give it to you here, and then offer no further explanation for fear of implying more or less than I intend to express.
Imagine you have just awoken from a nap outside at the park. With your eyes still closed, you can sense the sun; the sky must be cloudless; you see the imprint of the light on the inside of each eyelid. Then, a moment before you can open your eyes, many voices clutter your ears. You hear whispers and shouts and drawls and songs and commands and questions. You realize that your eyelids are stuck, that no matter how you strain to open them, they will not budge. The voices are a sea of both angels and demons. You hear, among the voices, messages of instruction:
“Step a little to the left,” one says, “and you will surely be saved from the crocodile to your right.”
“There is no crocodile,” you hear, “it is only a banquet. Come, the chicken is ready.”
“Run!” says another, “their rifles are cocked and if you are fast, you will not be the first to be shot!”
“Press your nose with your thumb if you have any brains,” another overlapping voice calls, “Don't you know how to travel time?”
You then have two options. You can grope carelessly, waving your arms, trying to touch the voices, and to holler for help. Or you can clench your teeth and hyperventilate. And, of course, you know that if you could only open your eyes, all truths and lies would be revealed. Alas, you cannot. This is the feeling.
***Notice***
Do Not Be Alarmed.
This is not a philosophy textbook.
The plot will ensue shortly.
Thank you.
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