"The time is near." The Old One sighed, but the knowledge was not unexpected. The drain had already begun; mornings had become shallower, nights were deeper. Soon, their deepness would engulf the morning, and only ripples would remain....
Even though the Old One knew this was how it was meant to be, rebellion seethed. The sharpest pain/anger/torment centered around thoughts of the Young One.
Whether bliss or blankness waited on the other side seemed unimportant when compared to the severing of these ties. Watching the Young One stretching, venturing through an ever-widening, circuitous route had been the source of greatest joy to the Old One -- often the focus of life itself.
A jolt of realization hit; one day, the Young One would face a similar, anguished separation. The weight of this seemed unbearable.
Then suddenly, the vastness of the grief and joy that mingle to shape the universe became a glow of awareness. Softly, slowly, it encompassed the approaching horizon.
The Old One reached forth a trembling hand, as if to touch the edge...
ah-ahhh...a surge of comprehension. This would not be a severing of ties... this would be a joining together -- in a form beyond form, in a circle beyond comprehension.
"Have faith, Young One." The Old One's final whisper rippled faintly on the morning's shallowest breath....
� Copyright 2002 Laryalee Fraser
