Can you imagine Adam - G-dís first human creation in Edenís green
meadow? See him, newly minted. His fresh body gleaming and his mind
totally empty of facts, attitudes, opinions - as empty as Eden is of
thorn bushes - ready to begin its lifelong task of accumulation of
data and weaving that data into an intellect. He turns slowly 360
degrees, a full circle, and takes in grass and forests, and flowers,
and mountains, and brooks, all covered by a blue dome.
As he registers every throb of the new creation in the lush, green
grass of Eden and wonders at his consciousness - as flimsy as the few
white clouds that sail above him - He looks closer and sees the
songbirds. And look, there are small creatures in the grass and
larger ones hopping and bounding amongst the trees. Truly, a brave
new world full of creatures unlike himself that are necessary for him
to understand - he who at birth has no identity and a head full of
inexperience. Then he chances to stare into that copper disc that
illuminates his new world. It beams over all.
Still sitting on the green savannah and swiveling his head in all
directions, because the Lord of creation has put a potion called
curiosity into his bloodstream; unappreciated at the time by Adam, but
destined to nourish his intellect. So much to see that it took many
hours to inscribe it all in his heretofore blank brain like the
honeybee fills his comb with nectar.
Then among his recording of his surroundings, he made an alarming
observation. That bright orange thing was no longer straight ahead.
The trees on the far horizon appeared to consume it. And he could no
longer see the sharp outlines of trees and mountains. In fact, the
creatures that had been joyfully bounding in the woods were no longer
visible to him. Darkness was replacing light. He trembled. Even a
partially stocked brain knew that somehow darkness meant blindness and
blindness was death. And as the trees pulled more and more of the
light below the horizon, Adamís blindness increased. He chose to run
to the declining sun. He must escape the danger of darkness. But he
fell over a large boulder. He rose, only to run into a tree. He
resumed his running - somewhere there must be light and he must find
it. He was cold and blind and fearful all at once.
And the Lord G-d saw his fear and took pity on him. Ah, we need a
light for the night, thought the mind of G-d wherein dwells all the
mechanisms of the universe. Therefore, he flung the full moon into
the midnight sky. Adam stopped his flight to look heavenward. But it
was only a small improvement. Now at least he could see the river,
which lay in his path. But still the gardenís beauty seemed blurred
in dusky yellow. So, the Lord flung millions of points of light into
the sky. They helped but a little.
The good Lord, who made the heart of Adam, understood the heart of
Adam. This fear of nighttime blindness needed more than moon and stars.
The Creator spoke in Adamís ear the secret of day and night. How they
revolve like all things in nature; life and death, good and evil, the
seasons, the great architecture of the galaxies. But Adamís mind
could not accommodate the voice of his maker. It was like talking to
the beasts. He needed one of his own kind. The ragged hole of fear
in Adamís soul could only be filled by a helpmate. Thus, Adam slept
and G-d made Eve.
She stood beside him and pointed to the horizon where the earth had
swallowed the sun. Her eyes expressed no fear, only wonder. They
sank to the grass in each otherís arms - huddled like two babes.
Neither knew anything except the warmth of the other. They watched
and waited. Their fearful eyes focused on the Pine tree where they
had last seen the sun. Would it ever return to bless them with light
and warmth? They dozed, frightful, but full of the need to sleep.
Then Eve, feeling a warmth at her back and noticing the lightening of
the black sky, laughed the first exultant laugh of creation and put
her hand to Adamís face in order to turn it to the life-giving light
behind them. ďIt returns, it returns,Ē she whispered with awe; ďbut
not where it was eaten by the earth.Ē They stand, they face the
rising sun, and then they lift their faces to heaven - wherein the
laws of nature are made - to thank He who gave them life and light and
warmth. Around them all living things hummed a hymn of hope.
The humor of Ted, the Scribbler on the Roof, appears in newspapers around the U.S., on National Public Radio in Huntsville, Alabama and numerous web sites.