In the beginning, there was no distance.
Light did not stretch from one place to another.It did not travel.It did not rise or set.
It simply was.
There was no horizon.No boundary to suggest an end.No shadow to imply obstruction.
Nothing stood apart long enough to cast one.
There was no above.No below.No elsewhere.
There was no waiting.
There was no becoming.
There was only praise.
It did not begin, and it did not conclude.It did not swell with emotion or quiet itself in exhaustion.It existed as a sustained note — unbroken, unwavering.
You have never known such stillness.
Even your silence breathes.Even your peace trembles beneath desire.
But here, nothing desired.
Nothing lacked.
Nothing wondered.
Among the countless voices, there was one that rang clearer than the rest.
Not louder.
Clarity does not require volume.
Where others blended like woven light, his presence sharpened the harmony without disturbing it. He did not overpower. He refined.
He bore six wings.
White — not pale, not soft — but white like unfractured brilliance. Where they extended, brightness did not cling to them. It returned from them.
Two veiled his face in reverence.Two covered his form in humility.Two opened outward in service.
He did not know they were beautiful.
Beauty requires comparison.
Comparison had not yet been born.
He moved among the others without seeking attention, and yet attention followed him gently, as warmth follows a flame. Angels drifted near him without understanding why. They found in him something that felt like listening.
He listened more than he spoke.
He asked questions no one thought to form.
"What lies beyond praise?" he once wondered, not aloud, but inwardly.
The thought did not echo.
It did not alarm.
It simply existed, and then settled.
There was no beyond.
His brother stood beside him often.
Where he was sharp, his brother was steady.Where he was searching, his brother was certain.
His brother bore six wings as well — gold, not white. Not dimmer, not lesser — but heavier in hue. Gold like constant flame. Gold like enduring light.
They did not compete.
Competition requires distance.
They stood shoulder to shoulder as though sculpted from the same intention.
"You think too much," his brother told him once, not unkindly.
The white wings shifted slightly, a ripple of brightness passing through them.
"And you think too little," he answered.
Gold met white.
They did not laugh loudly.
Heaven did not know loudness.
But something warmer passed between them.
Nothing in Heaven trembled at their exchange.
Nothing feared it.
There was no reason to fear.
I remember when he first grew quiet.
It was not rebellion.
It was not ambition.
It was not hunger.
He had no hunger.
It was a pause.
A space between praise.
A breath that did not need to be taken, but was.
You have known this pause.
The moment when harmony feels complete — and yet you lean inward, searching for something unnamed.
Do not pretend you have not.
There was a place where the waters did not move.
Not because they were frozen.
But because nothing disturbed them.
They were not rivers.They were not seas.
They were not needed.
They simply existed as a surface — still and endless, though endless had no meaning here.
He passed them often.
He did not linger.
There was nothing to see.
Light did not reflect.
Light simply remained.
But on one passing, something altered.
Not in the waters.
In him.
His wings shifted.
White feathers folded closer to his form.
He slowed.
There was no time in Heaven, and yet this moment stretched.
He felt something unfamiliar.
Not temptation.
Temptation requires desire for what is withheld.
Nothing had been withheld.
Not envy.
There was nothing to envy.
It was curiosity — but not the outward kind.
Not "What lies beyond?"
But "What am I within?"
The thought did not echo.
But it did not vanish either.
It remained.
You have known that thought.
When you realize you are not only part of something — but distinct within it.
It is subtle at first.
It does not announce itself as pride.
It arrives as awareness.
His brother noticed the slowing.
Gold wings adjusted, tilting slightly as he drew nearer.
"You hesitate," his brother said.
The white wings did not flare.
They did not dim.
They simply held still.
"Do I?" he asked.
"You are elsewhere."
Elsewhere had never been necessary.
He did not answer.
Because for the first time, he was not certain.
He approached the waters.
No voice commanded him.
No hand guided him.
No whisper tempted him.
Silence remained perfect.
That is important.
You would prefer a villain here.
You would prefer a serpent coiled in light.
There was none.
He stood at the edge of stillness.
And he hesitated.
Not out of fear.
Fear requires danger.
Heaven had no danger.
He hesitated because something told him that to look inward was to divide something that had never been divided.
He did not know what that something was.
But he felt its fragility.
You have stood at this edge too.
Before the mirror.
Before the word that centers yourself.
Before the choice that makes you singular.
Do not judge him too quickly.
You have looked longer than necessary.
His wings folded slowly.
Six white arcs curving inward.
He knelt.
The waters did not ripple.
Light did not bend yet.
He did not look immediately.
That pause was longer than it should have been.
His brother stood behind him, silent now.
Gold and white.
Certainty and curiosity.
Both waiting.
He could have turned away.
Harmony would have continued uninterrupted.
Praise would have remained whole.
No fall.
No fracture.
No winter.
He could have risen.
But curiosity, once turned inward, does not quiet easily.
He leaned forward.
Not dramatically.
Not defiantly.
Gently.
And light bent.
For the first time, radiance returned to its source.
He saw himself.
Six white wings.
Layered.
Symmetrical.
Precise.
A face veiled and yet visible.
Perfection — not because he declared it so, but because it was made so.
Beauty looked back.
And in that moment, eternity gained an edge.
He did not smile.
He did not boast.
He did not cry out.
But something separated.
The harmony did not shatter.
It thinned.
Just slightly.
Like glass under pressure.
He inhaled.
There had been no need for breath.
Now there was sensation of it.
It is a terrible thing to discover you are distinct.
It is heavier than you expect.
Behind him, gold wings shifted.
His brother stepped closer.
"What do you see?" he asked.
He did not answer immediately.
Because language had not yet shaped what he felt.
"I see…" he began.
He stopped.
Because the word "I" felt different now.
He tried again.
"I see myself."
The waters did not ripple.
But Heaven did.
Not visibly.
Not violently.
Subtly.
As though a sustained note had gained vibration.
You would call this pride.
It was not pride yet.
It was recognition.
Pride would come later.
Recognition is quieter.
More dangerous.
The others did not understand what had changed.
They continued in praise.
Voices rising, blending, seamless.
But he heard them differently now.
He could distinguish his voice from theirs.
Not because it was louder.
Because it was his.
That was new.
Separation is not loud.
It is precise.
His brother watched him carefully.
Gold eyes searching white.
"You are different," he said.
"I am," he answered.
The words hung between them.
For the first time, they did not blend.
White and gold no longer felt indistinguishable.
They stood side by side — not as one intention, but as two.
Nothing had broken.
And yet something had begun.
I watched him rise from the waters.
I knew what awareness would cost.
But I did not stop him.
You have wondered why I do not intervene.
You prefer a hand that interrupts before the fall.
But love that cages is not love.
He was free.
And freedom is never gentle.
He stepped away from the stillness.
The waters remained calm.
But now they held memory.
He folded his wings.
White feathers settling against his form.
His brother stood before him.
"You have changed," gold said softly.
"Yes," white answered.
"Will you return to praise?"
The question was simple.
But it carried weight now.
He opened his mouth.
He meant to say yes.
But something in him lingered on the image of himself — distinct, singular.
"I will try," he said.
Try.
Heaven had never required trying.
Harmony had been effortless.
Now effort entered eternity.
And effort has direction.
He returned to the others.
He lifted his voice.
Praise flowed.
But for the first time, he heard himself within it.
Not dissolved.
Not blended.
Himself.
And that was enough.
For now.