Chapter 66: Chapter 64: Vivid light shines upon a wretched omen of a future to come

What is ‘holiness’?

Is it the warm, reassuring love of the sun that would cascade down over us in bountiful grace, day after day after day?

Is it the tender, gentle kiss of the moonlight, coating us in an ethereal essence, which is much the same as the graceful presence of a departed spirit — pale, yet full of warm intent?

Or is it perhaps the more material gestures of a species towards one another? Are these things holy?

Is a hug holy if done to convey deep affection? What of a kiss, meant to present the passions of sensuality?

— Is ‘love’ holy?

Or is holiness simply a term that is used to define the actions of entities that creatures, as simple as I myself am, are not able to understand?

Imagine an infant being read a poem in its crib, it can never hope to understand the words being said by its keeper. Yet, it would watch and listen; it would reach and grab and babble. But it would never comprehend the soulful depths being bestowed upon itself.

It does not have the faculties required. This poem, this presence of a mother or a father, are these then, for this metaphorical child, holy?

If so, then are we all simply the same?

In this world of ours, are we the babbling infants, reaching with our small, chubby fingers up towards the stars that shine with such a bright, jovial luminescence, thinking that they are powerful, immense, holy things?

— When perhaps in reality, they, the stars, are merely the decorations that adorn the mobile above our crib?

I can not say.

The real thing of beauty, the real holiness of this life, is something that we can never truly view. We simply do not have the eyes for it.