I held a glass marble in my hands. It was smooth in the blue and rough in the green. Swirls of white danced along the surface. It was a rather lovely marble, so small I could hold it between few humble fingers. But it was beautiful all the same. For many moving minutes I looked into my marble and I noticed all kinds of astounding details. I saw peaks capped with snow, and pink seas. I saw glittering stones and breathing trees. There was flat yellow deserts and rolling, rolling hills. I saw storms, and I saw droughts. Saw empty plains and magnificent alps. And there was more. I noticed a small shaking all over, my marble quivered and shivered. Wherever I looked, I saw it there. I saw it in the glowing cities, and secret shadowed streets. I saw it in the burrows and furrows, in every hovel and home. I realised, as I watched it flicker from light to dark, wet to dry, that my marble had acquired a beautiful thing. You see, my lovely marble, it seemed, had mastered the Art of Living.
Well, you can imagine my surprise. As I watched my lovely living marble I heard a small humming, like the forgotten melody of a lullaby. Storms rolled and crashed chaos into waters and rock. Rain strummed the chorus into the sky. I heard hearts weep and spirits laugh loudly, heard branches crack and snow crunch under foot. A beautiful harmony of happenings.
And then, something worse.
As I listened and watched, I noticed how ugly my marble was becoming. Trees torn from root left oily wounds in their wake. Oceans filled with tar and ash packed the lungs of the bold breathers. Flames of red licked forests into soot and smoke. I saw a lonely catastrophe of wars. Hateful hearts became black and greedy, all for some yet others left needy. And there was wailing all about. The seas became thick and unmoving, mountains began to crumble and the birds stopped singing. I felt a slow sadness in my heart as I realised, my lovely, living marble was dying in my hands.
And I thought, how strange this marble was. To be blessed with such beauty, yet move with such destructive haste. So self-important and so, so small. I wish I could have told it how unimportant it really was. How the power it felt it held was almost non-existent within its Universe. I wanted remind it that its only role was to simply live. To be free. And to love. But I remained silent, for I owe my marble no thing. It is it’s own protector, and I realised as I watched my lovely marble burning, it is it’s only saviour. For the Universe will be, whether my marble is here or not. It owes it only to itself to survive.
Still, I continue to watch. And sometimes, when I look at my marble, I see the familiar glimmering of Hope’s presence. I see Love in Brave hearts. And Patience in Kind smiles. And I think to myself; what a truly remarkable marble I have found.
