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A parable

Looking at the surface we see a two dimensional plane that's hard and impenetrable. All we see is all that's there. There is no indication that it's anything more than the hard, flat, shiny surface, reflecting our gaze as we look upon. We can look in each direction and as far as we can see it all looks the same. So we understand that this is all there is and we accept it, understand it, and live it - often without question.

But it's OK in the world of the ice dwellers.

And we really can't be held to blame for such a singular view of life because we do not have the tools to see any deeper. After all each of our five senses tell us that this is all their is. We touch the ice and it's cold. It's smooth shiny surfaces reflects an distorted image of our face as we gaze into it. We have been taught since birth that this is all there is.

Why would we even think of anything different. We've heard those wonderful tales of new worlds, and dimensions that exist beyond the surface of the ice but we know those are simply fanciful tales of wonder. A mere distraction that temporarily entices us to believe and gives us a sliver of respite from the hard, cold world we live in. The odd time we may see what appears like movement under the ice but assure ourselves it's only our imagination, or a trick the cold, crisp, sunlight is playing on our eyes.

But it's OK in the world of the ice dwellers.

There is no color. But we don't miss it because all we see is black, and white, and gray.

But it's OK in the world of the ice dwellers.

We have people of respect and honor that study the ice closely and  pore over the ancient scripts that tell us how we must act and the rules we must obey as dwellers of this frozen domain. They recite the words and the verses by memory and gather together in groups to compare notes and develop even better songs and dances and rules and manners. Each one scurrying away with these new nuggets of information to pass onto their followers. And often they have the best of intentions - but not always.

But it's OK in the world of the ice dwellers.

Because, after all, what else is there? We read the texts, and we study the ice, and we listen to our peers and often even when we think we understand we realize we really don't.

But it's OK in the world of the ice dwellers.

Then one day a stranger approaches. He's garbed in strange clothes is rather unkempt and carries with him a ragged cloth bag with old tattered pages hanging out and fluttering in the wind almost tempting it to blow them away.

He has a staff. Not that he needs it so it seems. Because it seems rather strange. It appears like it's made of an old tree branch but when we look at it it seems to almost shimmer with an iridescent sheen that makes it hard to focus our eyes which are used to black, and white, and gray.

This is all very strange.

And as he approaches we notice a strange cracking sound like we've never heard before and initially we're afraid but just as quickly we become curious. We notice that as his feet descend upon on the ice and with each step he takes small cracks suddenly appear in the impenetrable ice surface.

At least we thought it was. He approaches us with a smile of one who is greeting a long lost friend even though we had never met this man - or even his kind as near as we can tell.

This is all very strange.

He doesn't speak but greats each one of us with a warm handshake. Warmth...

so strange... we never knew warmth before but somehow although none of us have ever experienced this before it seems familiar. He reaches into his satchel and brings out the first manuscript. He gently rolls it out flat on the icy surface - The surface we've come to know so well - and points to the faded but strong letters and words contained on it's surface. We stand in a circle and peer down and what's before us. Our hopes that we didn't even know were there vanished as we read the words and sentences that we know so well. The words spoken to us by the honored ones of our kind. The ones who have at times misguided and abused us. The ones who gathered in groups and secreted away what we didn't know and then shared only what they wanted to - they say for our own good.

We looked at the stranger with hurt and disappointment and were ready to send him away - cast him off - for he had done nothing for us but raise our hopes for an instant and then dash them upon the hard surface of the ice to have them disintegrate into thousands of pieces and skitter across into nothingness.

But then the stranger pointed again to the tattered piece of paper laying upon the ice. And as we looked we saw a strange substance start to flow from under the text. It was smooth, and shiny, and yet not hard and unforgiving and we've come so used to. It grew and grew until we were all surrounded by this strange flowing liquid. And it felt warm. Warm like the handshake we not that long ago exchanged with the stranger.

This is all very strange.

And then all at once the stranger took his staff and struck the ice with such force that we all shuddered and feared that we would surely die. And the ice gave way beneath our feet and our world disappeared from under us and we fell.

We fell into the strange substance we had been looking in wonderment at a scant moment earlier. We looked in terror at each other, at the substance that now engulfed us, at the stranger, and the manuscript, and didn't know what to do. What had happened? Surely we were all dead. Yet as our eyes began to adjust we began to realize we weren't dead after all. The substance that was all around us, in us, and through us, was warm and gentle. Instead of breathing the cold, harsh air we now allowed the warm to flow into our mouth's and flow through our bodies like warm honey. Instead of starving for air we became aware of a new life force energy that now coursed through our bodies.

This is all very strange.

We looked again at the stranger and he motioned us to follow him. He lead us to flowing green plants and creatures that we had never seen before. Never even knew existed. As we looked above we saw the surface of the ice still there but now it looked so different. Yes, it was still hard. And yes it was still cold. But we were not. We saw, could touch even it, but the cold didn't penetrate us and make us shiver as it had done. The warmth that flowed through our bodies oozed from our hands like glowing streams of light and wherever we touched the ice the ice began to give way and yield to the power that our bodies now seemed to naturally emit.

This is all very strange.

And the stranger showed us each other and what we saw was no longer what was above because each one of us shimmered. Just like the staff. And light and life radiated out from us and each one of us flowed into the other and we became one. Individual yet the same. And the light from above the surface flowed through and showered us with love and compassion. And the stranger smiled.

This is all very strange.

And he took the manuscript. The same one that the wind tried to tear away, the same one that so many had used in so many wrong ways, the same one that contained the words we know only too well. And we looked. And we saw. The words that were once emblazed on the paper before us had been melted away.

And new words were there. Words of life and love. Of hope and healing. And we rejoiced at our new found freedom. And we rejoiced that the words that once condemned us had been destroyed and new ones had appeared as keys to the locks and chains that once held us.

And we thanked the stranger that we were now not as those who still remained above in the frozen wasteland.

And the stranger looked at us. And we looked at the stranger. And again he pointed to the manuscript. And we looked. And we saw. The words of power and freedom which we now understood, and the words of chains and bondage that we once only knew.

Were the same.