The Missing Point

In the beginning, there was the line. Infinite, unchanging, luminous. It stretched silently from past eternity into the future, with no beginning and no end — like a timeless breath. It was true life, eternal life. Upon this line, suspended beyond the tangible, men and women walked in harmony with the divine order. They moved along the upper part of the line, wrapped in serene light, in an Eden where each step was understanding, presence, peace.

But the perfection of the line concealed a secret.

Along its perfect and linear course, a point was missing. A tiny absence, almost imperceptible — a void of infinitesimal size, as a mathematician might say: something that takes up no space, and yet it is there. An opening.

And so, unaware, men and women, one by one, stumble upon that point. And fall.

They fall beneath the line.

They awaken in the earthly life — a world that appears fluid, unstable, ever-changing. Shapes shift, truth blurs, all previous reference points dissolve. Humanity forgets the line, and the light it carried. The memory of the eternal fades into the fog of the material experience.

In the earthly dimension, humans struggle. They believe this is the only life. They seek security, they build, they hoard — sometimes at the expense of others. They cry out in loss, fight in fear, and withdraw in confusion. Suffering embraces them, and time urges them on.

Yet not all surrender.

Some, even immersed in the liquid realm of earthly life, do not fully forget what they no longer know. Some love. Some care. Some help their companions to rise, to walk, to search. Some look upward, without knowing why, and move toward the light.

And then, one day, the point returns.

The missing point appears again — but now not as a fall, but as a passage. It is death, yes, but not an end. It is the breach that allows one to rise again. The slender opening connecting the lower world to the higher one. And then, if the human heart has remained open, if the soul still listens, they can ascend.

They emerge above the line once more.

And now they are not the same. They remember. They recognize. They are in tune again with the Divine, reconnected to the infinite from which they came. Life resumes its eternal flow — but this time, in fullness. The being is restored in serenity, in wholeness, in truth.

And the painting falls silent, but it tells all.