Looking-for-Light-Part-1

For years I struggled in a benighted plain. I was not alone; in fact, this plain was full of fellow-creatures, all wandering in the darkness, working and loving and trying to find their way, but all lacking direction, all living by hearsay, by superstition, and trying to convince each other that this was right, that this was all there was, that it was the only way, the only place, to live.

One time I heard a rumor, a whisper, of a place where there was Light. I didn't really understand what Light was. But it sounded wonderful: imagine being able to see clearly, to be able to see what one was doing, and why, to see where one was in the landscape, to understand something of the layout, of the way things were put together and how they worked.

I discussed this Light with some of my shadowy companions. Most said it was a superstition, a fairy tale. Some said worse, that it was a perversion of the truth, even an outright lie, concocted to deceive the gullible.

Once in a while, someone told me something positive about it, and I began to hope that one day I would find out for myself.

In my directionless rambling, I eventually came to what appeared to be a hill. I worked my way through the underbrush and, looking up, found that it was instead a raised road, like a Roman causeway. It ran, straight as an arrow, as far as I could see. Curious, I began to climb up to it. This wasn't easy, in the gloom, and the people below kept pulling at me, calling me, telling me it was dangerous, that I might fall, might be separated from them forever, that bad people inhabited the hill, people who would strip me of my freedom, maybe even of my soul. As I continued, my erstwhile companions dropped their pose of selfless concern and turned ugly, telling me I was making an irretrievable mistake, that I was a fool, was being led astray by my own folly.

I didn't pay much attention; I had caught a glimpse of something wonderful; a glow, a glimmer. I thought that it just possibly might be Light.

I found I was carrying too much with me, though, burdens of doubt and prejudice and false pride. I wasn't that enamored of them, but they were all I had ever owned, and it was hard to let them go. Once I had dropped the first one, however, the relief was so intense, my ascent rendered so much easier, that it was only a matter of time until I had discarded almost all. (I suspect I may still have a few secreted about my person; I'm still not as light as I'd like to be. When I figure out which pockets I put them in, I'm going to turn those pockets out and kick their contents back into the darkness.)

As I neared the summit, I began to hear voices. I thought one was telling me to "read", and I didn't really understand. I couldn't see. How could I read? But I could perceive a sort of flickering above me now, and kept working my way towards it.

Shapes passed above me. The voices were clearer than before. I was frightened. I wanted to call out, but who would answer? Why should the people up there welcome me, a creature from the night? What made me think they would accept me, when they had each other and their Light?

Someone shouted from below, "Turn back! It's too hard! It'll be easy to fall back to us, to the places and people and ways you know." I was tempted for about a nanosecond before I said to myself, "I don't care. I have to find out what that Light is."

When I had almost reached the lip of the precipice, I found the slope too steep to climb alone, and realized that I could only make it with help from someone above. I took a deep breath and called out, something silly like, "Hello, the road! What's it like up there?"

A voice answered, and began very patiently to tell me the best things I had ever heard.