The Fantastical Story of Mark: A Short Story

Once upon and many times over, there was this One who simply was for the sake of being — perfect in its creation, purest in its way. Not singular in its definition, no name needed to serve another’s rendering, but rightfully part of the greater whole. One in the collective of consciousness, and delighting in the way that it all was, as it so went in this timeless place.

Now, we playfully revel in our choosing to say that there came a day in this timeless place to which the One we speak of could no longer deny the pressing of its soul upon its voice of adventure. So this One took a step to sift through the many attributes of the collective and to select most appropriately the blend for its intended purpose. And with utmost care, the One planned for its vehicle through which its journey would unfold, and also chose well those who would be its receivers, as many in the Oneness had also done in their having gone before.

Then, in a most substantiated moment of Truth, the One spread open its wings to flight, and was caught upon the Wind of Birth. Down, down into the depths of this Greatest of Being it fell, succumbing to the warmth of darkness, the pressure thickening with waves of motion overtaking the One’s placement of knowing. And on that day the fog had its way as the One spurt through the portal to reveal itself as Human.

Human, being. Just as before. One, as part of the whole. One, residing in the collective consciousness. Not one greater than, not one less than. Perfect creation, in perfect order. Human, being. Unique in its attributes, contributing to the expanse of the whole, to the expanse of Humanity — the reflection, or the same, whence this One just came. And to where this One goes now, is there truly an otherworldly existence? Planet Earth. Not more diversified, only less understood.

Welcoming in their joy and amazement were the ones who had gone before, having also previously and carefully planned their purposes and the physical biologies into which they now stood, but remembering none of it outwardly. Yet, cradled in their arms with love was this babe, so undeniably truth in their existence. With the blessing of their open hearts, a name was put upon him, and it was good, and the name was Mark.

In those early days in this timeful place of existence, we shall not so much say as to when or where or how this One called Mark came to greet his developing intellect. But through a shifting of perspectives, it came unto his awareness certain fears and insecurities, just as his strengths and passions were also revealing themselves. As Mark braved his new world, he noted how those who stood among him were different — each unique in their characteristics, their responses to stimuli, and the beliefs that took shape as a result. Others saw these differences, too. Some differences were so blatantly apparent that it was not a stretch for many to feel separate from the others.

In the passing through the fog, it had been so easy to forget and so much more difficult to remember that each in the collective had been for eons of time. Yet, time is not relevant in the timeless place. So, we ask you, where does one gain one’s innate sense of being, particular likes and dislikes, as in one’s repulsion to a certain flavor, or one’s propensity for city life, or a fear of heights? Is there limitation by one’s experience and expression in the here and now, or is there more than one knows? Where does remembrance begin, and how far can it go? DNA. A living library in one’s bubble of biology. What truths does it hold? Past, present, future. The story yet untold.

Mark, in all who he was and continued to be, was vastly different from the others. And even though the others found solace in ones with like-minded perspectives, banding together, creating institutions of limited acceptance and behaviors, Mark could not abide. He could not put his faith in the common ideologies. He would only come to trust his way of being and seeing and feeling. Mark walked his journey wholeheartedly, scrutinizing every revealing detail. He studied the Ancients, the Arts. But, most of all, he listened to Gaia, for he loved her. He knelt in her bosom and let go into her teachings, to which she had many. For, you see, Gaia is the reflection of all that is, the infinite truth and wisdom of the Mystery, the place to go for answers to one’s earthbound questions and then beyond to Infinity. She is the One, the tangible One, the One available to one’s senses that all might even begin to understand.

And, so it was, Mark, as his days were recorded in the ticking of the clock of this timeful place, pressed onward in search of his own solace, wrestling here and there with his self-induced hardships, fighting the currents and missing the lessons. Then there were those breakaway moments, manufactured through fatigue and loss of control, that turned his canoe around in the current of Life and realigned him with the flow. A glimpse of peace, of heavenly bliss. A breath of fresh air. Rejuvenating. Restorative. Ah, restful sleep. Then onward again, for Mark, as with many of the others, did not so very much remember that he is the Living Truth, unfolding moment by moment. He continued to question, not yet content with his answers.

We, in our timeless point of view, take this fantastical story of Mark into your linear future, for our complete telling would not be as grand as the incompleteness of what now is. So, in his latter days of this timeful place of existence, Mark’s earthly vehicle was feeling its wear from all those days of old. And Mark, having come through the wisdom of his years, was ready to let go in one final hurrah, practiced well by the teachings he had endured. He folded his wings and allowed the Wind of Transformation to guide him safely Home. There, in the collective of consciousness, was the embrace of Truth Mark had always known in the core of his being, held sacred in his heart for his earthly flight. There, again, were his oh so familiar friends, the ones who had stayed behind in this timeless place, and the ones who had gone before him from his earthly home — the same ones who had played both lover and hater, advocate and antagonist, solid rock and thorn in his side. And Mark, no worse from wear, hailed his freedom of being, not singular in his definition, but basking in the Oneness.

Again, we playfully revel in our choosing to say that there came a day in this timeless place to which the One we speak of could no longer deny the pressing of its soul upon its voice of adventure. For this One missed its life with Gaia. This One ached to wiggle Human toes…to trek through dry forests, accompanied by resounding crackling from the weight of Human biology…and to dance with its tree friends of the wet forests, roots buried in soil more forgiving on Human touch…making way to the rapid flowing river for the exhilarating ride of Human life. So the One we speak of, with its best made plans and in a most substantiated moment of Truth, spread open its wings to flight, and was caught upon the Wind of Birth.

And so it goes.