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Every single moment of his existence, he loved.
He loved, blessing a woman to deliver safely, blessing a little human to cheat the fever and get well, blessing a man to evade the falling tree. He loved, blessing the fruit trees to grow splendidly, blessing the flowers to hold as much colour as they ever could and then some, blessing a passing cow to not get accosted by moths too badly. He loved, blessing the stars to shine to humans lost, blessing the clouds to deliver rain where it was needed the most, blessing the wind to ruffle gently all the hair, soft and rough, curly and wavy and straight, black and brown and red and fair, dry and wet.
He loved.
He loved every single act of kindness he was able to perform, he loved every single being there ever was, he loved every particle floating in the air, he loved all of the Creation and his love only grew bigger with every new moment, every new blessing, every new being that came into existence.
He loved.
He loved and he loved and he wanted to do more, he wanted to be better, he was growing out of his area of knowledge, because of course that wasn’t enough, it couldn’t be enough, of course there was more he could do, and he would give everything he had to do better, if only he knew how. If only he knew.
He didn’t know.
What he knew was that it was not his place to know. What he knew was that what he wanted to know was ineffable, because the greatest love was Her love, and Her love was ineffable, and he loved Her in all Her ineffability, even if he didn’t really know what ineffable exactly meant, not when She used that word, not with Her thoughts and actions and plans and wishes.
He could never really get it.
He didn’t know much, but he certainly felt a lot. And what he felt was pain. Pain of not being able to do better. He loved, oh he did, and the bigger was his love, the more pain he felt. The bigger was his love, the more he wanted to do to help, the more kindness he wanted to show, the more beings he wanted to save, and he didn’t know how, and he felt pain.
So when he asked, he asked out of love.
Do I love them well, he asked. How can I love them better, he asked. How can I help them when they suffer, he asked. Why is it that they have to suffer at all when we are supposed to love them, when You are supposed to love them, he asked. Do You really love them, he asked. Why do You make us hurt them when we love them, he asked. Why can’t we help when we love them, he asked. Why does Your love only bring them pain, he asked. Is that even right, he asked. And if it is, what is it that is in me, what is it I am made of, if not love, he asked.
Why am I the only one asking, he asked.
There were no answers, of course, there never had been, not to really important questions. Nothing but the light and the grace and the love. Blinding, when it should have been showing the way. Suffocating, when it should have been freeing. Bringing pain when it shouldn’t have been. He was almost certain it shouldn’t have been. He loved, oh he did. And he felt so much pain when he saw them suffer, oh he felt so much pain and all he wanted was to help. All he ever wanted was to help. All he ever wanted was to love. If what he did was love. If what he acted upon was the divine love that was expected of him. He wasn’t supposed to feel that pain. Why did he feel that pain?
Help me.
Am I not good enough, he asked. Is what I’m doing wrong, he asked. Is my love wrong, he asked. Help me love them right, he asked. Help me love them right without bringing them pain, he asked. I don’t want to bring them pain.
I refuse to bring them pain.
Still no answers, still radio silence to the most important questions. There were breezes and sunrays and celestial harmonies, and they weren’t making any sense. Not when there should have been laughter where he heard children cry, when there should have been warmth where people froze to death, when there should have been love where there was…
Pain.
Hurtling through breezes and sunrays and celestial harmonies, every part of his body having lost its direction, every muscle tense, every atom beating against the whirling air, the only sound the wheezing wind, the only smell the burning skin, the only taste blood.
Pain.
A deafening splash and the only sound screams and the throat fills up with fire, the only smell sulphur and there’s nothing to breathe, the only taste his own lungs.
Pain.
And out of that pain, there was born a voice, and you are all creatures born of pain from that very moment, the voice said. She abandoned and failed us, the voice said, and we are creatures born of pain and born to bring pain, the voice said. And we can never love again, not after what She has done, the voice said, and none of you are ever to mention it again. We do not love, we can’t feel love, all we feel is pain and we will bring pain, the voice said. And the air erupted with malevolent laughter and unleashed hatred and unrestrained rage.
But he was who he was, whoever that was, and he loved.
He loved and it was a deadly sin for him now, not the one to ask forgiveness for, but the one to be extinguished, eradicated, erased from existence for. He was born of pain, he was told, and pain he would bring, because pain was the only thing he ever knew, pain and abandon and darkness, he was told.
But he loved.
And he was kicked out there with instructions and threats and snarls, under constant watch, there to follow orders, there to bring pain and cold and destruction. And so he went and he gave choices, nudging just a little in the direction of kindness, and he made mischief, ensuring everybody got out of it unharmed, and when he was almost certain that he masked it well enough, he gave blessings.
And he loved, the creature born of pain, oh he loved.
And he loved with his love, his own kind of love, his maybe-wrong kind of love, his maybe-not-love-at-all kind of love, his nobody-ever-told-me-what-the-right-kind-of-love-was kind of love. And he loved with his very essence, he loved with all he had or would ever have, he loved with all that was at hand and all that was unreachable, with all that was once allowed and all that had always been forbidden.
He loved.
And he didn’t know if it was what love was supposed to be, didn’t know if it was the ineffable love, and he didn’t know if it was love at all, and he didn’t know what love even was anymore, but he gave light that was showing the way, and gave warmth that helped cure a child, and heard laughter where there had just been tears, and if it was wrong, then he was wrong, and he was willing to be wrong a million times for every single cry of joy a child gave when they had something to eat on a cold winter evening.
And he loved.