Investigation Of The Origin Of The Women's Sin
The topic that I wanted to explore is the original sin. The woman in the story is left ambiguous because I did not want to alienate the reader from the experiences she has in the beginning of the story. The condition she is in as will be mentioned in the first few paragraphs is seemingly an ordinary one.The devil is a character that I still have trouble with. He starts of as a character feeling sympathetic and then ends with explaining why he chose to confront Eve about eating the from the tree. In this story, he really highlights something that is natural to man, which is the yearning for knowledge.The woman in the story has the most curve in character. She begins with experiencing something horrible and ends with the idea that hope is something that should be had when knowledge is insufficient.
She was nothing more than an ordinary person living an ordinary life. The stories that have been held through time are the ones detailing the lives of the most extraordinary people, people doing deeds that seem so estranged from the common person. Nay, it is not so, for the beauty of a great story is in the idea that all common people live a clandestine life of extraordinary moments. Moments of pain and sorrow, bliss and amusement, fill the lives of the ordinary, and so she is the same. Every person is the sailor of their own ship, and through a harsh storm they sail. Once this storm is over, they will never reminisce on the harshness of the storm or wonder how they persevered through it, and they will not think that the purpose of this harshness is to understand that you are a different person from the one who entered it.
The ordinary can feel the greatest emotions, such as love, for love is what makes us mad. Love is not the shallowness of temporary excitement or a brief moment of breathlessness. No, love is beyond that, it is an expression of an eternal promise. Often those who are in love can dream about warm lips caressing every inch of their body, just to wake up the following morning alone to lay and feel nothing but guilt due to them solely experiencing a passion. It is naive to think love is the same as being in love, for love is what prevails, being that eternal promise, when the burning passion of temporal excitement concerning being in love ends. The ordinary can also feel the worst emotions, such as pain. The emotions that hurt us the most are those things that are foolish. The craving for the impossible, remorse for what never happened, thirst for what could have been, regret of the choices you made. You can feel the emptiness, as if something was meant to be there. It seeps into your laughs and your loves and in the dead of night it rises out of you and stares you, eye to eye, longing for attention.
So, she lived an ordinary life, and in it see saw no hope. She went to work at the local bank and every day the same thought clouded her mind. She was troubled by it. One day she was sitting, nothing happened this day, for it was how everyday was for her, and she thought back to how long her work bothered her. It was fruitless actions, where the sound of the time was deafening; where everyone was reclusive in their desks, living in their own world, so that the meaning and love of life could no longer be found. She knew that he began to fall in love with her. Her aroma impassioned him; She was radiant with an overwhelming lust and allurement. She shone throughout the day and night like a burning flame. She had appeared naked to him even when she was fully clothed. She had wild, intense eyes. She was temptation herself. She resembled a new beginning, a reason to promise eternal bliss and company.
The deafening calmness after his last gasp was like the hiss of a snake. She laid there, unable to shut her eyes, unable to keep them open. She thought of where she hurt through the joy and pleasure of the night. Her stomach felt sick, as if it had been punctured. She tried to count the places where he had disfigured her, where his snake-like fangs had punctured her. He had grabbed her neck and the line of love and pain had blurred altogether. She hadn’t, no, she couldn’t make a sound. The most important things are the hardest to speak of. They are the things that produce a feeling of bashfulness , because words and phrases dwindle them — words diminish things that seemed immeasurable when they were in your thoughts to no more than tangibility of rigid reality when they’re brought out. But it’s much deeper than that.
The most vital things lie much too close to where your concealed heart lies. And you may receive revelations that cost you dearly only to have people penetrate your deepest and darkest sentiments and remorseful thoughts, not comprehending what you’ve said at all, or why youthought it was so important that you almost whimpered while you were saying it. That is the most horrible feeling. When your deepest secret stays enclosed within your breast, not for want of one who responds with sharp criticism, but for want of a sympathetic ear. Believe me she tried, she tried hopelessly to stop the tears from lowering down her cheeks. She tried to stop her tears from wetting the pages she wrote on, she tried to write happy stories and to fantasize the happiest things, and to prognosticate the most desirable future for herself that may or may not await her. Yet she still couldn’t help but lament each night. Lament in the face of the gloominess of landscapes staring at her beyond her window. Yet the beautiful twilight shone through and as time went on, the sky grew dimmer, painted darker and darker, one caress of the brush to another, into shades of night.
