Marked

Sometimes, and you may already have noticed, I do this thing where I focus on a small event which takes on epic proportions.  Usually, I'm laughing and I want you to laugh too.  Other times I'm just frustrated.  This was one of those times - it lodged like a splinter and hurt until I picked it out with a bleeding pen onto various sheets of paper strewn across my bed.  It was likely also spurred by Antjie Krog's book on the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in South Africa and not understanding why normal people do such horrible things to each other.  Meanwhile Butters tried to interrupt with questions about our house helper and other Normal Grown-Up Things, and I just had no time for his nonsense in the midst of my pyjamas and Feelings... 

Alright.  Okay.  So just imagine this.

Just imagine.

Imagine you see a blank space, a void, and you see what you could change.  So you talk to her, right.  And you offer to teach, to help.

And it's good.

And something is created when you speak - because it always is - a bond, a friendship, laughter, fun.  And you expect that that will grow - that she, in turn, will speak and spark creation with someone else, that the proverbial call will be heard, understood on the heights, beside the way, at crossroads and beginnings. Or, if you prefer small gods, that others will warm themselves while one winged predator feasts on one giant thief for one sin forever.

But instead, when you ask, ask Cain about Abel, she laughs - looks askance at her sister, Her?  Why would you choose her?

It is killing, that laugh, and the invisible hurt doesn’t cry out, but joins the stream, the stream that could break mountains but each drop doesn’t notice.

Remember, remember when you were taught to play back then?  You, who can’t run, can’t catch, can’t throw, you played.  And you hated it, this game where you stumbled, fumbled, dropped.  But your teacher never said a word.  He was busy, you know – creating.

Because that’s what love does - it creates and connects and forms and shares. 

But you, you let it fall, quietly hid the broken pieces.  And that was your choice!  Undoubtedly a bittersweet preserve from the fruit of your parents’ garden: you can choose.  To stop, to refuse to learn.

But the love of creation, the teacher’s offering – that never stopped.

So you look at Cain, you look and you wonder how you can help her, why you should continue to accept her offerings, when she has killed her sister, she has not asked to learn the secret of proper offerings, she just stopped Abel’s sacrifice – sacrificed Abel instead. 

And see, the thing is, the funny thing is, she would have been a casualty if not for you, for your love!  Before creation, the angels also asked, Her?  Why would you choose her?  

Those people?  Why would you choose those people?

That country?  Why would you choose that country?

They watched the extra rooms being built, the mansion extended, and laughed, noisy gongs and clanging cymbals that fell, fell so far. 

And you were hurt, so hurt that your side ached and your mouth tasted of sour wine.  No one was chosen for grace or beauty or ability – but for the pure joy of creation – a bond, a friendship, laughter, fun. 

But she looks at Abel and sees nothing. 

So that’s what she creates.

She is cruel, this killer who took form and shape before you.  And you are not surprised, not at all.  You have seen it before, witnessed that there is always a Cain, always an Abel.  And they don’t know!  They don’t know their place; they fight, fight to be Cain, even as they fight to bind up the wounds that don’t show. 

One day, next time, soon, just wait – I will be the last one standing, the last one laughing, denying responsibility for creating death where there should have been life. 

The offering doesn't change, but the sacrifice is greater on an altar of mirrors. 

Then you remember. 

Remember?

You are not God. 

The temple has already been built, even though the blood on your hands hurt your ears.  

Grace, unseen, washed you clean, dressed your wounds, pulled you from the mud and clay and sent you heavenward again.  You’re not there yet, but one day, next time, soon, just wait – you will be.

You will be – not Abel – to have this grace taken away from you.

You will be – not Cain – because you shall not kill.