for my brother
I’ve been told that
light years away, out among the stars, I have a brother. Do you know about me? If so, do you care? I should feel blessed in my own holy mission.
Instead, too often I feel lonely.
In the convent we are
praying, as usual. Heavenly reunion is our ultimate goal. At any instant the universe
we know “will wear out like a garment,” just as Scripture predicted thousands
of years ago. Time is merely finite.
Why here…why now…why
us? I frequently ask my
God, wondering if others pray likewise.
Saint Pelagia’s has
been my home since infancy. I am the least among Earth’s virtually immortal
human remnant. 90% of us are female, and most are vowed virgins. Our order’s
members are dedicated to the worshipful service of the Virgin Christ, begotten
by the Spirit of the Virgin Father (Creator) upon a chosen human virgin.
My convent supports
a unique mission: we ward the ocean pathways of the Sea People from within our
airy shelter nestled in the blue-black depths, far from Sol’s dangerous rays.
An offshoot of the
evolutionary tree, the ancestors of the Sea Folk were driven from the land by our
proto-human cousins, who evolved into the sinners to whom God’s Son was sent
centuries before man departed Earth.
The few humans who refused
the Great Migration, among them pacifists and dreamers, maintain the damaged
planet as best they can, and continue to alter its orbit to nudge us away from
the ever-expanding sun.
The meek have indeed
inherited the Earth, but not the sea. It still belongs to our resourceful, but
Except in the pages
of Scripture, night and day do not exist here. If you are still ship-bound, you
doubtless experience artificial time divisions. Our convent domes give us a
view, not of blue sky with white clouds under a swollen sun, but of glowing
swarms of sea creatures and our sea-born brethren who hunt them. Land convents
are underground with thick, translucent, radiation-proof domes for roofs. All
keep the age-old Liturgy of the Hours.
passed, curious about us, the Sea-born began to press their hands and ears
against the domes, but closed their eyes to the brightness inside. The sisters learned
to communicate, as well as tolerate dimmer light. We adapted, and, after eons, cloistered
Pelagians witnessed a graceful ballet of couplings, births, and deaths.
Our charges came to
understand the hymns and prayers they hear, and some participate in the Liturgy
of the Hours…by dancing on the dome! They say, “We know ‘God’,” but keep asking,
“What is ‘sin’?”
I, your loving
sister, am writing these words in obedience to our abbess because I’ve been
chosen by lot to undergo the necessary transformation. To bring the Sea-born
the Truths before the world ends, in God’s service I must become one of them. Has
He not declared every creature worthy of salvation? Oh happy sin!