Redemption of Mud

I sit in the Mud, the Waste, the Wilderness. All is dark and all is mine. My hands are sore, but still I pull the Mud together, pulling shape into arm and face, leg and body. I whisper, “Who are you. What is your Name.” I take my hand and use my dirty rusty nail to prick my wrist, and one drop falls onto the sculpted Mud.

“I am he who watches over you.” The voice is deep and penetrating, his figure large. He carries the sword I gave him confidently. I shiver. “I love you.” I tell him. “What is your Name?”

The figure laughed. “You may call me Mentor,” he boomed. “You need not know my Name.”

“What is my Name, then?” Mentor looked out at the Darkness and the Mud. “You are Nothing. Incapable.” He looked at me. “Yet you exist. You may be called I Am. Yahweh. It is a weak name.” I had never had a name before. I tasted it and hugged it. I felt it was not mine, but I took it anyways.

I sit in the Mud, the Waste, the Wilderness. All is dark and all is mine. My head is numb, but still I pull the Mud together, pulling shape into lips and hair, legs and breasts. I whisper, “Who are you. What is your Name.” I take my hand and use my dirty nail to prick my wrist, and one drop falls onto the sculpted Mud.

“I am she whom you desire.” The voice is soft and voluptuous, full and velvety. I look, and a woman stands over me, her eyes full of the Darkness I sculpted her with. “What is your name?”

“You may call me Love, little Yahweh. Come. We must go.” I climb onto Mentor’s back, and we travel deeper into the Mud.

I sit in the Mud, the Waste, the Wilderness. All is dark and all is mine. My heart is aching, but still I pull the Mud together, pulling shape into horns and hooves, teeth and wings. I do not whisper, “Who are you. What is your Name,” for I do not want to know. I take my hand and use my rusty nail to prick my wrist, and one drop falls onto the sculpted Mud.

“Oh little Yahweh, you may call me Justice.”

My arms are shaking, but still I pull the Mud together. I do not whisper, “Who are you. What is your Name,” for I do not want to know. I take my hand and use my rusty nail to prick my wrist, and one drop falls onto the sculpted Mud. “Oh little Yahweh, call me Protection.” Again. “Oh little Yahweh, you may call me Truth.” Again. My creations fill the Waste, and the Darkness grows.

“Oh Mentor? Is there a Namer?” Mentor looks at me. “No.” I sigh. “Protection seemed to think so.” We travel deeper in, deeper into Darkness.

My hands are bloody from sculpting. “Oh Mentor? What is a Wedding Feast? Love mentioned it.” Mentor looks at me. “A Wedding feast is a capturing. It is a trick by which Little ones like you are poisoned and taken away forever. Do not worry, Little Yahweh, you will never be invited to a Wedding Feast. You serve us, and we serve you. A slave cannot serve two Masters. Come we must travel further in.”

I have started crying at night. I go to Love, but her breasts are cold and her arms sting. “Oh Namer,” I whisper. “Teach me Names.” In the far off distance, I hear a Trumpet. Chains I had never noticed fall off my wrists. Mentor leaps up. “Come Little Yahweh. You know not what you do. We must go deeper.”

I sit in the Mud, the Waste, the Wilderness. All is dark and all is mine. “Mentor? Must I keep sculpting?” Mentor chuckles. “Yes Little Yahweh. You must always sculpt.”

My hands are bloody, but still I pull the Mud together. I do not whisper, “Who are you. What is your Name,” for I do not want to know. I no longer have to use my nail.

In the far off distance, there is another Trumpet sound. Protection gives a shake. Love gasps. Mentor stands firm, however. I am glad, for I love Mentor. Mentor picks me up. “We must go farther.” I sigh.

The Trumpet sounds are getting more and more frequent. Protection always shakes now. Justice flies around and roars.

I sit in the Mud, the Waste, the Wilderness. All is dark and all is mine. Only- I have begun to think that there is a Light. A Light that is far off, and yet growing. Mentor tells me there is no such thing.

My hands are a bloody pulp now. Blood freely flows across the Mud, and shapes spring up on their own.

One day, Mentor stops. He turns, and stares at the Light, which is stronger than it ever has been before. I am afraid. Mentor calls out among my sculptures. “He is here!” I look towards the Light, and suddenly there is a flash and one of my sculptures screams and I feel a pain in my body. The Light says something, but I cannot hear it.

As my eyes adjust to the Light, I make out a brilliant figure astride a white horse, carrying a glorious sword. He catches up the sculpture who I call Truth, and pierces him between the eyes. “I Name you LIES.” I gasp as a sharp pain hits me in the mouth, and watch as the creature vanishes.

All around me my scuptures are fleeing, but the figure rides after them and catches them up, slaughtering them mercilessly, naming each one for what they are. Justice flies at him, fangs bared and claws menacing, but the figure nimbly ducks and slices open his belly. “I name you ANGER.” Mentor stands in front of me, bravely holding his sword, and Love wraps me in her arms. Very few of my creations are left. Protection crouches in front of the figure, snarling up at him. “You’ll never get to our Maker!” Protection calls out. “We don’t fear you!” The glorious figure seems to smile as he drives his sword into Protection. “I Name you FEAR.” I hold onto Love, who looks up past Mentor into the figure. “You have no right. He belongs to us.” The figure stares into her empty eyes. “Once, yes he did. He now belongs to me.” He ducks under Mentor’s thrust and cuts off Love’s head. “I Name you LUST.” I scream as my a burning sensation hits my heart, and dive for Mentor’s feet. Mentor pulls me up and holds me, and I clutch his chest, terrified. I look over at the blinding figure. I know what I must ask. “Who are you.”

“I am the Namer.” I knew this to be true. I must ask another. “What is your name.”

“I AM. My name is Yahweh.” I knew this to be true. Yahweh was never my name. “I trust you.” I released my hold on Mentor, and in a blinding flash, Yahweh disarms him. Mentor cowers in the dirt. “How is this possible? He belongs to us.”

Yahweh smiles. “You think I have not paid the price?” And I notice, for the first time, that His wrists are not only bloody like mine, but have deep holes in them. There is a blinding Light, and I see the sword sticking out of the forehead of Mentor, whom I loved. A searing pain erupts though my head, and the last thing I hear Yahweh calling out “I name you PRIDE.”

I awake. I sit in the Mud, the Waste, the Wilderness. All is dark and all is mine. A Light shines behind me. “Who are you?” Yahweh calls out. I cannot turn around to face him. I am ashamed. “I do not know.”

“You are Forgiven,” the Namer’s voice penetrates me. “Do you trust me?” I am shaking. “Yes. You are the Namer. I am Forgiven.”

“You are Freed,” the Namer’s voice moves me. “Do you trust me?” I am trembling. “Yes. You are the Namer. I am Freed.”

“You are Beautiful,” the Namer’s voice cleanses me. “Do you trust me?” I am crying. “Yes. You are the Namer. I am Freed.”

“You are Mine,” the Namer’s voice whispers in my ear “Do you trust me?” I cannot speak, for the tears are flooding down my face. I nod. Yahweh picks me up and holds me to his warm chest. “I Love you.” He is pulling shape into arm and face, leg and body. I feel his blood washing over me, cleansing me of all Darkness, filth and Mud. I find new Life in him. He holds me close. “You are my New Creation. You are my little Artist. You shall now Sculpt with the Good, the True, and the Beautiful. But first, there’s a Wedding feast we need to attend.”

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