Drueed and the Cave
To be sung in the choir
When mankind awoke all across the land of Medialia, all the Melics of the world were gathered into a deep void, open at one end, closed at the other; and there were three. Upon three posts bonds held them securely: their ankles, their legs, their waists, their wrists, their arms, their shoulders, their heads. Prisoners of an existence they did not know, the gaping mouth of the void mocked their backs as they faced away, forcibly directed to see only the back wall. Throughout the day the sun shone brightly behind them, and all the long night the moon beamed, and so were cast three tall, straight shadows before the Melics, all day and all night.
“What are those forms?” asked one.
“Black against the bright! They are dark and powerful,” said another.
“They do not move,” observed the third. “How can such silence testify to power?”
“Strength does not require movement. Strength can be shown in stillness.”
“Would you say, then, that we are strong? For certainly there are none more still than we.”
“Nor any more dark.”
“Dark like the forms.”
“What can they be?”
“I say they are gods.”
“What are gods?”
“In my mind they are handsome and wonderful; in my mind they are strong and magnificent. In my heart they are good and gracious.”
“That, my dear fellow, is a matter of theology.”
“What we see is black, and sturdy, and straight. And that is all.”
“They indeed are wonderful, but that is not to say they are good.”
“They indeed are strong, but offer not grace to us.”
“Perhaps they are not gods.”
“What else is there that might enlighten us? What else is there to relieve our burden?”
“Perhaps they are trees.”
“What are trees?”
“In my mind they are tall and majestic; in my mind they are useful and beautiful. In my heart they are life and safety.”
“That, my dear fellow, is a matter of botany.”
“What we see indeed is tall, but that does not make them safe.”
“They indeed are beautiful, but that does not make them life.”
“Perhaps they are not trees.”
“What else is there to give us wisdom? What else is there to give us hope?”
“Perhaps the forms are we.”
And so it went for days upon days, longer than anyone would care to count, as the Melics tried to understand their world of which they saw so little. Alone in the void, separated from the rest of creation, they talked of the forms and what they might mean. Were the forms made of substance, or were they images of another substance? Was substance just what existed in the Melics’ minds, or was it made of something outside? Were the Melics’ words only empty symbols of things that did not exist? Did anything abide apart from the Melics’ minds?
Then one day, different forms appeared.
“See! There is a new form!” said one.
“Black against the bright! It is dark, but it does not appear so straight and powerful as the others,” said another.
“It moves,” observed the third. “That is power in and of itself.”
“Woe are we! For a new form has appeared, a form which we have never known!”
“Woe upon us, for what we have known is now less than we believed!”
“Woe upon us, for until this moment we have not known everything there is to know!”
“Woe upon us, for this new form is an unknown danger!”
“This new form will destroy us!”
“This new form has powers we do not understand.”
“But what is understanding without seeing?”
“Is this merely a new form, or is it new understanding?”
“Perhaps it is an old form, only different.”
“Perhaps it is an old form, hidden from us until now.”
“Perhaps it has been with us in the void, black against the black, from the beginning.”
“Perhaps we have never before needed to see it, or understand it.”
“Then what can this new form mean? Why does it show itself? For certainly our existence never before required us to know it.”
“Perhaps it is not important to our existence.”
“Perhaps it is not important. Perhaps it is insignificant.”
“Indeed, look, it is a small thing, and appears woolly, and has a large knob at one end.”
“It appears to have a head, and then a rounded nose.”
“And a smaller knob at the other end.”
“I say it is an animal.”
“What is an animal?”
“In my mind it is soft and warm; in my mind it is living and breathing. In my heart it is friendly and helpful.”
“That, my dear fellow, is a matter of zoology.”
“I shall call it rumidont.”
“I think it is but a small one.”
“Perhaps it is a lamb. Perhaps they start out small, then eventually they become bigger.”
“It is a lamb, black against the bright.”
“But see, the form is gone. In its place is one that is newer still.”
“Another new form! We are doomed!”
“Perhaps this one as well has always dwelled with us in the void.”
“Perhaps this one also is not important to our existence.”
“Perhaps this one also is insignificant.”
“We can come to understand this one, as we did the other.”
“It is very much the same as the other, and yet it is different.”
“It is different somewhat, but it is the same as well.”
“At least it is different from the first three forms, so straight and powerful.”
“It moves, but in such a way that it won’t be seen moving.”
