. . . saw our nakedness and tried to hide. What better punishment, then, than to make hiding ourselves the judgment? Ordained to cover by providential bias, we were given our skin, ourselves, to hide ~ so ordered, and so we did.
And discovered secrets.
But how else should we learn, and how else train for eternity; of what use was our innocence against the gain and needs of wisdom? What is our inheritance, after all, but our curiosity, our mind and mortality against the
The Mystery of Miss Tree and Mr E
…and beneath the secrets, found, under the briars and the snags and the brambles, a road thru wilderness and all the worlds of woe that followed. How else, tho? Without secrets and the cringe of discovery, then whereof shame and walls and defense, of shields and pretense, of the need for arms and the will to harm?
Imprison the spirit~transparent, flesh it over and smear it with sin.... If not for nakedness, then what else is there to shame us, and what to shape us? What but the sin of skin to better frame us, make us fall back on the protection of lies?
Underpinning fears and the sins of history, all our schemes and science, all the arts of mystery and imagination we learned from concealment. Secrecy feeding shame feeding lies and separation, souls divided from spirit all rub and multiply together, warping the compass, giving newly mortal instincts every reason to lie.
And we did.
itch, itch, itch of Its mystery? What can we know of purpose (or of eternity, for that matter), except to seek beyond forbidden, to peek behind the curtain, and to reach for a reaching God?
We are more than abandoned orphans. Under the rules of separation, we were driven from the Garden; disgraced, but as heirs and children; evicted, but protected as pilgrims under pilot. Exiled to find our wisdom, driven and destined, we were born to die and relearn creation on our epic journey home…