No lesser God

They call them ‘challenged’ and when confronted, eyes will lower, and  feet will sidestep, voices hush and some get nervous, a slight panic even. It strikes me, in all these years of education, we have never learned how to behave among people who are a little bit different. It is not hard to understand why we react so defensive to everything that is a tad little bit away from the ordinary. Gays, immigrants, homeless buggers, gypsies. Stay out of my castle, go back to where you came from. Go home. And we lock ourselves up in our stone brick castles and we throw away the key and we putter on, unaware of the beauty that lies beyond our selfish, self-content, hypocrite, pitiful, miserable, vain, little lives.

And then my daughter invited me to a play, where half of the cast are a little bit different.

And the two halves begin to play together and she is a nymph dancing on a water lilly and she sings in a mesmerizing low voice, and conjures up a storm that fans out over fields and mountain tops, until it lands in a far and unknown kingdom,  where it shakes the barley and where it wakes, from a deep slumber, Pasqualis, the colossal and tremendously wise King of Dawns.
The King lifts his head, and then his hands, and then his all mighty body. He twists and turns to find the source of this siren’s song. The voice leaps over his groping hands and jumps down his ears into his head, where it dances on for fourteen days and fourteen nights until the King can take no more. He sends out his scouts to find the owner of this enchanting song. Enchanting? Bewitching? What lies beyond, the King does wonder. And when at last the news returns of promised lands where all are equal and none forgotten, where wolves sleep with lambs and the time is now forever, the King decides without a quiver: ‘ to just DO it” and orders his page to saddle a horse. Without goodbye’s to queen or princess, he departs his kingdom and rides his steed out of the valley of Dawns. He crosses the barley and climbs high mountains and enters into the deep dark forest to let his life begin again.

And the plot unfolds and I look at this mighty King and how he dances with my water nymph, in perfect circles,  in perfect balance.  And the rest of the group chimes in and they play and they fight and they growl and they stumble and they huddle and hush and howl. And seamlessly, in perfect unison, two halves become a whole.

Applause. Of course, well deserved. And then  I see some tears, and I understand them well. For even though I am not sure about one God, I am sure however that there can not be two.


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