A Short Story

“I am going to find my tears.”

The words reverberated in Fellow’s mind, haunting and divine. Long ago, they were the last words Mother spoke. Now he replayed them, letting them rise above all other thoughts. Then, of a sudden, a different voice spoke new words to his mind. Yielding to its interruption, Fellow opened a word processing document and transcribed the following revelation:

“Thus says the Lord to Deseret, do not marvel at the Eternal Mother’s silence. In her quietude there is no submission, only sacred singleness of mind. She has journeyed to the outside curtains.

“She goes not in submission nor disgrace, but with a fullness of glory. She marches alone, bearing victory’s grief. Fearing neither wolf nor serpent, she treads where her tears drained long ago. She will gather them, with an eye single to completeness, and return in the fullness of her glory. The first will be last and first again. Even so. Amen.”

Fellow sat at an old desk in his solitary apartment. The scratched and pockmarked cherrywood soaked in the dull yellow glow falling from a dusty ceiling lamp. Fellow’s eyes itched inside arid lids, recipients of the blue light rising from a laptop screen. Lonely and anxious, he traced the edges of keys, tempted to fiddle with the revelation’s wording. For now, he refrained.

Again, he recalled Mother’s ancient words. They rolled through his mind in the midst of a deep depression: “I am going to find my tears.”

Against all doctrine, Fellow believed he remembered the moment she had said these words. In vision, he saw the very Eternal Mother surrounded by victorious legions of the noble and great—angelic brothers and sisters, gleaming spotless and rising around her like candles on a grand chandelier.

The righteous thunder of billions shouting for joy rushed down and around Mother. Yet, she stood without a tremor. She looked out between their ranks, beyond the golden border of their celestial home. Distant pinwheel nurseries shined by the light of infant suns. She peered further still, through unorganized nebulae like embers pulverized into silvery ash. Beyond those, night draped itself as a black felt curtain.

She raised her arms open wide before the archangel Michael’s army. Their victory cry strained and crackled, till it evaporated on the altar of her perfect stillness. Some fidgeted in the ranks, wondering at her calm. And Fellow was one of these.

With a voice as small as a flute’s, light yet piercing, she answered their marveling: “I am going to find my tears.” Then she strode toward the expanding waves of matter and darkness. As all the lesser lights bowed and parted before her, she stepped off the edge of heaven.

Author’s Note:

Thank you for reading. Reactions to this piece are welcome in the comments section below. I also invite you to try the following pieces which explore the doctrine of Heavenly Mother through poetry:

The Immaculate Forgetting

Please Only Be Stars