“It is small, but not as small.”
“It appears woolly, but the wool is straight and coarse.”
“And it too has a large knob at the end, but this one has a long and narrow nose.”
“There are things descending from the mouth, long and sharp-looking things.”
“Could this also be an animal?”
“Perhaps, but not so soft nor friendly.”
“I think those are teeth pointing down.”
“Sharp and cruel teeth.”
“Dangerous, ravening teeth.”
“And it is hungry.”
“It is hungry, and it is hunting.”
“I shall call it thylak.”
“But now it is gone. What can we know of such forms when they are so fleeting?”
“We can know what we see.”
“We can know what we think.”
“We can know there are many wonderful things in the world, and not just three beings. It is good to know such things.”
“There are things straight and tall, and things small and soft.”
“What is soft?”
“In my mind it is gentle and tender; in my mind it is silky and supple. In my heart it is feeling and touching.”
“That, my dear fellow, is a matter of physiology.”
“Now there is another form. It is like the first animal.”
“The rumidont.”
“It is like the lamb. It is soft and woolly, one can tell, though it be nothing but black against the bright.”
“It is the lamb again. I can see it is a lamb.”
“It is good that there is a lamb in the world.”
“It is good that the lamb has returned.”
“But its nose doesn’t look right.”
“Yes, a lamb’s nose is also soft.”
“Yes, this nose is too long, and too narrow, and too sharp.”
“What is happening to the nose? A lamb’s nose is not like that.”
“A lamb’s nose is not long and narrow.”
“We know that.”
“We have seen a lamb before.”
“The form of a lamb.”
“This lamb is changing.”
“We have been deceived, for this lamb is not a lamb at all.”
“This lamb has sharp things pointing down. Sharp and cruel things.”
“This lamb has teeth.”
“This lamb is that other animal.”
“The thylak.”
“This lamb is a thylak, after all.”
“Perhaps it is not good that there is a thylak in the world.”
“As the forms have shown us, it must have its place.”
“But the lamb must have its place as well.”
“The lamb will have its place.”
“But now the form is gone.”
“What is it do we see? Three beings?”
“Or are they only three forms?”
“And what of the lamb, and the thylak? Are they real?”
“Are we real?”
“Will we ever know?”
And so it went for many more days, as the Melics pondered the forms they had seen, never moving their arms, or their legs, or their heads, never seeing anything but the closed end of the void and the three stoic forms. They marveled over the lamb, and the thylak, and the lamb that wasn’t a lamb at all; and they talked endlessly. Then one day, a new form arrived. It stood erect like the first three, but suddenly tapered near the top into strong, shallow inclines, then becoming a large knob that moved back and forth, as if contemplating its concomitant shadows.
“There is a fourth form upon the wall,” said one.
“It is not so different from the other three,” said another.
“It thinks,” observed the third. “That makes a world of difference.”
“It is not frightening to have a new shadow. This one is like a friend.”
“It is tall. I look straight at it.”
“The ledges of its plain — they are rounded with bone and muscle.”
“Those limbs that hang from the ledges. It gestures with strength and grace.”
“See it move the knob at top.”
“It has a head.”
“And its head makes it a different animal.”
“It has a nose as well, and a brow, and a strong jaw.”
“It has a purpose.”
“It has a purpose, and it knows what that purpose is to be.”
“And it knows it’s purpose within its head.”
“In its head it holds thoughts.”
“And perhaps it has words for thoughts.”
“And perhaps it has forms for words.”
“I say it is a man.”
“What is a man?”
“In my mind he is master yet slave; in my mind he is lovely yet hateful. In my heart he is noble yet sinful.”
“That, my dear fellow, is a matter of anthropology.”
“I shall call it The Man.”
“He is a good, strong man.”
“But what has happened to him?”
“His head droops.”
“His limbs reach out.”
“He changes.”
“He changes, like the lamb.”
“But he changes not into the thylak.”
“He changes like the lamb, but not like the lamb.”
“No, he changes much more.”
“He is dying.”
“He is dead.”
“How could this happen?”
“The form is disappearing, it is fading away.”
“Woe, woe upon us, The Man is dead, the form is gone.”
“Is life so fleeting as well?”
“Must the forms always go away?”
“Is there no purpose to the forms?”
The three Melics fell silent for some time, and their heads would have hung low had they not been bound to the posts, without them knowing.
