And the people were in great despair, such that they did not know who they were.
The chronicles of pain handed down from generation to generation seemed to be a curse of forever not knowing.
Love there was, but they could not hold it.
The earth itself seemed to shake beneath their feet.
And being unable to trust that there could be anything eternal, they conjured a great sleep, making stories as to what should be seen, and deciding for themselves on that which must not need to exist.
These stories would numb the pain of love, but they also blinded love itself as the people become more divided between the earth and the Creator.
It seemed there was no source of life, and yet no god built with ladders of belief could set them free from being.
And they lived asleep, propelled by the fear of life, and confused by their own mortality.
A great, senseless fog of hung among the people of the earth.
And so it was, that some of them gathered together, for alone they knew not where to stand.
Together, they journeyed to search for the forgotten land, the place they said could be theirs after death, the place their forefathers described before the great shame and the great fear, the place of sacred safety.
Together, they searched for Eden.
And from the Holy Land to the depths of Africa, to the heights of the Himalaya, to the southernmost pole, they scoured the earth in search of Eden.
And they found her not.
And they grew tired and sought distraction; and many left to claim land and to cling to things for comfort, pretending their safety was eternal.
Then, one among them, who had been silent for a generation, turned to the wanderers and spoke. His name was Michael.