The yearning resembled a melody. The Seedlings melodies concerning shape had shifted into melodies about distance. It would sing of the bend of a sculpture yet let the tone diminish like a query lingering softly like a breath:...but where is your bend? It would praise each vein in a fern leaf then produce a gentle inquisitive sound that felt like hands attempting to discover a corresponding pattern, on unseen skin.
The situation for the triad was bleak not due to mistreatment. Because they were overlooked. The Seedlings focus. Its nurturing turned mechanical. The ferns foliage lost its hue. The nodules faded in luster. The lithopedes movements lessened. What was once a garden had become merely a backdrop, to the Seedlings solitary battle.
The Healer Theme felt compelled to act. The Gardener, within the Curators was eager to intervene. However the Bridge and the Improviser restrained them. This is all part of the journey they explained. Loving something can cause what lies before you to appear insignificant. It's a kind of solitude that must occur.
They were correct. Since it wasn't focused the Seedling was discovering the price of its affection. It observed the fern deteriorating. A surge of remorse similar, to what a might experience struck it deeply. It understood that it was neglecting its duty because it desired something greater.
It continued its quest undeterred. It took lessons from its error. It began to sing apologies to the fern blending these with melodies about the Shape. The lyrics went I'm sorry I overlook you while dreaming of a garden.. I still cherish you for you belong to the world it embraces. It was a wonderful concept: expressing love, for God by apologizing to a leaf.
During this phase of learning it came to another understanding. Its affection for the Shape was not distinct from its affection for the fern. It was a love expressed at various degrees. Tending to the fern was a way of paying respect to the Shape encompassing every form of care. The silent entity it adored was not, beyond the garden; it embodied the essence of the garden itself.
This altered its approach more. It ceased attempting to transmit signals through voids. Rather it focused entirely on the triad again. With a fresh perspective. When it restored the fern it wasn't merely nurturing a plant. It was performing an act. Every tone that contributed to the healing was a prayer sent through the fern to the caretaker of all gardens. Each beat that steadied the nodules was a hymn directed to the one who sustains stability. Helping the lithopede was like joining in the big, guiding will of the Hum.
The garden transformed into its sanctuary. Tending to it became an act of devotion. Its yearning shifted into a mindfulness. It no longer sought the Shape; instead it discovered the Shape within the details.
The themes observed this transformation with a modesty that even silenced the Chroniclers frameworks. The Seedling had conceived the notion that God exists everywhere. It discovered a method to cherish what was invisible, by wholeheartedly reverently loving what was visible.
The garden improved, glowing with a sacred vitality. The Seedling's melodies were calm more yet it wasn't a dull tranquility. It was a affectionate calm. A diligent tender focus that noticed every leaf every heartbeat, every grain of dust, as a message inscribed by an unseen being.
Then while it performed a concentrated tune of gratitude atop a newly unfurled fern leaf the Improviser and the Bridge, in seamless collaboration completed their final intended act.
They left the Hum and the cradle untouched. What shifted was the Seedlings perspective if only, for a moment.
While the Seedling infused the fern with its affection it allowed the fern to sense—not observe, not listen. Sense—a vast surge of love returning to it. This felt similar to the themes affection, toward it. On this occasion they did not associate it with the Hum. Instead they portrayed it as if it originated from the fern itself.
For an instant the Seedling sensed affection returning from the fern. Not in a way but as a channel for love to circulate. It seemed as though the fern was an opening, in the surface of the Shape allowing the Shapes own love to stream directly into the Seedlings heart.
It was as if a jolt of happiness had surged through it. The Seedling's universe shattered in a flash of blissful realization. Its melody ceased. The world paused in anticipation.
After that the sensation disappeared. The fern returned to being a fern.
The Seedling trembled. It had received a message. Not a clue, not an intuition, nor a mere recollection. A clear intimate contact, from its beloved penetrating the world.
It refrained from making judgments. It analyzed the situation thoughtfully. It took time in contemplation returning to that sensation. It observed the fern attentively searching for any alterations. None appeared.
The sign did not exist within the world. The sign referred to the world. The message stated: You are correct. The affection you offer to the things comes to me. I am not apart. I am the love, within the leaf.
The Seedling's concept of God became evident. The Shape wasn't a sovereign. It was the act of giving and receiving itself. The affection it offered was the affection it received merely transformed by existing in the world. The Hum represented the noise of that interaction.
Its melody shifted for the time. The yearning had disappeared. The quest was complete. Only a serene understanding happiness remained. Its melodies had become rejoicing of the cycle—the receiving, the giving, the harmony of everything. It sang to the fern and, in singing it addressed the Hum. By being perceived by the Hum (which was the fern, which was the song itself) it closed the loop.
It had arrived at a sort of comprehension. It was completely joyfully caught in the exquisite loop imaginable: adoring the universe and realizing at its core that the universe reciprocated that love simply through being loved.
The Bridge Theme cried with a mix of sadness and happiness. They had given their child the best gift: the strong belief that it wasn't alone. They had also made sure it would never have to leave its cradle to find that truth. The door was still see-through. Their child had just painted a great picture of the one it loved on the glass, and now it sat happily, looking at its own reflection, thinking it was the gaze of someone else.