The 26th Pin, Ayin, The Deceiver

The Renewing Intelligence

You are walking in the early morning along a worn pat in a lush garden thinking of a great tragedy that has affected your life. Doubts of God’s efficacy and mercy grow. You are so caught up in your thoughts that you fail to notice that the sky has turned from black to indigo and sunrise is close at hand.

Though there are signs that the garden has been cultivated, such as clusters of rose bushes and a path that has clearly been traversed many times, much of the garden has been left to nature. The dew has formed on the plants and the scent of musk rises up. You wonder what animals may be sleeping beneath the tick foliage.

The path ends at a wall of hemp that reaches well above your head. Your part the plants and walk through them. When you are in the middle of these bushes, you fear that you could become lost. Something moves out of the corner of your eye. You halt, and a satyr slowly comes into view sauntering through the leafy growth. His goat-body intensifies the odor of musk, but he either does not see or has chosen to ignore you as he brings his panpipes to his lips.

The melody he plays is bittersweet; joy and sorrow permeates the air as strongly as his earthy scent. He leads you away from the safety of the garden, to where it blends into wilderness, but his music is so enchanting you make the decision to follow.

You go into a field of thistles that sting your legs and hands. The satyr’s melody is joined by distant music of other goat-men far in the distance on a jagged hill made of black diamonds. He scampers off to join them and the plaintive music slowly fades away.

You feel something slide over your feet, and when you look down you see a serpent intertwined around them. There is now enough light to see that the reptile’s scales sparkle like the diamonds of the satyrs’ hill as it unwinds from you and slithers off to the west. Trepidation fills you, but you are compelled to follow.

The prick of thistles brings to your awareness that you are following in the footsteps of Adam and Eve. This barren plain was once as lush as the garden you have wandered from. Making your way through the stinging plants, you follow the snake until you come to the one lone tree in this plain of thorns.

Fruit shaped like dark blue teardrops, the color of the garden’s early morning sky, gleam from the branches of this tree. Even in this place of desolation, the smell is more fragrant than the ripest peach. This mysterious fruit will be the most exquisite thing you have ever tasted. You pick the most succulent fruit from the tree, but as soon as your mouth fills with its juicy pulp, the serpent strikes your wrist.

The plain disappears. Four stone edifices completely surround you, boxing you in so that you can only see the sky and feel the broiling noon sun that is directly overhead. The fruit has vanished, and instead you tightly grasp the heavy branch on which the fruit hung. You put the branch on the ground and first touch the stone in front of you. In time, you explore the other three pillars. Your mind races as you wonder how you will be able to free yourself from a fortress so impenetrable.

Images then begin to cover each stone face, projected from an unknown source. You witness the bleakest moments of your life and experience the deepest pain of those you love. Then faces of men, women, and children of all races, ages, and from different times in history, in the midst of plague, famine, and war, come to you in quick succession, atrocities you don’t want to see. You circle. It is impossible to turn away. At the brink of tears, you do not have enough power to even close your eyes.

Finally, you see your own dead body projected on all four pillars, and as you watch it decompose, sorrow moves through you. The image slowly disappears and these words form:

There is nothing else but God, who creates both light and darkness.

You are seized with anger. Your mind fills with the same doubts you had in the garden. Why is there evil? Why does God allow suffering, especially of the innocent? Why does injustice exist? How can we love God in the face of all of this? Does God even exist?

Your yearning for justice overwhelms you. Enraged, you pick up the branch and strike the stone over and over.

The letters change and a new message appears: Every secret will become know.

Christ on the cross slowly comes into focus. Your hands are now empty. The branch has transformed into the beam on which his wrists are nailed. Once again, you want to turn your head away, but his eyes meet yours and your anger ebbs, replaced with pure love that flows into you like a balm. The pillars around you vanish as though they were made of mist, but His image on the cross remains.

You kneel before him. The bonds of time have been broken. He assures you there is a hidden meaning behind the veil of suffering, and that you stand on the threshold of acceptance that “all will be well in the fullness of time.”

The sky turns to indigo again, and you realize that a whole new morning has begun. Back in the garden, you watch the sun rise like a golden lamp, illuminating the leaves, grass, and flowers. Brilliant colors surround you and the air fills with the music of birds. The serpent glides past your feet and disappears in the wink of an eye. You thank the serpent and the goat-men for leading the way to restoring the faith that you have lost.