Man: When I was a boy, I was raised on a diet of my father’s fists and my mother’s curses. Weeping, and alone, locked in a dark room, soaked in my urine, I wandered clumsily, and wondered what a life this was. Were you with me then?
God: You move forward through time with your back facing the future and your eyes facing the past, unsteadily walking backwards towards an unknown destination, stumbling and afraid, filled with angst. To live is to be condemned to gaze upon the wreckage of your past with the knowledge that you cannot change what you see, and cannot see where you are heading. You walk backwards, forever in the present, caught between the twilight of the past and the darkness of the future. Forever, you occupy the present, that thin liminal space between the land of memories and the land of dreams. This is the nature of the passage of time.
Man: The future means nothing to me. I feel neither happiness nor hope, for I was once a shining jewel crafted by Your perfect hands, but eroded by the sands of time, and now I am a small stone, unimpressive, obscure, and buried beneath a mountain of dirt. The pain of past memories, and unhealed wounds, scar me in body and mind, and I drift through this world without purpose or feeling, surviving until I die. What is there for me to do?
God: What keeps you humans sane, through this arduous journey of the soul, are the dreams and hopes you cultivate. For though the future is unknown, uncertain, and unknowable, and though these properties may paralyse the mortal soul with angst and dread, the future is the habitat of your hopes and dreams, and in your dreams your create new worlds. Just as your Creator’s nature is to create, so it is yours, since you are My reflection. And unless you create, as your Creator did, your true nature will never be fulfilled.
Man: How might an empty jar pour forth water for the crops to grow? How might a broken jar hold water within itself? There is nothing within me to give, for the world has robbed me of my spirit, snuffed out the candlelight of youth, and all I carry within myself is the void.
God: At its journey’s end, at the end of its wandering and dreaming, the human soul is ejected from the world and effaced from its memory, but what remains are its creations. You complain of the void, but your void is a great hall to be filled with creations. The emptier the jar, the greater the anticipation of its filling, and from out of a broken jar more water shall pour forth and quench the world’s thirst. Darkness is unformed substance, and you are endowed with a great volume that your hands may reach within, grasping this unformed aether, and shape it into the most delightful of creations.
submitted by /u/Hurbahns
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