It is strange to live in a world that is not made for you.
Everything here is so very big. When I sit at a table...no. That is a lie. I do not sit at tables. Either I hover before them or I stand, tip-toed, on the edge of the chair provided. The chair is always too large, so large that when I stand upon it the arms are up to my waist. I am constantly reminded that I am not what everyone else is. I am different. I am small.
To me the forest is a huge meeting of giants, festooned in foliage, each leaf as big as my face. Yet there are people in the world who think of the trees as nothing, chopping them down with no care. They would not see me if I were in the branches, would not notice as I dodged the falling, flailing limbs of the giant that until recently had enfolded me in its embrace.
I have become accustomed, in short, to not being noticed. To being unheard. To being Silent.
At Night it is worse still. My skin is camouflage, my wings but a glimmer in the shadow, my eyes the glint of a nervous rodent. I am not even scenery, so unimpressive I am, so unnecessary, so absent. Sometimes the distance between the world and I is so thick that I cannot see through it. I stand in the middle of nothing, far away from everything.
Or I used to, anyway.
Then I flew to the side of Someone who did not think of me as small. Who, rather than ignoring me, treated me as He did all others: with Silence. Yet to be Silent at someone is not the same as ignoring them. Silence is enveloping, is precious beyond gold and silver and all tangible things. Silence is the only place where you can be entirely surrounded, but free to fly.
It overwhelmed me. To know that there is always His Presence there, to know that I am never alone, to know that I am always valued and that I am not small, not forgotten, not insignificant. I did what I had always done, and I fled; flew out of the arms of Silence and hid in slumber, unable to cope. I could not give any more of myself, I said. In truth I was struck by the terror of having given all, yet still retaining it.
Now my wings have unfolded, and I have ventured forth from the hibernation that was my hiding place. I am back in His arms, in the Silence, in Everything that is and was and ever will be. I walk in the forest of giants and I do not feel cowed. I do not feel small. Nay - I know what I am. I am the shadow that you see from the corner of your eye, but cannot spot. I am the glimmer of movement in an otherwise calm place. I am the viper, poised, ultimately fatal.
My place is in the Shadows, in the Silence, with the rhythm of the Drums and the song of Mahalla at my fingertips and my throat. My place is the doom of all who would say other than this - nothing matters but Glomdoring.
I stand in His embrace, and I strike as He would wish. Fear is no more. There is only Silence.