As those days had fled, the transformation of like into love had accelerated. She herself began to grow mindful of it, though in her consciousness she understood not what love really was. It had manifested itself to her as a void in her being—a throbbing, yearning void that pleaded to be filled. It was a pain and a discord, and it received alleviation only by the touch of his presence. At such times love was amusement to her, a wild, keen-thrilling adventure. But when away from him, the pain and the discord returned; the void in her bolted up and pushed against her with its vacancy, and the longing gnawed and gnawed unceasingly.
Regardless, no one could hear her sobbing at night when the world is asleep and at peace. She wrote stories filled with sorrow, but even the saddest of the saddest stories she had written could hardly compare to how her heart is fracturing right now in the reality of her life. And I swear she tried her best to re-collect her thoughts once again and rewrite this story but her tears, having drifted down from her cheeks, had already smudged the words on her paper, clouded her vision, shattered her hope. She was drained by this way of life. The weariness and sadness of being lonely made it intolerable. She had walked with devil and the devil’s hand was softer than hers. She wished to live longer no more. Death was not what she feared, it was life which was full of insecurity and malignity. She wanted nothing but silence and decay. Solitude is the human condition. The way it digs into you allows your soul room to flourish. Never expect to surpass solitude. Never hope to find that one person who will understand you, someone to fill that void. A sensitive person, a sympathetic ear, is the exception, the very great exception. If you hope to find people who will understand you, you will grow jaded with disappointment.
As she realized that this condition pertained to her life. She couldn’t bear to go on living as if she was walking as a shadow of a person while the world around her was filled with colors so bright. There would even be moments where the lights would glisten bright and reflect off of her. She would look up, notice it, as if there was some hope that she might find someone, and escape the solidarity, but the colors faded, the tint of blues and greens turned to gray and black. Then she came back home, closed the door and heard the absence of a caring voice shout her name across the hall. She tried so desperately to recall the times where anyone called her name in a voice so sweet that the goosebumps on her arms would show and the light would shine into her soul.
She began to think of her own death, with her heart gripped not by fear but by a nervous thrill, the feeling that she was about to learn what she had been unable to learn from her life itself. What she thought about death was naive, but what could never have touched her in the past now filled her with sweetness, as sometimes a voice so familiar we hear with your heart, filled with love, makes us aware that it has been closer to us than life itself for longer than we have ever realized. Her body began convulsing. The pain sprung like a ravaging beast. It clawed and toreher hopes and dreams with its sharp claws. Yet no one was beside her. soon she laid down, shivering because that monstrous being had passed. Then the devil himself who stepped toward her, paused and stared.
The devil kept staring at her, while sympathy formed in his eyes and pity formed in his heart. The devil met many people when death takes them, and they saw his face, terrified by a beastly figure, and tried to scamper away. The ones who place their faith in another existence have conquered the weariness of death, and the love of living, but the oneswho have lived an unsatisfactory life hold to a notion, so inseparable from them, that being absolutely nothing after death is a burden unendurable to a noble man. But she showed neither. She dreaded the life she had to live, in a condition that the Devil understood all too well, solitude. It is the human condition.
The way it digs into you allows your soul room to flourish and see the beauty around you, but the eyes of our heart and soul can see only when the eyes of our physical body begin to close.“You deceived me”, She said. The devil looked up on her with confusion, for after such a long time it was the only thing she said. “You told me that I will know good from evil, when all I have seen is the darkness in the world.” He hinted a smile and asked her, “How do you know my side of the story when all hear only the story of God?” God may love you, but I, the Devil, have an affection for you that I will make you understand.”When God put you in the garden, the sacred, pure garden, He told you, “You must not eat fruit from the tree that is in the middle of the garden, and you must not touch it, or you will die.” The Devil continued and said, “The fruit that allows you to understand what every man should strive to know, what is good and what is evil. God gave you a choice to follow him, or strive to seek the truth using your own free will, an impossible choice. I simply allowed you the privilege of exercising that free will. I gave you the ability to choose the actions that can lead you to a life of suffering and hardship or a most noble life, and so yes, Eve chose to disobey God himself, but is not disobedience the very basis for free will?”
