One day our world was different.
A tower stood on the Earth. It looked like a fortress made from rock, carved, it seemed, by the hand of God. It was surrounded by an army of similar stone columns, each above the world and not of it, out of reach, away. On it sat a mysterious structure, a building perhaps. The people of that day were curious about these sites. Why were they there? But no one wanted to venture up because they had all that they needed below.
She had all she needed too, but curiosity stirred her to reach for the top. She set out, using mortal hands to climb, stretching her legs and not looking down. Forever extended up toward the clouds, and eventually, the distance down was forever too. For a while, she remained in that place, still like the palace at the top. It rested. She waited. But when it was time, she began to climb again, lifting with now stronger arms and patience. She met her destination with relief. There before her was a building that had not been entered in one thousand years.
Everything remained as it had been. No dust settled on our fair Earth anymore. There were no ruins, only what had been before, exactly as it had been.
She was met with an elaborately carved wooden door frame, artwork, stone and wood together. Human hands had built this place! The door had been propped open with a rock. Had it been there for a thousand years too or had someone come ahead of her? She went inside.
Realizing this was a place of worship, she pulled a long scarf from her bag to cover her head. It was an unusual tradition for her, but seemed to convey respect which she was eager to do. Frescoes on the wall showed people, Saints probably, and at least one surrounded by rays of light.
Light didn't behave that way anymore. It was no longer coming or going. It remained, always and everywhere. There was no where to shine into, all was lit, all was seen. The Earth was light, the ground beneath and the sky above, inside this church and outside, all were beaming, all were vibrant. She was struck by that part of the painting, light that moved separately from other things. One person had it, but another did not. It was not so in her day. She could not even imagine darkness.
After all of this, she saw the child in a painting by the door. She knew him instinctively and smiled and understood that she was indeed in a place of worship. He looked so small and young there, hidden away in the quiet places where the faithful had once worshiped in secret. But it was not that way now. Now he lived among them, with them, and all the world was a high place.