The Tree loomed over Enoch. An infinite mass of wood that curled upon itself, bending and twisting in intricate patterns that extended to an end he could not see. The story of this being’s life told in the tapestry of branches that wove around each other, each searching for its place within the whole.
Enoch’s eyes found a single groove within the bark and traced its path, following it as it wandered across the waves and eddies of a massive branch. It dove and danced along the surface of the Tree, willful in its motion. Memories of Enoch’s life hung in his mind. He overlaid them against the shapes of the bark, searching it like a map. Somewhere, it seemed, on the surface of this infinite being, his own life experiences were written. The possibilities of the Tree’s power drew him close to it. If he could find the path of his own life, he could trace its curves to see the fate of the wife and son he had left behind. The line pressed upward toward the stars above, wandering like the path of a river as it reunited with the ocean.
This Tree was the heart of this place, a microcosm of the larger realm that surrounded it.
The Angelarium.
The clarity of Enoch’s vision didn’t last long. Finding a single person buried amid the chaos of creation was impossible. Beholding the enormity of the infinite being revealed the insignificance of his own life by comparison. A single dark speck lost in the night sky. He was alone. He’d never see his son grow up. Never wake his wife with a kiss ever again. His future was wiped clean. What little value it had held was now erased. The realization of this loss grabbed at Enoch’s heart and pulled tears from him.
An Angel stood tall over the crying man. It wore a sweeping costume of crisp gray fabric. Emerging from its back in two grand arches, a mesh of folded paper sheets rose in the shape of wings.
“You aren’t lost and neither are they,” said the Angel, startling Enoch. Standing in for its absent face was a pristine white dome, shining with crystal clarity.
“You can speak? What do you know of my family?” Shame for Enoch’s open display of sadness quickly shifted into frustration—first with himself, but then with the Angel.
“I know all things.” The Angel turned its featureless mask toward Enoch. “I am Raziel.”
Enoch stared at Raziel. Seeking insight from his memory, he hoped for some long-lost recollection that could give context to this strange being. The name was familiar, but he could not place it. So many questions, yet he didn’t know what to ask. Enoch wished his brother had been brought here instead. Israel had studied scripture. He already knew the names of these Angels. The shape of this place. He could ask the questions that would have imposed meaning to this quest.
“What am I supposed to do now?” Enoch’s mind was too busy running through a list of regrets to fully acknowledge the situation as it was.
Raziel stood motionless and then centered its sightless gaze toward the Tree as though it were considering an answer, but ultimately chose not to speak.
“I didn’t choose to come here. I didn’t want this.” Throughout his life, Enoch had been a faithful man. He had always tried to be kind to those around him but had never sought a higher purpose. Had he been given the chance to witness the cradle of existence, he would have refused; to see the stars from below was enough.
“I know,” Raziel replied.
Enoch nodded, calming himself. “Am I dead? I’ve wandered the land like a ghost with no food or water. I’ve sat awake through nights that pass in an instant and days that seem to last forever. The more I experience, the less I understand it.”
“You are not dead,” said Raziel, straightening his vestments.
“Then what is this place?” Enoch asked, steadying himself against one of the gargantuan roots. “It reaches out to me with lessons that I have no ability to learn. The knowledge of the infinite lies here right in front of me, and all I see are mysteries. My presence in this world means nothing, and yet it holds me here.”
Raziel walked over to Enoch and put its hands on the man’s slumped shoulders. “It is as you say. You are living through a time you do not understand—a truth you should embrace if you want to find meaning in your existence here.” The Angel swept its hand outward, toward the glowing sunrise. “Don’t let your lack of understanding diminish the value you draw from it. Whether you look to its boundless skies or into a single grain of sand, you are seeing it completely. There is no word that does not describe it and no silence that betrays it. It’s everything and nothing in one.”
Art by Noah Bradley
The Angel’s guidance was a darkened doorway that Enoch struggled to find the will to walk through.
“I see.”
“No, not yet. But you will,” Raziel replied sharply. “Do not seek to understand. Simply stand witness.”
Enoch reaches his hand out toward the Tree’s trunk and leaned his weight against it as he turned to face it. Everything about it felt real—perhaps the most real thing he had ever touched. The presence of the Tree flooded into him, washing away the dread that had grown in his heart. “What’s inside?”
“Wood,” said Raziel musically. “Also nothing. All things. What you are seeing is the whole of what it is.” Raziel reached out its own hand and touched the Tree and spoke its name. “Ein Sof.”
Enoch looked up at the Angel’s empty face. His own softened into a calm resolution. “Can you teach me more?”
Raziel pulled back, its wings flaring outward. It reached into its garments, retrieving a sizable book before offering it to Enoch.
Enoch received the tome with care, pulling its weight toward his body. Opening it reverently, he was surprised to find that the pages were blank.
“It’s . . . ,” Enoch trailed away, realizing his observation was too obvious.
He looked up, and the infinite landscape of clouds had given way to a small forest grove. His feet were planted on firm ground on top of an unfamiliar hill. The sound of women’s voices drifted to his ear amid the rustling leaves. The scent of freshly cut plants washed over him as he stood, stunned. Looking upon this simple scene, he clutched the book, feeling its purpose clearly.
He followed the voices in search of something write with.
