By M. Willow

The intensity of light was prodigious.  There were two of them waiting—one of light, the other of dark, yet both were innocent.  

“Which of us shall go first?” the light one asked.

“Does it matter?” the other said. “We are going to the same place.”

The colors changed without meaning—from vibrant reds to deep greens.  The two beings were without form, yet each knew of the other’s existence.

“It is almost time.” The dark one said.

“Yes,” the light one said, without emotion, yet felt it none the same. 

A strong wind blew without direction.  The beings moved in tempo to its rhythm.

“How long must we wait to be reunited?”  the dark one asked.

“It will be as if a million years has passed.  Time moves at a different pace where we are going,” he said simply.

“I shall miss you in that time,” the dark one said.

“No, we will only miss the essence of our beings.”

“How will we recognize each other?” the dark one asked.

“Our souls will know and it will be as if we never parted.”

A bright light appeared in the distance and for the first time the beings could glimpse their surroundings.  Mountains so tall that one could not see the entirety of them.   Valleys with an intensity of color that had no name.  A being standing in the valley— the color of sorrow; the color of love.

Now, the two beings walked through the valley, and they were surrounded by beings of the future and the past.  They moved toward the light and saw the souls of those returning.  The souls who entered were greeted with love—they had returned from their long journey. 

The wind blew soundly against the light and dark one and they were saddened at the ending of their existence.  And then the light surrounded them and carried them forward.

It was the dark one who went first and the light one felt a sadness at the parting.  They had been together since time existed.  They were soul bonded.  The light one watched until the existence of the other could no longer be felt.  His soul cried out with the intensity of the knowledge.  Time passed and he felt himself being propelled through the light.  He knew his time was at hand.  

Over the mountains, the light one flew.  Again, the light one glimpsed the arrival of those who left and yet were returning, the being of love caressing each as they arrived.

Now time stood still for an instant and then he passed into darkness.  He felt himself changing, taking a form—hands, feet, names not known to the light one.   And then voices that spoke in a language unknown.  Moments passed and he felt himself lifted into the light and then the sharp slap and his new physical existence cried out.  Soon he lay nestled in the arms of the stranger who called his name in the still unfamiliar language.  “Kenneth,” she said.

His birth was at hand.