The Cave of Thought

It was a cold, dark night. A storm raged on with no indication of an end in the near future. It was the sort of night that would serve as a backdrop for many dramatic stories in the millennia to come, stories of bravery, treachery and star crossed lovers. So yes, a fitting backdrop to the story of God.

Three cavemen sat huddled around a fire (yes, they’d discovered the fire, but not the wheel just yet). They were sheltered from the storm by a makeshift cave, a little hollow by the side of the mountain with a jutting roof structure.

They were isolated from their tribe, separated by at least a few tens of kilometres, all dense forests and steep cliffs. They had sneaked out earlier in the evening to harvest some of those strangely shaped leaves that grew in some clearings in the forest. Some of the gatherers had found the leaves and they burned it one night, the smoke was found to heighten awareness and experiences and induce a delirious state of mind.

These three were hunters, and they’d gone into the forests to hunt a wild boar that had upset their settlements one night when these leaves were found and smoked. By the time they got back, the tribe elder had banned anyone from burning them, the effects were too dangerous, unpredictable and uncontrollable, he ruled.

It felt like they were in a whole other world, they said, those who had the opportunity to inhale some of that wonderful, magical smoke. The world felt brand new, the colours were brighter, the air was lighter and it was a wonderful life after all. It sounded like magic and they had to have some, in spite of the warnings and the bans. So, after sunset, they sneaked out of the village and into the forest.

And now they were stuck in this cave until the storm passed. They made a fire to keep warm. When it started to appear as though the rain wouldn’t relent, they decided to burn the leaves.

A few hours later, they had each inhaled a sizeable quantity of smoke and the colours were brighter, the air was lighter and the world seemed less mysterious. Ideas, oh so many ideas were just floating around in the air, waiting to be picked, comprehended and known. In a few thousand years theories would emerge that every idea had already been thought of and everything labelled ‘new’ was merely a repackaging of something that already existed, this story, however, happens before all that and these ideas were fresh, never seen before, brand new, completely and entirely original.

One of the men plucked an idea out of the air, a bright red thought that was vying for attention. He spent a few minutes in a trance, the idea was a little too complex to be grasped by men who had only thought as far as food, water, shelter, safety and sex. When he finally spoke, his voice seemed different, he seemed enlightened, later on, story spoke of a warm glow surrounding his head.

“This world is beautiful,” he said. The others looked up, noticing the large shadow of a moth falling on the cave wall behind him. “Whoever made the world must have had an incredible imagination, and a lot of skill.”

“The fire is beautiful too. That man from the other village made the fire and he isn’t anything special.”

“No, no. The world is different. Hand crafted. Look at all of us, look at these plants, the rain and all the animals.”

The one who spoke about the fire looked sceptical. The other one who was sitting nearest to the fire looked at them blankly. The one affected by the red idea seemed passionate, almost manic.

“Can’t you see it? It was made. Each and every bit. Sculpted, planted, watered, nurtured. Everything bears his signature.”

“His?”

“Yes. The creator. The all-knowing, all powerful being that made you, me and the boar we killed. I don’t know who or what it is. But does it exist? Yes it does.”

The sceptic remained sceptical, the other one felt funny (You are stoned, said a green idea. Stones? He couldn’t comprehend). The rain had stopped. They gazed into the fire in some sort of trance, one searching for the Creator, one thinking of a better invention than the fire and the other watching a moth dance near the flames.

“Let’s head back. It’s not raining anymore.”

“I’m hungry.”

“I want something sweet.”

“Berries?”

They would have preferred chocolate, had it been invented but that’d take a while, so they had to make do.