INVENTING LIGHT
INVENTING LIGHT
By John Tuft
Pud had been alive on this earth for a good long time, seen far more than he cared to, been hurt too many times, caused pain to others-intended or not-to too many, loved and been loved by the best and the least, experienced joys and failures, and earned every wrinkle on his 90-year-old face. In his lifetime Pud had seen his country go through a horrendous world war, a baby boom, the death of the last Civil War veteran, the election of the first African American president, the integration of public schools being met by a private school movement to avoid integration along with the rise of homeschooling for the same purposes, antiwar riots and yellow ribbons on everything to support our troops fighting, women being ordained into leadership positions in churches, the increasing diversity of the melting pot along with the rise of white evangelical nationalism, to sexual identity phases and faditry, party lines for wired telephones becoming the ubiquitousness of personal phones carried in pockets, humans walking on the moon to the death of trusted expertise, older white men running everything to female CEOs and vice presidents, to start ups by emotionally stunted computer software engineers becoming trillion dollar global monoliths, trusted news sources turning into a time of people groping through a proliferation of propaganda sources, and on and on ad infinitum.
One day as Pud was working in the flower garden that his wife started long ago, his great granddaughter came to visit. She was listening to music as she walked among the various beautiful blooms. “GPa,” she said, taking out one ear pod, “this is all so beautiful.” Pud smiled, “Thank you darlin’. This place gave your great grandma so much joy. She used to say she loved it so much it almost hurt.” As she started to go back to the music, she paused, “That’s what I feel with my music, GPa.” Later as they sat together on the shaded bench talking she brought up to Pud the latest online controversy. Something about some football player making a speech, or some politician’s stunted views, or college protests over something they’d never experienced, or a beef between two rappers, or fears over the future with AI and driverless trucks. It’s hard to keep them all straight. When she looked to Pud for his opinion on the matter, he told her a story:
“Once there was a tribe of people who lived in a deep cave. They had always lived there in darkness. They learned to meet their needs and function right there in the darkness for the longest of times. They developed their ways and beliefs where they were. One day,” and here Pud looked into the girl’s eyes, “a girl about your age, wandered off. She somehow found her way to the entrance of the cave. Excited, yet fearful, she stepped out. Immediately the light hit her eyes and she cried out in pain and threw her hands over them. Ever so slowly she opened her fingers and saw what was outside of the cave. She was amazed and immediately ran back inside to tell her people the good news.
“But when she tried to find her way back she had to close her eyes until they got used to the darkness again. Eventually she reached the tribe and started telling everyone what had happened. About all the sights of nature and other people, cities and planes, weird animals and cathedrals. To her surprise she was taken to the elders, who were sitting in the sacred circle. She told them her experience. They all laughed at her. ‘She has invented light,’ they said, and then they took a vote to punish her because, ‘people who invent light cause nothing but problems.’ And so, they did.” Pud stopped and looked at his great granddaughter. “What music are you listening to?” She turned on the music to share it. “That’s Taylor Swift, GPa. Do you think she’s inventing light?” Pud thought for a moment. “Let me tell you a story…
“Once there was a young girl who was born blind, deaf and dumb.” “GPa, don’t say dumb. She couldn’t talk. Verbally challenged.” Pud sighed, “Okay. Anyways, being born…that way…she was considered to be of no help, of no value, to a lot of the people in her village. But every day she found her way to the village square. There, her brother would begin to play drums on some logs on the ground. The girl felt the vibrations in her feet and would dance. Beautiful, intricate dances. No one knew what this was all about until one day a stranger passing through stopped to watch. He heard people laughing and mocking her, pointing and asking, ‘why does she do this?’ The stranger stepped forward. ‘Don’t you see? He said. ‘She’s inventing light.’ And she kept dancing.”
With that, Pud stood up and went back to tending the garden his wife had planted long ago. “But GPa,” his great granddaughter asked, “who invented light? The girl or her brother?” Among the lilies and gladiolas and roses, Pud smiled until it hurt…
Words are magic and writers are wizards.
johntuftbooks.com
