A Vision

The wing of night fluttered, and the valleys echoed back a whisper of praise and jubilation... The bells danced on every summit, and their melody melted into the whisper and set out across the horizons, weaving around the morning star a frame of love and goodness and peace...

And the star turned, wrapped in that frame, in the procession of the new day... And this day looked out upon the people, and through it the people looked out upon the light...

It is the light of the Nativity... the light that today envelops the people in its procession.

Do they, I wonder, see in the procession of light — or is there a soreness in their eyes, and darkness in their hearts?!...

...The voices of the bells still embrace one another above the winding roads... the whisper of the valley still echoes in every direction... and the people still walk in the procession of light... and walk... while the light stands ever at the threshold of hearts, and the flood of darkness turns it away... And it is still reflected upon the eyes, and the eyes lower their gaze, for they have never learned to see except from the heart!...

...And on this night — yes, on this night — a strange voice drew me back from my bed...!

...It was at midnight... the voice of a child, the veils of a choked sob breaking open in its melody. So I turned from my bed to the window, to look out upon the people, and I saw them streaming past, procession after procession...

...And I made bold to ask one of them where they were going... but he did not deign to answer...

So I asked an old man who was at the end of the caravan; he leaned upon his staff, lifted his head, and said: A new child has been born to us today, and we are going to welcome him...

I wondered how old men could go out to welcome children at such an hour...

And I wondered at his saying "born to us"... for it was, no doubt, a stranger's child...

My curiosity drove me to catch up with the caravan. I followed it, and walked among the people, their faces betraying what they harbored within... and I took no comfort from what I read...

They were all in tumult and confusion... exchanging holiday greetings, laughing and guffawing.

And I did not know the meaning of this feast-day greeting, this guffawing and laughter...

They came at last to a great house; they swallowed their guffaws, still fresh upon their lips, and went in, feigning reverence... Then, after an hour, they came out the way they had gone in, to return to the tumult and confusion...

And I slipped up beside one of them to ask him about the newborn child, for I had not found him in the house; and he answered me with a long discourse, from which I understood that the child was born one thousand nine hundred and forty-seven years ago, and that this visit is a custom among customs...

I remembered then the old man's words... and how habit had taken root in him, so that he answered me with that formula: "A new child has been born to us today."

And I went back to my room, the images of the visit haunting me...

And when I tried to draw near the bed, that voice turned me back from it — the same strange voice! I recoiled... and stood silent, thinking, lost... What, I wondered, does this voice want of me? And whose voice might it be? In vain I tried to find a convincing answer to these questions...

And when I took up the pen to write something to distract me and drive off my agitation, I heard this same voice whisper in my ear:

"Write to the people about me."

I hesitated, and asked myself: who might it be? Then I heard a voice say:

"Write, and I will tell you who I am." And the pen ran in my hand of its own accord, and behold, before me these words:

"When you visit me, open your hearts to the light, and perfume your consciences with the incense of repentance... Do not enter my house while your hearts are dark, and your consciences