Then Lilly heard the Voice, as close to her as thought: “Lilly, trust Me.” As quickly as it had arrived, the frigid clasp around her lungs released. She took a deep breath.
“I do not want death,” Adam whispered back. “Is death the opposite of life?”
“Life has no opposite, Adam. It has no equal. Life is Good. Life is Our nature.”
Adam pondered for a moment before asking, “Is there any of this death within me?”
Eternal Man grinned and gently touched the boy’s cheek. “No. Adam, there is no death in you, nor in any who are within you. Only life. Today and always you may eat of the Tree of Life, to breathe in and out My Spirit, face-to-face.”
Adam touched the hand that was on his cheek and chuckled. “You know how much I love the trees and the fruit You have created,” and then added in mock seriousness, “which I tend and keep, but not for any necessary purpose.”
Laughter filled the air, the joy of parents watching their child’s first tentative steps and discoveries. As evening descended, the light of God’s presence illuminated the area. Creator and created lingered in the fellowship of other-centered love.
Both the women cried silently as they watched this exchange of pure affection. Lilly didn’t know why Eve wept, but the girl wanted with every fiber of her being to run into the center of this love—yet the whisper of unworthiness anchored her to the ground and wouldn’t let her move, once more taking her voice away and leaving her numb. Such joy was something she could never have.
Finally the young man said, “I only want to know life, to be face-to-face!”
“Adam, you are in the rest of Those Who Know you completely and love you fully. Simple trust is your participation. Hear My word each day and I will tell you the Good. This is neither command nor toil. It is easy and light.”
“And what is Your word for me today?” he asked.
“My word is necessity and in this day of rest is this: you may freely eat from any tree in Eden’s garden, especially from the Tree of Life that is at the center of the garden. But for now there is the one tree, which I have shown you, whose fruit you may not eat and remain in your freedom. The day you eat of that tree, affirming Good and Evil, you will have already died.”
“The Good I know, for You declare it always, but what is evil?”
“Evil is to death as Good is to life. To turn from life, light, and Good, away from love and trust, is to embrace the shadow of death, for life is in the face-to-face and death is in the turning.”
“I do not want death or evil!” Adam stated.
“Then take joy in all the freedoms you celebrate in Us,” declared God.
Adam climbed up on God’s lap as if he were a little boy and nestled into his shoulder and closed his eyes. Eternal Man embraced humanity and sang to him a lullaby.
Lilly drifted off as well, lulled to peace by Adonai’s song. In the gentle space between waking and sleeping, she sensed Eve picking her up. The girl lay back in her mother’s arms, Eve’s warm breath falling like kisses on her shoulder.
Six
* * *
INVISIBLES
Lilly woke in the middle of the night with the floral scents of Mother Eve still on her skin. A chill rushed in where Eve’s warmth had been, but Lilly felt calm and peaceful. Although it wasn’t any time close to morning, she was completely aware. Subtle blue iridescence lit the room, just enough to throw shadows onto the rock ceiling. She glanced around, half expecting to see Eve, and was disappointed.
A conversation of sorts drifted into her chamber, hushed tones and whispers. John was nearby, talking to someone. Lilly almost called out but decided instead to listen. The other voice wasn’t speaking exactly, but almost singing. The language, the pitch and rhythm, soothed her.
“I haven’t decided yet,” John said. “I agree, she needs to be told soon. The Menders and Healers have worked near to exhaustion restoring her, but there is only so much they can do. When it comes to the mind and heart and soul, the best surgeon’s knife has its limitations.”
The Singer spoke for a time, the timbre of words wafting through Lilly’s body and teasing loose deep knots in her muscles. It was irresistible, this voice, and she breathed it in like air, trying to capture the melody. She almost fell asleep again.
“Thank you for saying that,” said John. “But may I be so bold as to ask, why hasn’t God spoken healing directly to her?”
Again the response came like a song, and again she lay there with her eyes closed, letting the music of the tonal words tumble over her. Inexplicably, in this moment she was not afraid. Within her an assurance grew that whatever was coming it would be all right. It reminded her of what it felt like to be near Adonai.
“I do trust,” said John. “I trust both Love and God’s purpose. But what you are saying is . . . Well, it’s so remarkable! Are you certain that she is a Witness?”
The moment John referred to her as a Witness, vivid memories of her hallucinations returned and took Lilly’s breath away. She felt no fear, but rather unexpected warmth and the embrace of hope.
Three worlds had collided within her: The first unknown but for flashbacks. The second filled with hallucinations in which she was Witness to Beginnings. And the last, and in ways the strangest, was this world in which she lay awake, held entranced by someone’s unearthly singing.
There was no way to tell which, if any, of the worlds was real.
“Lilly is so young,” John was saying, undeniable sorrow in his voice. “And so . . . broken.”
The reply was like cascading laughter, notes of humor spilling over each other. Lilly almost laughed out loud herself.
“You’re right,” John said, chuckling. “I’m old and tired, but I’m not alone. Quite a different figure than the energetic man of my youth, as you well know!”
