In the beginning, when the world was young, everything was evergreen and joyful, there was no death, there was only life.
Humans, animals and nature lived in peace. Everything spoke in words. The words came from spirit. The rivers, hilltops. trees, rock and mountains all had a language everyone could understand. The word inspired.
But humans were seized with a desire to dominate nature. They begun to speak only to each other and they forgot to listen. Slowly they forgot their spirit tongue.
As humans lost their words they also started to misunderstand each other, words intimidated and soon hatred settled amongst the people, war broke out, and with war: death was created in the young world.
As with all wars, a young boy lost his parents and became an orphan.
Nobody paid attention to him as he wandered alone, his heart was filled with sorrow. The orphaned child couldn’t cry, because tears hadn’t been created.
One night, the moon beheld the child sitting on a hillside filled with wildflowers and the scent of spices, he had found some remains of beauty, some comfort there. The moon felt his grief and left her position in the heavens to go and fold him in her arms. “You are sad. Please weep! I give you the power to cry. Your tears will wash and clean your heart. But they must not fall on the ground as the earth feeds men. Instead let your tears fall on me.”
The child instantly felt the mist in his eyes and soon rivulets of tears rolled down his cheeks. He cried for the first time and the tears fell, one by one, onto the white breast of the moon. She absorbed all of them and afterwards his heart felt lighter, cleaner and his face found a hint of a smile. “I bless you,” said the moon. “Go! People will take care of you now out there.”
The moon went back up in the sky.
Today, when we look at the moon and see her spots: we behold the tears of the first orphan.
They are the first tears of humanity.
Inspired by an Arabian folktale.
(images from the text through midjourney)