She looked up with keenness. “The most virtuous people that we know are those who have seen defeat, felt pain, suffering and struggle and have risen beyond that, for look at God’s very own prodigal son.” Her mind intently looked back at the garden of her ancestors, and questioned what God had called the original sin. Was it an action of betrayal or an act of the most immense bravery. Such actions are done in a matter of seconds, one does not have time to think whether or not it is right or wrong, but it is the instinct of the soul itself. Could Adam and Eve be blamed for such actions, rather than be forgiven? “Unjust God!” she screamed, full of emotion, dropping down to her knees. The Devil looked upon her and laid his cold hand on her even colder back, to comfort and console her. “That is my story.”, he said. “Now tell me, is it just in the way that God has portrayed me to be? God intended you to live a certain way and now you realize that everyone lives the way I want them to.” There she stood in a mound of harsh sand and looking up she saw the garden. The garden was wrapped in a lush spring haze. Radiating the vibrancy of the birth of new life. It appeared as if the harsh winter frost had just come to an end. The aroma of the garden made its way up to heaven. From the branches of the trees lie the eternal fruit, glistening. It was just the perfect height, for it was not given to you and it did not take an excessive amount of effort to obtain it.
As she approached the tree, she saw the footsteps of her ancestors imprinted deep in the soil. The footsteps that have been left for all of mankind to follow.“Go ahead, take one”, said the devil. “Do not submit to the diet of fairytales and deceit, reach for the juicy fruit filled with the knowledge you yearn for.” She reached for the apple without any hesitation, without a thought in mind, for it was instinctual to man. She then began to rest. Down through the dark, naked and bleak. She longs for the gifts of grace to get better. Though her soul has become so weak. Devil well-known, to whom all men are debtors. All those fatigued who laugh or shriek. Never let go of the sorrow yet her. She sleeps softly till sounds of war. And quickly maneuvers through the blood and goreAs she awoke, the pungent smell of gunpowder engulfed her nose. The war had been going on for some time now. The chilling dystopia she was surrounded by was far different than what she had seen before.
As she continued to observe what was going on around her, all she could see were individual limbs separated over the ground. These young boys, hardly old enough to be called men, were barely detectable. Even though the hysteria of war filled the air, she craved a world that was different. For a peaceful world to come after all of it. She knew that what she needed was hope to drive her and everyone else forward. It is that hope that destroys family ties, makes mothers send their children off to war, makes wives auction their bodies, and makes husbands murder. This hope allows everyone to hold on for even a moment, for that moment might be when they will be free. Hope is a songbird that rests upon the branches of your soul and whistles without rest. For she experienced the beauty of Eden and she hoped for her return. For hope is what allows your soul room to flourish. For you may not receive what you hope for, but the road filled with hope rather than the road filled with agony is a much better one.
She began to feel the throbbing in her stomach and the restless nights of pain as she laid in the garden. While a woman is bearing a child, she rarely thinks of anything except for her body to stop aching, yet after she gives birth, she begins to understand that the greatest part of her life and joy is foreign. It can be hurt or be gone in the blink of an eye, and so she takes every minute of her life to keep it as close as she can. Until she bears that precious joy, she cannot realize its absence.
As she lay down, she began to examine herself in a new light. Her body appeared something different to her. She saw her breasts as something for the newborn to suckle on, and their strong alikeness to a bitch with enflamed lactating instruments was inescapable to her. Even she, until this moment, was naïve about what they were truly for. For the anxiety of her encounter with him had not appeared till this moment. Much like the fetus in her womb, an abhorrent fear had been developing in her mind, filling her with great anxiety. She sat in the comfort of her house, and yet felt not comforted, but as if something was gnawing away inside of her. Every so often, the pleasant kick of the babe was interrupted by the stinging memory of him. The turbulent passions that stirred in her mind and body that night ended with a solemn lethargy.
Regardless, while she bore the being inside of her, he bewitched her thoughts. During the day, in the midst of the people around her, she spent her time devoted to letting the moment slip from her memory, and when the indigos and twilights of the dark seeped in through her slightly open window sill, she would close her eyes and envision and hearken his last gasp. She had imagined the last time she saw him in the flesh, all the crucial spirit from her body had been drained, his rigid look with an unquestionable decisiveness of callousness that made her shudder, forsaking her with endless misery. As all this time had passed, his absence grew on her. His inaccessibility started to frighten her. He cast aside his promise and left her alone to ache.
