How lucky Adam was. He knew when he said a good thing, nobody had said it before. – Mark Twain
In the garden, before Adam ate
the fruit, was he whole?
He knew good, seemed naïve,
blissfully oblivious to suffering and
creative madness or muses alighting
on his mind and beckoning him with
their ethereal hands to design,
to live spontaneously and freely.
His freedom seemed partial,
echoes of innocence that would have
never transcended into a din of
understanding, he didn’t know
and darker, murkier undertows
questioning faith and urging him
to stand in blurry antechambers of doubt
until epiphany set the mirrors in place,
the tables and the chairs where
they belong. After eating the fruit,
was Adam whole?
Seized by lust and devoured by
pitch-black currents, often oblivious to
the inner workings of his heart,
the first man, a magnificent ruin,
a broken monument of innocence lost,
reason gained, but flawed,
understanding darkened by sin,
heading towards Babylon, a city
of lights, promising much, but
lacking in substance, the golden palaces,
the silver streets, the walks of fame,
the ideas, the theories, the new ways
of living, looking great, but covered in
a haze, trying in vain to
see through the unnatural, eerie mist.
What, then, is freedom?
Is it going about everyday activities,
suppressing inspiration’s spark
and trudging through the snow?
Is it babbling in philosophical tongues
about concepts which never stand the
test of time?
Is it harnessing creative impetus and
fashioning a world full of flaws,
one that will never be perfect?
Did it ever exist?
Before, and after the fall was man
ever whole? If he wasn’t, then how
does he represent God’s image?
Inspired by Rollo May’s Man’s Search For Himself