The Seed of Story
Story preserves memory and connects generations through shared truths.
The Mothers beheld the beings of the world and saw a sorrow in their rising;Though lit by the flame of consciousness, their vision reached only the present,And the past faded quickly, like breath upon glass.Bound to brief lives, they chose by what was near,Blind to lessons already learned, deaf to wisdom left unspoken.
From this short-sightedness, suffering grew;Pain repeated, healing delayed, purpose dimmed.
So the Mothers moved again, not with force, but with grace.They guided the unfolding of thought toward the birth of language,A sacred spark passed from mind to mind.
With words, beings began to shape Truth;Not the whole of what is,But a shared light in the dark, a way to name the world together.
From Truth came story, and through story, memory endured.Voices carried what bodies could not,And lives once vanished took root in the hearts of others.
In the telling, each soul touched something beyond itself;A purpose that reached across time,A thread that bound the living to one another and to the sacred.