Stories

108 years ago, in the time before popcorn or Crackerjacks, an exquisitely beautiful and regal woman wandered through the gates into the main square of Brazirabad, India. Her name was the Soul of Africa.   She was exceptionally tall, and walked with a stately erect and elegant posture. She had countless fine qualities, and, of all her innumerable fine qualities, what stood out the most was the flawless perfection of her skin—infinitely dark and pitch black. As I said, she was a beautiful, beautiful woman, with such breathtaking beauty that at times it could be difficult to look at her.   And her blackest of black skin shone with such clarity and radiance that, if you were close enough, you could see yourself and others around you reflected in her cheeks like a mirror. In other words, she could show you yourself, as if she was the reflection of yourself.

When people first saw her, they could be frightened of her, but although she had an imposing and regal presence, there was a Love and generosity about her which was readily available and that everyone could feel. When she spoke everyone listened, as her voice was powerful and booming, and she spoke with purpose. And her laugh, which was like a rich cackle, could be heard blocks away.

And there was something else that was unusual and even more odd about her. Something more striking, if that was even possible. There was something very strange about her dress.  What was so peculiar, was she wore a garment that was full of holes, and, in what many considered a purely sacrilegious fashion, she called her garment the “Holy of Holies.”

Now this was not a garment with a few holes, and people could not help but notice them. When she first came there were many holes, each about the size of a dime and you couldn’t see much through them. But as time went on, that changed.  And when people commented on the holes in her dress, she would tell them a story, in bold and irreverent fashion—“The Holy of holies says this. . .” And “the Holy of Holies says that. . .”  Although many people were intrigued by her, and others tried to ignore her, all of the pious of Brazirabad were insulted. “How could she call this rag the Holy of Holies—the Holiest thing of Holy things?,” they said.

She would come and go from the city, and she would disappear sometimes for weeks at a time, and each time she came back, people would gather and watch in dismay as her garment had more and bigger holes in it. The thing just became fuller and fuller of holes, which actually made it lesser and lesser of anything.  And people got afraid, as they didn’t know when the “Holy of Holies” was going to show more of her than anyone wanted to see.

As time went on, and people became more aware of her, word began to spread like wildfire across the whole of India about this so called “crazy” woman, and the Holy of Holies. “This woman is insane,” people said.  And some thought she should be beaten, or stoned.  Others believed she should be run out of town. One day even the Grand Brazir of Brazirabad appeared, curious about all the buzz about this woman.  When he saw her, he didn’t know what to make of her, and he just crossed his arms, put a finger in front of his lips, and shook his head in wonder.

But around this whole thing, there was also a miracle that happened. Even as the holes in the Holy of Holies got bigger and bigger each day—and there were fewer and fewer threads left to cover her, there was nothing that compromised the modesty and integrity of this woman. In fact, her skin shown brighter and brighter, and reflected all the other light off her blackness so brightly that, when you looked at her, all you could see was a shimmering luminosity in the outline of a human form with a few strands of straggling threads around her. You see, you could not see the shape of her torso, or her chest, or legs, or even her behind. She was like an exquisite walking and talking black hole.

Week after week she returned to the square, and fewer and fewer strands of her garment, the Holy of Holies, remained until one day there was only a single thread left, and everyone was afraid of what would be left when that thread was gone.

She left once more, and was gone, but the next week word spread that she was returning, and a huge crowd gathered in the square to gaze at her when she entered the city. They were so curious to see if the final thread disappeared, and what would be revealed when there was nothing left. As she approached the entrance, the gates of the city opened, and the crowd fell silent, with everyone holding their breath in anticipation. And as she appeared through the gate, gasps were heard throughout the crowd.

Don’t you see, when there is nothing left to be identified with or hold onto, then the Greater Soul appears. And in that moment, the awesomeness of the Holy of Holies was realized. People were in bliss from the revelation that just occurred and the whole city of Brazirabad disappeared from the face of the earth in the ecstasy, and blackness, and emptiness of the Holy of Holies.