East of Eden
I saw events unfold, those in which the older brother kills the younger.
With the story of the parents in the Garden, I had been aware of the first couple’s thoughts, their motivations for what they did.
Such was not the case with this act of violence. There was no justification that I could see, not even a false understanding as had occurred when the woman had been confronted by the serpent. There appeared to be rage, and that was enough.
Of course, there was more to what happened between the brothers. And that understanding would come as part of my mission a few short generations later, as described below.
But now, Cain was exiled from his family, sent as a wanderer into the wilderness. Although he left alone, the small family bred from the first man and woman was split.
One sister immediately followed the eldest son. Others left from Adam’s camp later, asserting their independence from the parents who remained fixated on God as their Master and Father.
To these young people who had never known Eden, such faith seemed misplaced. Feeling abandoned by a God with whom they had never had a personal experience, they saw that any hope for the future clearly relied upon their own resources and abilities.
The land of Nod (literally, “a place of wandering”) was not a specific place as much as it was an inhospitable wilderness of the soul.
Cain determined he would not be a wanderer, a part of the sentence placed upon him. He rebelled at this part of his curse as a fugitive and created a fixed home. His thought was that wandering was a movement of the body rather than a restlessness of the soul.
In this place of settlement, he and the siblings who eventually left the camp of the first man and woman joined in the creation of an alternative way of life for the following generations.
And their community grew as they produced children, and their children brought more children. With the extended lifespan of these early generations, the command to be fruitful and to multiply came easily.
New generations came, and the old generations remained, as well.
The note that guided me brought me to a particular moment when I was to enter the lower dimensions of the physical world again. This was not a fall into these dimensions as the first parents had experienced, for I would be able to return.
The way to return, as well as the way to remain fallen, was made clear to me in a single ominous note. This was the briefest of notes I had ever experienced. And it did not flow through me. Ominous and urgent, this music did not linger, but was more like a flash of light.
The way back was the note that followed, the note that would be with me on my journey on this solid sphere called earth. If I allowed anything to replace this note, the way back would vanish like a road in a dream disappears upon awaking. This note would guide me and protect me, but it would not remain against my will.
This thought was chilling, that I had the freedom to choose death and limitation to this physical reality. I recognized that this had been the freedom present in the Garden. The consequences of the Fall were impressed upon me at a deeper level as I felt the vulnerability to follow in the first couple’s footsteps.
As I came to this understanding, this fear was countered by the reassurance that the choice was my own, either to exist in my present state eternally, or to choose mortality and death. This would be a death from which resurrection was possible but I did not see its certainty. Perhaps that, too, would be my decision, a decision made through my intentions.
And with this information came the understanding that there were others present in this dual existence. Some existed on God’s musical scale, as did I, but others existed on an alternative scale of discord.
I arrive at the appropriate point in earth’s time.
Flesh again, I stand on solid ground rather than heavenly ground. With this stepping into this new line of history comes a flicker of uncertainty, but the eternal note quickly washes fear away.
Next chapter
I saw events unfold, those in which the older brother kills the younger.
With the story of the parents in the Garden, I had been aware of the first couple’s thoughts, their motivations for what they did.
Such was not the case with this act of violence. There was no justification that I could see, not even a false understanding as had occurred when the woman had been confronted by the serpent. There appeared to be rage, and that was enough.
Of course, there was more to what happened between the brothers. And that understanding would come as part of my mission a few short generations later, as described below.
But now, Cain was exiled from his family, sent as a wanderer into the wilderness. Although he left alone, the small family bred from the first man and woman was split.
One sister immediately followed the eldest son. Others left from Adam’s camp later, asserting their independence from the parents who remained fixated on God as their Master and Father.
To these young people who had never known Eden, such faith seemed misplaced. Feeling abandoned by a God with whom they had never had a personal experience, they saw that any hope for the future clearly relied upon their own resources and abilities.
The land of Nod (literally, “a place of wandering”) was not a specific place as much as it was an inhospitable wilderness of the soul.
Cain determined he would not be a wanderer, a part of the sentence placed upon him. He rebelled at this part of his curse as a fugitive and created a fixed home. His thought was that wandering was a movement of the body rather than a restlessness of the soul.
In this place of settlement, he and the siblings who eventually left the camp of the first man and woman joined in the creation of an alternative way of life for the following generations.
And their community grew as they produced children, and their children brought more children. With the extended lifespan of these early generations, the command to be fruitful and to multiply came easily.
New generations came, and the old generations remained, as well.
The note that guided me brought me to a particular moment when I was to enter the lower dimensions of the physical world again. This was not a fall into these dimensions as the first parents had experienced, for I would be able to return.
The way to return, as well as the way to remain fallen, was made clear to me in a single ominous note. This was the briefest of notes I had ever experienced. And it did not flow through me. Ominous and urgent, this music did not linger, but was more like a flash of light.
The way back was the note that followed, the note that would be with me on my journey on this solid sphere called earth. If I allowed anything to replace this note, the way back would vanish like a road in a dream disappears upon awaking. This note would guide me and protect me, but it would not remain against my will.
This thought was chilling, that I had the freedom to choose death and limitation to this physical reality. I recognized that this had been the freedom present in the Garden. The consequences of the Fall were impressed upon me at a deeper level as I felt the vulnerability to follow in the first couple’s footsteps.
As I came to this understanding, this fear was countered by the reassurance that the choice was my own, either to exist in my present state eternally, or to choose mortality and death. This would be a death from which resurrection was possible but I did not see its certainty. Perhaps that, too, would be my decision, a decision made through my intentions.
And with this information came the understanding that there were others present in this dual existence. Some existed on God’s musical scale, as did I, but others existed on an alternative scale of discord.
I arrive at the appropriate point in earth’s time.
Flesh again, I stand on solid ground rather than heavenly ground. With this stepping into this new line of history comes a flicker of uncertainty, but the eternal note quickly washes fear away.
Next chapter
