The Last Day Spent In The Garden

When I awoke on that dreadful and momentous morning I knew instinctively that it was to be a day like no other. It seems unimaginable that I would not have some conscious foreboding of what would take place within the confines of that terrible day. My now rather vivid memory of each waking moment it contained must surely serve to confirm a heightened sense of disquiet that must have existed even ahead of my experience within time.

There was a soft breeze all about the garden and the bright morning sun was sending down its daily allotment of pleasurable warmth, even while the heat seemed to be originating from within my body and working its way out from deep inside of me. It was as though my soul was attempting to extract itself away from within me so that it might break loose in order to be free of the inescapable and ubiquitous pull of this earth. In such a manner it might have yearned to also free itself from the equally inescapable future. And perhaps that is what I remember most clearly upon waking from a deep and dreamless sleep that morning - the sheer weight of the day.

My first thought on most mornings in Eden was always to move slowly first thing so that I was not the cause of Eve's awakening. Even though she actually preferred it when I woke her from slumber when I arose first, as was most often the case, my own choice was to see her bring about her own stirring in the morning. Often I would spend long moments each new day observing Eve asleep and this simple pleasure of mine lasted throughout our entire time together, right up until the morning these several years ago now, when she failed to stir at the new sun's gaze, but slipped into that permanent sleep which takes man from this earth. Or should I now say that sleep that returns man to this earth?

On that last morning in Eden, I would in vain quietly turn to observe a sleeping Eve because she had already risen ahead of me and begun the process that would disrupt the very fabric of creation itself. Sometimes I imagine that had I been first to arise that very last day, we might have spared ourselves and all of man the suffering that was to begin so swiftly later on that beautiful warm morning. Of course, it is foolish to pretend that man's poor choosing could be put away by an alteration of such slight impact as the order of our waking to a new day. Choices are not to be confused with the randomness that governs the creation. Free will is not a mechanism put into place that is determined by the actual timing of things and indeed, quite the opposite can more often be said to be the case.

When I realized that Eve had already arisen and was gone, I set out to locate her, because my sense of what I would only now recognize as foreboding was very strong that morning. There was a stillness in the air that I had never experienced on any other occasion in Eden and even the garden creatures seemed to be agitated with one another as though my own anxiety had been transferred to the usually inalterable calmness of the animal province. In fact, this seemed so pronounced among the animals that I actively wondered if there had been a massive visitation by the dark angels for some purpose that I could not even begin to surmise.

After nervously searching the more common places where I thought I might find my beloved Eve, I came upon a cool and quiet stream, one of so many that ran throughout the garden, and I stood quietly for a moment gazing into the flowing water. Creator had used just one such running brook to introduce me to the more perfect understanding of time and distance and how a thing could be in one place and in one moment and yet also could occupy a completely different existence and meaning without contradiction. How pleasant was the knowledge of creation when patiently presented by Creator and how difficult were my thoughts as I stood mesmerized by the passing water. It was as though Adam's past, present, and future rested among the rocks beneath the stream and could be seen very clearly from the shore, but only as the shimmering idea of themselves, not their true substance containing their most honest ugliness. I could feel the tug of Creator's will upon me and yet I knew that the pull could never deter me from any path that I might choose. How I now wish that I had ceased my unhappy search for Eve and instead come to my senses in order to run back to the most perfect thoughts and counsel that were always my company there in the garden. Perhaps I would not have been lost and Eve could yet have been saved!

As I crossed the shallow little creek to embrace Eve in a morning greeting, my purpose was to remove the strangeness of the day from my awareness. I had endured all of the concern and thoughtfulness that I could readily bear and had every intention to spirit Eve away with me before we had any proper conversation about her previous whereabouts or actions without me. I knew that whatever the meaning of her absence was that fateful morning, our chances of escaping the consequences could only be enhanced by a change of scenery. Mercifully, I had no idea how much our scenery was about to change. It was just as my feet found the dry ground on the other side of the creek that I noticed the serpent hanging from the tree next to which Eve was standing as rigid as the tree itself. But what really caught my exclusive attention was the way Eve turned away from her recognition of me in what could only now be described as embarrassment. Naturally, this was an emotion to which I had not previously been introduced. The serpent spoke first and, as on all other occasions, referred to me as "first man,"  so that I knew that I was being addresses by an angel of darkness. But the darkest of the angels within that poor slithering beast said only six words to me before leaving the serpent's form so abruptly and obviously that the animal itself seemed confused by the swift exit of its previous co-inhabitant. Those words haunt me still and the clarity of their pronunciation through such an improbably borrowed vessel has always caused me to think that they must surely have come from the dark leader of that darkest band of angels, even though the true identity can in no way alter the meaning or consequence of our choices that day. Or perhaps it is somehow soothing for Adam to now imagine that the ruin of all man at least came through an honored source such as the angel selected by Creator for the most exalted title of One Who Bears The Light. Does it not make Eve and Adam's failure seem somehow less personal, as though it could almost be presented as something other than our own tragic negligence? Or perhaps something less than an eternal attachment to our immortal souls? But if I dismiss my culpability in this telling of my story, then I should also put away man's hope, and I would as soon deny that there is a creation or that it is the design of a perfect creator. Or that Adam was the first man. Or that the serpent truly spoke words of eternal truth, “Man’s heart is now held ransom.”

The above is an excerpt from: IN THE LIKENESS - The Last Testament of Adam, The First Man

 

IN THE LIKENESS The Last Testament of Adam, The First Man The memoirs of Adam and the story of the creation of man, the fall of man, and the original and true meaning of man - and as only the first man could properly tell the story!   $8.95 + Free Shipping      Paperback 138 pages      Available exclusively at this website.

When God created man, he made him in the likeness of God.
                                                            - Genesis 5:1 (NIV)

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"In a time when the genre of best sellers has taken similar license with imaginative theology,
Ford will find a place for his own unique approach to what Adam himself can teach us today.
I see genius in his imagination, but I also believe his theology is very biblical."  
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                                      Rapha International, Fort Worth, Texas

"This book definitely isn't for lightweights."   -Bill Ford, Cayucos, CA

"I encourage you to take the journey with Adam, the first man and see if possibly there may be
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about yourself, that you did not know. A story, yes . . . but a story that needs to be read."
                                                        -Michael Kemeliotis, Phoenix, AZ