The Station, Part 70

It begins with a low hum that feels as if it comes from everywhere. I’m look about me, trying to find its source. There it is—the wings of the great being. They are vibrating too fast for my eye to follow. The hum’s volume increases, and the wings become invisible. It is a beautiful sound, clear and resonant. Almost a voice. And now it changes rising in pitch and volume. The younger adult joins in. I see its wings flutter and all but disappear in creating it own sound. It blends and contrasts with its elder’s sound. These sounds resonate off the walls, creating an acoustic effect unlike anything I have ever heard. It is gloriously beautiful. And just when I thought it could not be any more breathtaking, the soft little ones add their own voices to the duet, giving birth to a chorus that stuns me with its beauty.

I feel as if I am bathing in sound. It whirls around me, touching me with soothing hums and filling my mind with the most beautiful images. I no longer see a mere collection of strange beasts. I see beings that glory in song and belonging. They move with the sounds of their natural instrumentation. It is a dance. A dance of joy and celebration. They celebrate an occasion. I understand. I do not know how, but with every nuance of sound they project, I see new images. Not words. Impressions and emotions which are too complex for mere words. They are celebrating me. I have finally come for them and they are overjoyed. I do not understand the reason they feel this way at my coming, only that this is an occasion to sing at one’s best.

I have been so overcome with emotion that I did not notice that the beam of light around me has expanded and nearly all present have been bathing within it for an unknown breadth of time. I could have been standing here for minutes or hours. I have already lived a wonderful eternity of bliss within the song. I had forgotten about any light until now. The song has been my warmth.

That is because what was once just a circular space in the ceiling is now an open roof. Lining all around its perimeter are more the adults of all ages. I see variations in color and faces. No two are alike. I cannot see their wings, but I know they sing along with others. They are the rest of this magnificent chorus. They too look at me with those eyes full of wonder and joy. I am their audience. I do not deserve such treatment.

It is almost amusing when I think of my state of mind from when I first saw their slumbering young, full of fear and trepidation. And contrast that short time ago with now. I am embarrassed and unworthy of this. I was just a lost traveler, making his way. But here and now, I am not lost. I am not afraid. I am happy because they beings, these people, have shown me nothing but their generosity. Not just these singing ones, but all the rest. The worms of the snow, the man apes of the savannah, and even the myriad of forms I see in my sleep lessons. I have given nothing back but fear and distrust. And now I feel something altogether new—shame.

As if reading my thoughts, and perhaps actually doing such a thing, the old one comes near once again. I have come to understand that this one is a female. Something that was communicated through thought or song, but I do not really know just how. She is close now, and this time there is no singing, there is no guiding hand. I see pools of clear liquid welling up in each those great eyes. One spills over, and the other quickly follows.

By the stars, she’s crying.