A long time ago, a child was born, a boy, soon to be named Aaron. There he was minding his own business, in the warmest, safest, snuggest place he could be. He had no wants or desires, no cares, no worries. He received a steady supply of nutrients so he never went hungry, as if he knew what hunger was. And he felt a reassuring steady rhythm that lulled him to sleep when he was tired of kicking or readjusting. All in all, life was good in his dark home, and he wanted for nothing.
Suddenly he felt that something was wrong. His usual comfy home was being depleted of substance, and the walls were pressing in on him. Just as suddenly he was ejected, thrust into the world in a mass of confusion, cast in a place full of air and light and cold, a place he couldn’t comprehend and had no reason or desire to be in. As such he began to cry, especially after receiving a strike of some sort from behind him. He didn’t understand what that was, nor did he understand this new place he was in, nor did he understand any of these new sensations that he was feeling. Air was filling his newly formed lungs, and the sensation of cold wrapped around him like a blanket. Then something else happened, something he felt in his gut but could not fathom. He felt separated from that which sustained him. And that made him cry even more.
Gone was the feeling of warmth, and something else he didn’t know about until it was gone. He didn’t know the word safety, all he knew was that it was gone. And that rhythm that lulled him to sleep every here and there. That was gone. And he was left helpless, lost, cold, adrift in a sea of the truly unknown, and he desired nothing more than to return to his home, where things were as they were, and nothing else mattered.
While he was being held by forces unknown to him, a voice reached out, and it said, “Remember.” Now as all things were new to him this voice just added to the cataclysm of the new sensations he was feeling. But still it returned, to say “Remember.” This of course had no effect on his state of being, and mostly it did not stop the crying. And the voice said “It’s ok. Your new to the world. You should rest. I’ll be there later, to remind you. But for now, rest.” Then it began to hum, something soft and tender, something that distracted him a little from the events of his birth. It helped calm him, and his crying began to dwindle.
Soon he was wrapped in something soft, which helped calm the outer senses. Nothing could replace the loss he felt, but this was a start. Then he was placed on something soft and warm, a familiar thing, but different somehow. But the more he laid there, the more he sensed that rhythm, that sense of home. Yeah, there it is. This was more like it. Okay, first he would rest. Then he would see if he could get back to where he was.
The new mother, Alice, laying in her hospital bed, her face covered in sweat and tears, exhausted for a lifetime, held her son like a gifted bouquet of flowers. “Look honey, our son” she said to his father. To which he said “Yeah, look at that”, then went back to his phone call. She didn’t notice, because all of her attention was on her son. She ran her fingers through a wisp of hair on his head, and said “I shall name you Aaron.” She said it with such grandeur, and why not. She had put all of her hopes and faith in this child, that he would fix everything, the father would come home early more often, and he wouldn’t ever think of abandoning them, and they could be a real family. Things will be different, she thought, and it’s all because of you. He’ll never leave now, and we can be a proper family.
Arid Testimony 