|The Valley of Humanity (standard:Inspirational stories, 661 words)|
|Author: Cyrano||Added: Apr 20 2008||Views/Reads: 1721/0||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Did you ever have such a dream...a dream that so completely reassured you that life is only the beginning?|
I thought once I'd got it out, you know, mastered it in some way, given it musical justice, it wouldn't haunt me the way it does. Haunt is a strange word for something that comes to a mind, filling it with such incredible beauty. Yet no other word truly represents the circumstance in which I'm continually visited and revisited by the vision of this dream. I always wake up tearful, sobbing sometimes, not tears of distress you understand, but joy. The sheer joy of finally understanding something that perhaps lies beyond this world. I say perhaps because ultimately I'm a writer, but before that I'm a human being, a mortal soul as different and as complex as the next. Sure it's a dream, how could anything so splendid, so huge, so enthralling, so unbelievable be anything else? I was a young man the first time the dream enraptured me. I didn't understand it; the strange, haunting, beautiful sound, then a boy carrying a torch, and as he entered into the valley, this galactic, sumptuous cavity buried between the hills of my life, thunder rolled in from every corner of the sky. But the thunder was not menacing, nor brought with it any sign of rain, more it was heralding. But the boy, such a boy, his complexion could have been that of every skin color, his hair wild, and his face...well, his face, yes, but that's for later. I saw him enter the valley from my lookout high on a hill. I do not know why I was there, or why I felt so infernally alone. I was merely a spectator to what was coming. They came in battalions, legions of men, women and children following the boy with the torch, carrying bright banners, streams of silk entering into the valley. Faces full of joy, dancing to the endless thunder rolling in and peeling across the valley floor. I sat on the hillside for days...days I tell you, blissfully deranged, listening to the thunder and the beat of the drums, watching the millions pass by. It's like, well it's like each of their faces was known to me, of my kind, my nation, my life actually born of their dancing, following the child with the torch. Darkness comes and goes, hunger is satisfied without eating, sleep ...I don't know...I just don't know. From deep within the thunder of the valley's flowers, reverberating upward through wind shaken willows, the drums sounding from the outriders on their horses, a feast made of music, every taste exciting, a constant breeze of pure sound that I could not turn away from, nor wanted to. I had this urge to join in. Who is the boy with the torch? Why do legions follow him? Is it because of the light in his face, this constant peace that emanates from his being, his youthfulness? Where is he going...from where? There seems no reason or rhyme, just endless nations of people, joining hands as if they'd never known borders, war, or religion. Or they'd know every bit of it. I cannot say what whirling feeling possessed me standing there on the hillside, just that when the last perfection disappeared from the far end of the valley I was left wanting, hungry, waiting for something. The thunder of humanity rumbled into the distance, and the music in the breeze quieted. I knew the serenity of it all was leaving me, standing there alone, a troubled boy seeing something of the way it all should be. The whole of human kind, marching, maybe, to what lies beyond, and I was less fearful, caught up in the whirling celestial tide of human kind. Finally, overtaken with silence, the music spiraling out toward another place I saw on the far hill the torch in the hand of the boy, held high. That boy was me. I was him. I lay down and slept soundly amid the peace of knowing what lies beyond. Tweet
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