The Lament of Desolate Eden
When a void is sealed, even if once, then that void’s fountain becomes satiated with roses of every color. When those roses are stolen away to be planted in another void’s soil, then the original void becomes even more thirsty, on a search of any liquid that could replace the water that once watered those thorns. This prompts the void to lose more of its quality as a void; it becomes what its birth did not even strip it away from.
When the two discarnate beings resided between my branches, held my ripe tangerines, drank from my flowing waters, became one above the greenest grass and under the fertile trees, I was their vessel to the holiest Father.
When their doings got them to experience becoming outcasts, my fall began, not humankind’s. Left with my ghosts, I remained silenced until I met my fate to perish. My rivers went dry, my fresh fruits rotted away, a parasite dwelled in the heart chambers of my trees. My tree of knowledge, which carried good and evil, now switches moralities interchangeably. My sun has grown close to the clouds and the sky started appealing to the gloominess of the sapphire tears dropping.
When I was banished, I ruptured pieces of myself in order to maintain the generation of a perfection I once thought I had been blessed with. Adam and Hava, you have betrayed me not only because you have isolated me from your world, but because you masoned your own name afterwards without me. I bear no acknowledgment outside of you, but you have seen the riddles of the universe and bred new memories- memories that became of replacement to my time with you.
The world denies me my right to feel. The world blames my tree and my serpent, but never you. The world resents the founded evil within my bushes, but never you. You, whose actions were as yours as evil was the serpent’s. This equal force coexists because there would be no grasp on righteousness had wickedness not existed. It seems you need someone to continuously remind you that your good deeds would not be called good if evil deeds were of no existence. You hate evil but it is the same reason you are highly praised for being you. You hate Satan but it is because of your ultimate blame of him that you were given a new body and a second life. Forget not.
Still, I awaited a period that belittles a millennium, for despite my grandness, I saw in you a founding father and mother to the child that was me. A growing child witnessing her parents’ first touch. I was bound to shatter when you sinned, and if the parent is a sinner, then from whom does the child learn? If the parent is a sinner, is it just to consider the sinner child a sinner, too? When your parents are sinners, the blood inside you carries the eternal sin, and so I was punished.
I was to lose you to physical bodies inheriting the earth. Not only was I of no capability to transform my twigs to arms and my bushes to strands of hair, but my greatest loss was that your birth and first occupation of me were of an ecclesiastical nature, rather than corporal bodies of flesh and bone. When my earth hugged your bodies in embrace as we met in your slumber, I tasted cinder upon touch and nothing more. What am I if I could not bear you a physical sight?
You obtained the dual consciousness- once unearthly beings, and now mortal bodies. This duality, acquired by your sin in my garden, eludes to fear and then the separation of yourself and God. This separation of God, then, is a separation of me. The moment you sinned was the moment you spoke of an obscure language. Although I have memorized the speech of angels, I was yet to perceive you. My failure to perceive brings the success of unrecognizing your unfamiliarity. Your sudden shame of nudity when I was present the day of your birth brought upon a wrath that even God has yet to discover how to kindle.
I am now to forever be defined not as the haven of the first woman and man, but as the residence of the rotten sin. I am now a mere garden, not Eden.
A garden is a production of gaze and gaze only. It is a myth that the finest roses exist for themselves. They are always of beauty, that is true, but it is so because they are unaware of a lurking observer that might at any moment be present. I, too, made sure to cleanse the traces of your sin off my land every day, in hopes that one day you will come back to your true home.
Adam, you were a free soul roaming around until your ribs grew bored of the idealism I incorporated upon request for you. Those same ribs fleshed out a woman for your pleasure and delight. Hava, you were cursed with a maternal role as an inseparable identity, but still, why cannot you feel love towards me- your first child? Why can’t you hear me? Have I not suffered enough of this barren land that is me without you? I can only manifest myself in beauty and servitude, and never in self-hood.
My creation was for the purpose of you, and I fear you have grown bearing no purpose in me. I have searched for scriptures bearing witness to my elegy, but have had no fortune in finding any. Voids are prone to be obsoleted.
The void detaches not from its identity as a void, it just learns to pretend it no longer is one. Perhaps, that is why I am of no mention on the tongue that spoke to me of his lament. Perhaps, I should not have expected better from the one that could not bear the blame of sin, so he burdened his wife to be cursed forever.
