At the crack of dawn on Day Eight, God heard a knock at the door.
Groggy and not at all ready for work, he sat up in bed and dropped his feet into his slippers. Just one day of rest was obviously not going to be enough. He made a mental note to consider introducing “weekends” at some point in the future.
The knocking continued, loud and impatient. “My god,” God thought. “What could possibly be so urgent?”
He shuffled to the door and opened it a crack. At first he saw nothing. But then a little creature hobbled past his foot and he looked down, watching it enter and slump down in a corner. It was pudgy, covered in white fluff, and badly beaten up.
“God!” The creature began in a gruff voice. God took a seat.
“You must be crazy,” it sputtered accusingly. “Why did you make me like this?” God opened his mouth to respond, but the creature gave him no chance. “I’m stubby, slow, clumsy… I can’t run very fast. And the Cat keeps catching up with me and tearing me up! Look at this black eye! What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to survive?”
God scratched his beard and considered. “You know what, little guy, I think there’s something I can do for you,” he said.
The creature grumbled in agreement. God put it to sleep, made a few changes, and finally set it back in the Garden to see how it fared.
The following day, another knock was heard. God just started to open the door when the same creature darted in, bruised and battered, barking its distress: “You ARE crazy!! How could you do this to me? Look at me! I’m barely alive! Before yesterday, I was slow and clumsy. But now you put these two huge weights on my shoulders! The Cat almost ate me! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING??”
It took some minutes to calm the little creature down. When it finally did, God explained: “What I’ve given you - those are not weights. Those are wings. If you learn to use them, you will be able to fly.”
The next morning, there was a knock at the door yet again. God opened it, suppressing a tired yawn, expecting the same visitor. But he found himself jumping up to look at eye level at one of his last creations: Adam was standing there, albeit a rather bent and tired-looking Adam. “Come in,” God said in his deep morning voice.
Adam entered and slumped down on the couch.
God took a seat.
“Why did you make me like this?” Adam began. “All the other animals - they eat, they sleep, they make babies… And I do all that, too, but I can’t stop thinking about it all the time! What are all these thoughts for? Why this big, clumsy, heavy burden on my shoulders? Couldn’t you make me simpler? Just stupid, and happy, like everybody else? Why do I need this troublesome mind?”
God leaned back and folded his hands over his large, round belly. “Adam,” he began. “What do you think creation was for? You are capable of much higher states of consciousness than all my other creatures. You are here to really enjoy and appreciate life. Your mind enables you to do that in ways that no other living being can. If you learn to use it, it will not be a burden. If you learn to use it, you will be able to fly.”
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