The History Of The Soul

The Weaver of Parables rose and silence descended on the gathering. His face alone was lit by the fire he stood before; all else was shadow. When he spoke, staring into the flames, the darkness itself seemed to hearken:
“The First Men wrote their history in the images that they painted and carved on the walls of their caves. The hunt and the meal, the birth and the death, their joys and sorrows were transcribed in images that still, when men behold them, fill them with their mystery.

One of the First Men was the one we now remember as the Messenger. He was from his youth an intense and withdrawn presence. The Messenger often walked alone in these bleak mountain passes and sought out the darkest caves to think in cold black silence. He contemplated the workings of nature, the death and rebirth of vegetation and the life and death of man. For years he brooded in silence, searching for the answers to questions he did not know how to ask. At last his thoughts anchored in the depths of his own soul. It is said that one day his soul became a portal to the realm of the Real and he glimpsed visions of the Vision.
His life, and the life of this tribe, was changed forever by that day.
So heavy was the Messenger’s soul with inspiration that he traveled to the greatest cave the first men know and began to draw. For seven days and seven nights he drew and painted and did not rest till the Vision had been breathed into the most magnificent painting the first men had ever seen. Many stood transfixed when they beheld it, others screamed in confusion and terror. Some swayed in ecstasy.
The leader of the first men was summoned. He beheld the painting for a long time and turned finally to the artist:
“Do not pollute the minds of men with your dark visions. We came forth from the vibration of unseen quanta as the elders have taught. Particles that resonate with the elements, creating the codes that fashion the earth. That pull and push and jostle with each other, making the laws of this physical reality possible.Through the kindling of mineral and water came the first spark of life as we know it, and since then the unseen algorithms of flesh and stone have pruned the primal ichor into beasts and into man. From here we shape our own destiny and learn to harness the elements. This is the only reality that exists. Your fables will only cloud the minds of men and turn them into instruments of myth. Our lives must serve a clear purpose: unraveling the workings of nature and using them to our advantage. We survive, we procreate and we tame the nature within and without. There is no place for your visions in the works of man.”
With this he ordered that the painting be effaced completely.
The artist wept when his work was destroyed, his soul was wracked with emotions that he had never felt before, that no man had ever felt before. It seemed his sorrow would devour him and his lament would never end.
And then one day his lament ended and his cries of pain ended with a roar of triumph.
For he had realized that though the painting had been destroyed the Vision was still etched in his mind. Nothing could destroy the vision; nothing would ever destroy the Vision because it would live in the hearts of men and would be passed on to their sons and daughters.
It would be immortal.
And the artist began to draw.”