In the beginning, there was only the Man Above. He was not of flesh, nor did He have a face that could be seen by mortal eyes. He was the whisper in the wind, the tremor in the earth, and the silence before creation. His form was a tapestry of starlight and shadow, His voice the echo of a thousand falling streams.
He looked down upon a world that was empty, a canvas waiting for a brushstroke. And from His breath, He fashioned the first beings. He did not call them Adam or Eve, but simply "Children of the Dust." He gave them souls, and in those souls, He ignited a spark of His own being—a divine fire that would forever long to return to its source. He promised them a garden, not of earthly trees and rivers, but of celestial knowledge and eternal light.
But the serpent came not as a creature of malice, but as a question. It slithered into the Garden of Souls and whispered, "Why must you only see with the light of the Man Above? Why not taste the fruit of your own understanding?" The Children of the Dust, in their innocence, did not understand the weight of the choice. They reached for the fruit, and as they bit into it, the celestial garden vanished. They were cast out, not into a world of suffering, but into a world of endless choices.
They became Adam and Eve, and their descendants became the people of the earth, forever wandering with a void in their hearts—a longing for the mysterious presence they had lost. The Man Above did not abandon them. He became the "I Am" in the burning bush, the pillar of fire by night, and the voice that parted the sea. He was the law written on stone tablets, the silent guide of prophets, and the unwavering promise of a return.
And so, humanity's journey began. They built great cities and worshipped false idols, they waged wars and found moments of fleeting peace. But in the quietest corners of their hearts, the spark of the Man Above still flickered. It was the mysterious force that compelled a mother to love, a poet to create, and a warrior to sacrifice. It was the unexplainable feeling of awe when looking at a starlit sky, the sudden peace that descends in a moment of despair, and the deep, ineffable knowing that there is more to existence than what the eye can see.
The Man Above is not a distant deity but an ever-present force. He is the mysterious source of our deepest longings and the reason our souls yearn for a home we've never known. He is the paradox of a being who is both the beginning and the end, the creator of all and the silent witness to every choice. And in every act of kindness, every moment of profound beauty, and every quiet prayer, the veil between us and the Man Above thins, igniting the soul with the memory of a garden that was, and a promise that will be.