The thought of John as an exuberant young man made Lilly smile. It made her think of Adam, so sure of God’s love and affection. But wait—that was the dream world and this was the true. Or was it the other way around? Or was Earth, her mysterious place of origin—the place she couldn’t quite conjure—was that real?
John spoke again. “Would you please sing over her? As you did for me when I was the Witness. I sense that she will need the strength of your song this day.”
And the Voice did just that. Even if she had wanted to open her eyes, Lilly would have been unable. For the first time in any dream or fragment of memory, she truly rested. Peace came over her like a tidal flow, one harmony rolling over another and then another until she was embraced by song itself. In that solitary moment not one thing in her hurt.
• • •
A GREAT COMMOTION OF scuffling feet and voices woke her. Activity swirled around Lilly’s bright room but remained outside her vision. Behind the jabbering hubbub were mechanical clicks and clacks and what sounded like ropes being tightened or twisted. Occasionally she heard the ping of a wire and a shriek of satisfaction or frustration.
John appeared above her and smiled. “Today is a momentous day. We’ve accomplished so much since the day you moved your head on your own—”
“That was only yesterday, wasn’t it?” Her voice sounded strange to her own ears.
“Well, listen to you!” John sounded very pleased. “No more hoarse throat. To answer your question, it was more like three days ago.”
“I’ve been asleep that long?”
“Hovering, if you want to be precise.”
“Hovering?”
“Um, yes, hovering. Definitely hovering.”
“Well, are you going to explain that to me?”
John looked up and thought for a moment before looking back at her. “It is as if we took you to meet death but we wouldn’t let you shake its hand.”
“You mean I was in a coma?”
“Coma!” he exclaimed. “I don’t know that word, but if it explains a procedure in which we intentionally kept you unconscious in order to hasten some specific healing—yes, then, a coma. Does that help?”
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She nodded.
John’s eyes brightened. “Do that again.”
“Do what?” she asked.
“You nodded.”
Realizing what she had done, she burst into a grin and did it again. The simple movement sent ripples of cheer through the room.
“We’ve loosened your head covering and stimulated your muscles,” he explained. “You should have a greater range of motion now as well as control of your extremities.”
“John,” she interrupted, “you make me sound like an experiment. By the way, who is we? I can hear them but can’t see them.”
His eyebrows rose. “You can hear them? That’s unusual! Normally their voices are imperceptible to humans. Very strange indeed,” he mumbled, rubbing his short beard with his left hand. “Entirely unanticipated. Well”—he lifted both hands and spun around—“she wants to know who is here. Do we tell her?”
The momentary silence was broken by a high-pitched chime that reminded her of a doorbell. “Okay then.” And he spun back to face her.
“Let’s see. Today we’re joined by a rabble of Healers and Menders, and a number of Fixers, Builders, Designers, and Tinkers.” He pointed around the room as he named each group. “Various Messengers, who move too quickly even for me to see, a Thinker, a Seer, a Cook, and one Weaver. No Scholars. And no Inventors here today, or Singers, and no Managers, thankfully. There is one Timekeeper and one Curmudgeon.” He looked back into her eyes. “And there are always some Invisibles, but you never know who or how many unless they want you to.”
She cleared her throat. “I want to see them.”
“Well, you can’t.” He leaned down and whispered with a grin, “They’re invisible.”
“I wasn’t talking about the Invisibles. I want to see the others, the Menders and Healers who have been tending to me, and why are there Fixers and Builders here?”
John glanced around, apparently thinking through his options. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. When you think Mender or Healer, Lilly, your mind pulls up images of doctors or nurses, and that’s not what we have here.” He paused and nodded at someone she couldn’t see. “The Thinker is in agreement. To see our Menders and Healers could shock you into a relapse.”
“You’re freaking me out a little. My imagination is probably worse than your reality.”
“Uh . . . in this case, I don’t think so. You will have to trust my position on this, please.” He paused, looked again around the room, and turned back to her. “We’re unanimous. Perhaps we’ll change our minds at some point, after your strength has more fully returned.”
This did not sit well with her, but John quickly added, “But I can do something else for you that will help your perspective. We’re ready to move you into the big room and tilt you up so you can see more of this place. Now, when I tell you, I want you to try to move your fingers and toes.”
She tried and nothing happened.
“Wait, not before I tell you. It won’t begin to work until we are ready on our part. We need to connect only a couple of small things and I will let you know when. Okay?”
She nodded, partly because she was afraid that if she began to speak, all she would do was cry. She felt like a prisoner who heard a pardon was on its way but feared it was just rumor or for someone else.
A few minutes later, John said, “All right! Try now.”
Her fingers on both hands moved, as well as her toes on both feet. A muted hurrah seemed to rise in the room. She imagined small high-fives along with whispers of glee and celebration. Lilly even thought she heard the pop of a cork and smelled the fragrance of strawberries. She laughed.
They moved her bed out of the room without a sound. She glided as if on water. As the scene shifted, she saw that what she had thought was a ceiling above her bed was in fact a huge canopy. Behind it was a complex array of miniature ladders and bridges, like the latticework of catwalks high inside an arena. They passed under a massive rock archway and then into a large space, open and wide.
