whispers of the fall

I was made for this: eternity.

I can’t define it — it slips through my fingers like morning mist when I dare try — but I can feel it. I feel it down deep within the place where knowing settles sure and solid. From the first beat of my fresh-sculpted heart, this longing sparked to life. The moment my eyes fluttered open at the dawn of my awakening, I knew.

I was made for this!

Carved from the side of Man, himself formed from dust and God-breath, I breathe in the lingering scent of Divine that hangs heavy on the air. I cannot sit still; I am poised here on the edge of some great unknown something. My blood rushes hot and full of life and wondering. I rise to run and leap and dance; had I but wings, I would soar and sweep the sky in search of the source of my stirring desire.

My longing eases in the cool of the day in our Garden — it is then that the One steps over the hill. Light and life sparkle in those brilliant eyes of His, melting my insides into liquid joy. He takes me by the hand and the stirring settles into rest, for I am known to Him. The three of us — the One, the Man, and I — walk and talk and play in unbroken fellowship so sweet it courses down my cheek in tears of bliss. If only it could go on like this! But He goes, leaving the Man and I together until dawn. We find, between our two selves, another kind of gift.

I awaken in the pulsing fresh light of an infant day, the Man still asleep beside me. I lie beneath the trees and ponder … what is this stirring, almost aching, that’s making it hard to be still? Whatever it is, it can’t be contained, won’t be restrained. I jump up from our leaf-strewn bed, I stretch and spin and reach as if to catch the sun-gold droplets dappling my skin.

A voice, the barest whisper, floats to me on the breeze, and I turn. The Man sleeps on, undisturbed by my exuberant waking. Perhaps the One has come to meet with me again! My heart beats fast; the longing rages, yet without an answer. The calling so elusive — I must divine its source.

Days go by; the urge grows stronger. We three commune at day’s end, yet I do not ask — they’d think me foolish. Instead, I cherish my sweet wonderings. I’ll watch and wait, and wow them with my brilliance when the pieces fall in place.

My attention catches as we circle round again. One Tree — no, two — positioned in the center. Waxen leaves, pungent fruit, full and fresh and inviting. Do trees speak? Or maybe the fragrance alone is enough to draw me forward …

My companions turn and I am torn. A thought springs up, and I flinch at its sudden invasiveness — what secret is being kept from me? My heart lingers long behind my feet. What if my longing could be answered in that place?

The One has gone. We two lie down, but I am quiet, still mulling over hidden thoughts I’m loathe to share. As if sensing my secret, the Man murmurs in warning, reminding me of the Word from the beginning. I do not deny it, nor do I respond. He turns away; we lie with distance between us, new and unsettling.

Another morning; I have not slept. At least, not well. Too many dreams — warnings and stirrings warring — and I am restless. I must know now.

I creep on silent feet back toward the Trees in question. Man hears and follows. Unbending, I walk on. He cannot stop me; let him come.

There they stand. I stop. I listen. The voice is waiting. I glance behind me; Man hears it, too. It pulls me closer — part hiss, part whisper, all seduction. I am entranced.

A simple question. What harm to answer? The forked tongue flickers, prodding a low-banked fire deep within. Something flares. How dare he question?! I recite by rote the warning given in a quick defiant burst.

Another question, bold and startling — this time a gauntlet flung in the face of the One. I open my mouth to spurn his accusation, but I am caught. I am betrayed. Had He known all along the answer to my longing? Had He known and yet held out on me? How dare He keep me from the path to my desire!

My eyes smolder, matched in their intensity by the serpent’s knowing gaze. A subtle movement of its head reveals a succulent fig hanging just within my reach. My mouth begins to water as its scent floods my nostrils; I inhale for the first time potent temptation. Shaking off all clinging echoes of the warning Word, I wish no longer to resist. This fruit will feed my craving and make me wise.

The fulfillment of my longing lies within my grasp. I make my choice.

The Man stands silent, staring, as I pluck and taste the destined fruit. Drawn by the fire in my eyes, he eats willingly from my hand.

The flavor — rare and heady, and something sickly sweet. I knew it not then, but I know now:

Decay.

And death.

I could not hold the emptiness that rose to fill me, the shattering sense of something all-too-wise. Waves of guilt and shame rolled in — overpowering, alien, repugnant, despised.

The sun fled in dismay at our woeful state, hastening the time the One would reappear. Hands and lips stained by fig juice, naked bodies stained by shame. Frantic for covering, we stripped leaves from the tree to weave around us, dove to hide our faulty efforts in the brush.

Oh, the piercing pain of that once-beloved Voice! We could not long remain in hiding when the One called us by name. We crept into the open — desperate, defiant. Pointing fingers, casting blame, shredding innocence and fellowship into shambles at our feet.

Both firm and sorrowful, the One pronounced our judgment — I could no longer bear to meet those love-soaked eyes. Yet as He spilled the first of Eden’s blood to clothe our nakedness, mercy struck a spark of hope to make my longing reignite.

Somewhere down the long shadowed corridor of eternity, I caught a glimpse of something true and pure. Though I had fallen hard and dragged my whole race with me, someday I knew we would be raised to something more …