In the beginning, as they always say, there was the “black”—and then there was the “white.” As I listened to their voices I saw black in front of me: the void extending panoramically, ad infinitum in all directions. It felt rather peaceful really, as I floated equidistant from all distances. Then came a voice: “Black is the veil before you,” white instructed, “representing ignorance.” His voice was angelic and felt as if descending from above, but there was something off about it I could not quite put a finger on.
The universe’s eyes were born closed and it never experienced it open. There was no such thing as “eyes” to “open,” for there was nothing outside the self to experience. So black created white, so there was now something outside of herself to experience. And she opened her eyes, and then “there was light.” Like waking up from a coma to see the face of your loved one, she did not quite know it was him at first, but subconsciously, in her heart, she knew.
White and black had so many adventures together. As her dual, white has brought much to contrast to herself with into her life it manifested so much experience. “I will show you the way,” white said to black, tugging her arm along as he spearheaded their way through the woods. “I will show you all I created. For when there is no light there is nothing to be seen, for all is under the veil of darkness. Everything’s awareness is due to me.” Black believed white to be wise, always looked up to him, and saw him as the source of all wisdom because he is indeed the source of all things.
As I hovered above them, I cried for I saw black transformed. I saw, as everyone else, black as a poor little thing who, with the help of white’s hand, is ever growing into the direction of light. I watched and watched them, in awe, as they pranced about their merry way, hand in hand, further into the light. The shadows subsided and the light ever grew. It was as if the light was at the end of a tunnel, then it became like the sun, then it became whatever can be that is bigger than the sun.
I was so enthralled, as was many watching them through the ages, that I almost forgot the oddness of white’s voice. But the very process of almost forgetting triggered me to remember. “What was it that I forgot?” Then I saw black fading away due to the light, making her look ever frailer. Even white was fading away, as they both enwrapped themselves into the light.
This sparked something in me. I pondered and pondered about what white said, in this place where there was no time. And instantaneously, after what felt like eternity, I thought, “Well, what he says is true in some way. But even his perspective is from the ignorance of white, for white never experienced black. Or he forgot he was experiencing black while she experienced him. He only thought about eliminating all black from himself, from her, and all else, for she was all he could compare himself to. So he looked outward at black, and scoffed, “I am not her.” This happened when he first saw her face for the first time, back when they both opened their eyes and gazed at each other. Nevertheless, he was looking into a mirror when he did so.
And since then all wise, intelligent and pure things were, and are being, bestowed with the name of light, like buildings with the name Trump—in the words “enlightened,” “brilliant,” “sparked,” and in pictures—blonde Jesus babies and martyrs with halos around their heads. “Ahhh,” I hummed. And I saw how all objects’ existence was supported by black, for the shadows come together with the light to bring them into our awareness. White forgot not only his co-creator, but his very own creator. And she is forgetting herself, her own wisdom—her own power—for she attributed it to all to him. She dim-inished into the light.
At the same time let us not dim-inish the light. For in the natural cycle of the way All Things go, we praise the One over the Other, and then upon seeing our mistake, we praise the Other over the One. Let us though remember everything the One brought to the Other, or what they gave Each Other mutually. For Both were wedded beautifully and gave birth to Experience.
To make “mistakes”—to turn from one extreme to the other, then realize synthesis—is part of a natural cycle, as we are enlightened through the process of black-and-white thinking, not to the exclusion of black-and-white thinking. Let the cycle turn and alternate between its black and white spokes. Then when the wheel turns fast enough, the spokes blend together into truth. To categorically exclude the place of black-and-white is to be too black-and-white, and to deny the role of process. It forces answers right away—it demands white now and forevermore.
Who is this one we forgotten that invented the void—and thus the light of experience to which we open our eyes? Was it him? Was it her? Was it God? Or me when I uttered “What was it I forgot” as I saw white and black at play? Or was it you? Or someone you knew?