A breeze, the first she could remember in this world, swept across her covered body and played with her face. Scents of sea wind and brine teased her nose. Her ears filled with the crashing of distant surf and haunting cries of gulls and terns. The relaxing effect reminded her of John’s visitor.
“John?”
“I’m here.” His voice came from her left.
“Who were you talking to the other night?”
“I’ve spoken to many people while you’ve slept.”
“The one who sang.”
With the bed positioned at a precisely chosen spot, again John’s face appeared above hers.
“I suspect you heard me talking to Han-el,” he said. At the mention of the name, Lilly felt warmth pass through her, energy that stirred her fatigued muscles and bones.
“Han-el? ”
He ignored her question.
“Now, we’re going to slowly tilt you upward. Your bed, with the touch of a few buttons, can transition into a wheeled chair. We won’t do that today, but when you get stronger.”
John disappeared from sight.
“Why does he sing instead of talk?”
“Han-el’s language is more ancient and advanced than ours.” He reappeared on the opposite side of the bed. “Hopefully when we elevate you, your head won’t roll off your shoulders.”
She furrowed her eyebrows, concerned.
“That was a joke, Lilly.” John chuckled. “I couldn’t resist, you looking so serious. There is absolutely no possibility that your head will fall off your shoulders.”
“Not funny.” She tried to feign anger but couldn’t help the grin. “Why couldn’t I understand what Han-el was singing?”
John vanished again. “All right, here we go, like I told you, this will be very tedious, something in the range of one degree every fifteen minutes. The goal for today is thirty degrees. So, seven hours. Ready?”
“Bring it on!” she said. And nothing happened.
At least it seemed that way.
“John?”
“Over here, just monitoring your progress. All’s well.”
“What language was Han-el speaking?”
“The same as yours and mine.”
“No, he wasn’t. I would have understood.”
“Didn’t you?”
Lilly almost objected, but then she considered this. Though she couldn’t repeat the words of Han-el’s song, some part of her had known the meaning of it, deep down. He had spoken peace over her. Rest. And to John: answers to questions.
Or maybe John was just fishing to see how much she had overheard.
“You’re up a degree,” John announced. “Well done.”
“What’s a Witness?” she asked.
“Aren’t you full of questions today!” John chuckled.
“I hear you’re the answer man.”
She heard footsteps and soon saw John alongside her bed. “I don’t have all the answers, but a few perhaps. A Witness is someone appointed to a divine purpose—observing God at work, and then reporting what she has seen.” He coughed and averted his eyes. “She or he.”
Though Lilly intensely wanted to understand what John and Eve meant when they referred to her as a Witness, his apparent discomfort stopped her. She needs to be told soon, but . . . she is so broken. The conversation now veered uncomfortably close to Lilly’s dreams, to the possibility that her mind was as broken as her body. And also in that moment she realized John’s opinion of her was important, something that made her feel uncomfortably vulnerable.
“Is Han-el a Witness?”
John’s lips parted in surprise. “Han-el? Oh no. No, Han-el is a dear friend who has seen me through many wonderful seasons. Painful ones too.” He rested his hand at the base of his throat, then paused. “Ah. They tell me you’re up another degree now.”
He continued to encourage her, reporting every fifteen minutes the arrival of the next degree, and slowly she could feel the changes. Lilly’s world was i
ncrementally tilting upward. At a point between degrees six and seven, her body objected. The room reeled and then began spinning as nausea rolled over her like a sneaker wave.
“Stop!” John yelled. “Let her adjust.”
She focused her mind on Han-el and his song. Like a magnet, the lingering of Han-el’s lullaby pulled her back into the vivid scenes she had already witnessed.
The better part of an hour passed before she signaled that her stomach had settled enough for the next elevation. As time and tilt progressed, Lilly realized she was being raised in front of a massive window looking out at a cobalt sky. It was clear for the most part, with an occasional high cloud blowing by, but it reminded her immediately of the places in her dreams.
“John, do you believe in God?” she asked.
There was a thoughtful pause before he spoke. “No,” he said.
“I don’t either.”
He touched her arm. She hadn’t realized he was right next to her. “Lilly, words like God and believe are often meaningless. I don’t believe in God. I know God! Once you know someone, believing is no longer a concern.”
Lilly didn’t understand. “Is Han-el God?”
John’s belly laugh silenced all other sounds in the room. “No, little one. You seem very impressed by my friend, as we all should be. Han-el is one of God’s ministering servants.” He leaned over and whispered, “Han-el is an Angel.”
A horizon appeared at the bottom of her peripheral vision. Again she experienced disequilibrium and vertigo, and again they stopped the process to wait for her adjustment.
“If you need to vomit, just vomit,” offered John. “It might make you feel better.”
“I’d rather die.”
“It’s not like you haven’t vomited before.” He backed out of view.
“I hate puking!”
“Puking? Hah!” he announced to the room. “Puking. There’s a new one.” He rolled it off his tongue as if he were a linguist trying to capture a new sound. “Pyoo-king. What a great word. All right then, there will be no pyoo-king on my watch, is that understood?” He leaned back into her view. “Was I using the word correctly?”