Complete (Part III)

“Now I will show you what they really look like,” the other said, “instead of just what is physical.”

The observer blinked, and suddenly the tableau before him looked vastly different. The people looked different. Bigger, though that wasn’t really the right word for it.

“What is all that stuff clinging to them?” the observer asked, noting the things the girl was clutching, the things sticking to her. People, places, words upon words, some of them seemingly good in and of themselves, some of them obviously evil. Pretty. Stupid. Blonde. Richard. Matthew. Carol. Tall. Lazy. Bold… the list of what clung to her trailed on and on, and it was this that made her look bigger as the bulk of these false identities obscured reality.

“Those are the things that they have added to themselves, or that have been added to them,” the other said. “It makes them look different. I never meant them to look that way.”

“Why have they added these things?” the observer asked, knowing that it really is impossible to improve perfection.

“They don’t see who they are—that I have made them complete,” the other said. “And so they try to add things to themselves because they feel so incomplete. They think these things shall complete them, or else they take these things on because someone else told them that this was how they were.”

“But you made them whole and complete?” the observer asked, though the question was rhetorical. Of course he had made them whole and complete. He could not make anything less than perfect! It was the illusion of incompleteness that caused these people to attempt to improve on perfection, and in so doing, to hide who they really were. “Actually,” the observer said, the idea dawning on him, “in adding to themselves, they make themselves incomplete.”

“Yes,” the other said, “because there are certain things I will not be bound with.” And he gestured to an object on the young woman’s back. “And so when I must separate myself from them, they become incomplete.”

“That’s…terrible!” the observer said. “Because they’re actually doing to themselves what they feared all along!”

“The ways of my enemy are crafty, and the first thing he does is start layering these false identities on them, thus obscuring their vision, until they cannot see me at all.”

“How do you stop him?” the observer asked, eyes narrowing in righteous anger at the one who would try to steal creation from its creator.

“I have already stopped him. He was long ago defeated, was always a failure. Because for one moment, I did bind myself to all those things they added to themselves. Every impure and vile thing became a part of me, so that I had to separate myself even from myself.” The other looked at the observer, and what was in his eyes made the observer cringe and look away. “Do you know,” the other asked, “what it is like to bear the pain of the aeons?”

The observer could barely choke out the word, “No.”

“I do. I have died a thousand deaths, have taken on the basest impurities, have worn every false identity. So that they wouldn’t have to.” And he gestured to the people before them, each going about their evening desperate and afraid, hiding themselves from themselves.

“But…they do! They still do. When you ensured that they don’t have to. Why don’t they…why did you… it’s not… fair!” the observer finally choked out, though he knew that even these words were not accurate.

“I have made a way for them,” the other said, “my children. My sons. It is up to them to take that way. I shall not force them, for that is not of me.”

“But what of those who never do. Did you die for nothing?”

The other smiled. “I have a remnant. A people who are willing to die for me because I died for them. And I have made them perfect, complete. They are my people, and I am their God, and together we redeem creation.”

And as they watched the tableau, the observer noted a newcomer. This young woman did not seem encumbered, as was the young woman who was getting out of the car the young man had driven.

The car was parked in front of a house, and the young woman climbed from it, promising to call the young man later. The unencumbered young woman was walking her dog. She waved to the first young woman and continued walking with a light step.

“She is one of yours?” the observer asked.

“Indeed,” the other smiled. “Notice how beautiful she is, how free. See the smile on her face as she thinks of me? Notice the slight jaunt in her step?”

The observer nodded, his smile matching the other’s.

“Well,” the other said, pointing to the young woman who was slinking unsteadily into her parents’ house, hoping they wouldn’t be home or awake to notice she was coming in, yet hoping they were so they would show her they cared. “They used to look alike. Until I freed her.”  

And the other threw back his head and laughed for the pure joy of redemption.