“Before the Curse of Night, the Sun reigned”
There was a time, before the curse of night, that the sunlight reined supreme. It was a time that the day continued forever because the King shone brightly as the sun in the sky. The perfect world of daylight collapsed when the shadows seeped into this world of light. Every human being was laid to rest in a world covered by ash and ruin. From this, there was placed an inner rag that clung so tight to the human heart to keep it from beating. There was no difference between child and mother, father and brother, neighbour and friend. Every soul carried the weight of this burden within their chest. It couldn’t be seen directly but it was felt deep within their soul as heavy as stone. The unspoken truth between all humanity was the feeling of heaviness of this burden within. Every person carried the rag in their soul, and it clung to their heart so tight, keeping it bound. The fact was accepted. Humanity must carry this weight from within
Yet, there was a thief that came to the night. He was clothed in a dark hood and bore the figure of a man. The thief would only appear when daylight vanished to the night. His movement was as fleeting as wind, and his face was hidden within the cover of his shadowy robe. He was known as the Hooded Thief. He was draped in a flowing cloak that glistened in the desert sky. He ran the surface of the world every time the night appeared. The context of his features and the study of his face were unknown. But, his presence could be felt. In every step that the Hooded Thief had taken, there were traces of light that gathered like dust in his footprints. And in those pockets of his steps, the strangest healing emerged. Every corner of land that the thief touched returned to the fullest bloom. It was like the first breath of sunlight for the wake of the natural world. When the dawn emerged, the thief’s robe of darkness would drop to the floor, and when the cloak fell, the light would rise and the dazzling radiance of his being lit up the entire world. It was as if the sun returned to the sky and the day began once again.
“Have you seen the man who runs with the night?” The people would ask one another when the yawning day awakened.
“I have not seen him,” They would reply. The world hated him, and called him a “thief”, yet secretly they longed to know him.
There were always some who swore to have seen him. They were the ones who could not stop speaking about him. They spoke of what the Hooded Thief had stolen from them. They spoke of the beautiful white light that he carried beneath his veil. They spoke of his fingers, as gentle as sunlight and as careful as dawn. The conversations rolled in and out throughout the echoes of time. The thief was known to run from house to house, from parliament to shelters, from camps to homes, from every street where the roads would find their ending – here the thief had surely been.
The thief chose to steal when the daylight burned to dusk. He covered himself in a dark robe and would appear in the night. He appeared to person after person, night after night. The thief would come and steal from men, and he would steal from women, he would steal from children. It never seemed to matter, the thief would steal from anyone. At the close of the night, at first dawn, the thief would vanish to the day returning to the sky. The day would reveal the Hooded Thief had surely stolen once again. Every person that the thief had come to shared a testimony. They spoke of what the thief had taken from them. It became a constant reminder to everyone that there had been a robbery, and something had been taken.
The Light from within the Hood of the Thief
I must speak of the night I saw the thief. I saw him truly because it was the night he came for me. At the darkest hour, in the twilight of my sleep, the thief appeared to me. I heard his sound before I saw his face. With my nose pressed against the glass window that framed my house, he appeared to me as a shadow. I saw the figure of the man emerge. His toes seemed like flickering light as his body ran against the night sky. His hood hid his face, so I could not see him, but I felt certain he could see me. He knew every fiber of my being. There was not a thing about me that the thief could not see. His hood was fashioned from the night sky, like a black sheet of loose paper. And as he drew near and came close enough to whisper, I saw the shining stars that fell from the fabric of his skin. The cape he wore collapsed behind his back and hid the frame of his torso. His gentle feet quickened the horizon in a joyful dance. I saw him slow and felt his head turn to me. My still, dead soul began to pulse in a way that it never had before. The eyes of the thief within his hood were flaming flares of light. As he looked to me, I felt the pull of the rag that covered my heart. With a single look, the rag was gathered up and tossed aside, bringing forth beauty from ashes. The light from the thief’s eyes came into to my heart, and like oil from a kerosene lamp, torched the rag that had once held my soul captive for so long. The cord of despair was snapped in a moment’s breath. My spirit was alive, for the first time, in a beautiful, unending dance.
I am here to say it was this night that the Hooded Thief stole from me also.
He stole the darkness from my soul. He stole the heaviness of the rag that had draped over my core. From the depths of my being, a song of praise was now bursting forth. He stole the depth of my mourning and weeping. He replaced it was a melody of joy. The thief burned the rag of despair from within me. He torched the heaviness of my soul and lifted my burdened weight. The greatest thing that the Hooded Thief stole from me was death. I knew it, because the night he came, was the night I first lived.
Alive Again.
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