“Look, the man returns,” said one. “He has the same strong head.”
“He has the same strong shoulders,” said another. “He has the same strong limbs.”
“No, this is a different man,” observed the third. “An ancient man.”
“And his hair grows long.”
“And it grows long upon his chin.”
“And something drapes upon him, below his head.”
“It is a different man.”
“A great, tall man.”
“An honorable, venerable man of the ages.”
“But now he too is gone. What madness is behind this wretched torment?”
“Was he ever there?”
“Was he real?”
“What is real?”
“In my mind it is loving and giving; in my mind it is living and working. In my heart it is hope and faith.”
“That, my dear friend, is a matter of philosophy.”
At that moment the form of the ancient man reappeared upon the back wall, and a voice boomed from out of the darkness behind the three: “You have done well, Melics, you have arrived at your destiny.” This time the form did not vanish, but in fact appeared to move in tandem with the spoken words.
“The forms you have seen are only shadows, shades, silhouettes of things to come. The light of the sun, of which you know nothing, casts the shadows upon the wall of stone, of which you know nothing. Black against the bright, shades cast upon the light by the light. Do you prefer blackness, or do you prefer the light? One cannot have the first without the second.
“Only reality casts a shadow. The shade is a form of reality, which is a form of truth, but not the truth itself. It represents reality, but only in a crude way. The reality is much finer, it is much purer. It is truth.
“For now you know only shadows; one day you will know the reality of your world. You have been taught to read silhouettes so one day you will recognize the truth within your world. But now you know only shades. When you see the reality of your world, you will still know only the shadows of my world. And there you must stay, for that is your destiny.
“I give you shadows! I place them upon the wall before you! Rejoice! It is appointed to you, Melics, to consider the black images of your god and ponder the truth. Your lives are given over to the thoughts of the heavens. Your minds are the mines of my specters, which you will turn over time and again. One day you will understand, when I give you reality, but for now you will know only shadows.
“Do not despair, Melics. Your days and nights will be filled not with labors, but with laborious reasoning; not with drudgery, but with dredging ideas. You will understand that you can never understand, and that will give you comfort. I give you the gift of philosophy.”
The Melics, held immovable upon their stakes, again observed the shadows as the form of the old man grew larger, then held up a single, strong limb. Its hand grasped a large blade, and with a quick slashing motion, their bonds were cut and they then at last could see more than the closed end of the void, and they realized the void was a long, straight cave.
They saw the posts they had been bound to for so long, they saw the straps that had held them now hanging limply, and they saw there was an escape from the cave. And they saw their world for what it was. They looked upon each other for the first time, finally seeing that they were the same, yet different; that they had faces, and hands, and smiles; that they were real.
“We are not trees at all,” said one.
“Nor are we gods,” said another.
“We are men,” observed the third. “And, moreover, we are Melics.”
Squinting toward the mouth of the cave, into the blazing sun, the Melics realized the voice belonged to the ancient man, no longer only a black form but as he was, tall and dressed in robes, with a long, gray beard. His hair made a wild mane about his hoary head, and the fabric he wore was embroidered with lush gold/scarlet and silver/purple thread. Small, bright lights whirled about his head as he smiled upon his three subjects.
“I am Drueed, god of the Melics,” he said. “And by the power of the sun I have given you the shadows of the future. But they are not the reality, and you must never grow content in knowing only the shades. Go and search your minds, search your hearts, and one day, I will reveal the truth to you.
“Go and prosper, for you are men, and you are indeed gods, and you are indeed trees. You will find your place in Medialia in the safety of the branches, where you will live kissing the heavens. Be one with the oak and the cottonseed, the sittlebark and the gopherwood. Caress the wood and the grain, and make it your home.
“Your people will devote their time to exploring their minds and their hearts, the places where they will come to know their god. Probe the ideas of your forefathers, and test the inspiration of your babies. Doubt that which you are confident is true, and revisit what you are convinced is false. Only by seeing all will you know to believe less.”
The ancient man began to fade from their sight, as though he were one of his forms projected upon the cave wall. The apparition seemed to lead the Melics toward the mouth of the cave as it diminished more and more. They beheld him intently as he shrank and grew dim. But before his voice decreased to nothing, before he forever disappeared from view, he left them with a blessing.
“Behold, on this day and in this cave I give you this gift: You will forever be guardians of the shadows of the future, for you are men, and moreover, you are Melics.”
