I’ve been reading a lot of my old novels lately- this is a story I started one year for NaNoWriMo. When I sat down to type all I had to go on was SAND. Not a bad little novel- if a bit strange in places!
‘My uncle had told me that our city was a copy of sand structures built by others, that sand itself was a copy.
“But who built it first?” I’d asked him.
“That’s sand’s greatest secret and finest mystery; the hand of the Creator. All the worlds are similar because the same Being molded them and called them to hold together. We’re stuck here in these worlds of ours. We’ve lessons to learn, and water, fire, air, and substance, these are just the tools we need to live until we understand what matters.”
“And sand points the way. We can travel the sand and build with it, but it won’t sustain us. It’s just a simple thing singing the song of the infinite. We must study the sand and remember whenever it forms into something beautiful, that this memory is meant to sift us down, finer and finer, until we discover the Source. Our minds catch a glimpse of beauty, other worlds we long to go to. Sand points the way, but without life and love, heat and warmth and substance, it would have no meaning. We aren’t meant to be mere grains of sand dissolving into an empty universe. We’re searching for that elusive memory inside us, the pathway that carries us away to the hand that shows us love.”