What Planet Are You From?

    It is said the gods once argued the value of the moon. Why not create the sun and be done with it? What good is the moon? It is desolate, cold and hard. The sun is liquid and perpetually warm, a source of sustenance for the entire galaxy.
    After much consideration they reached their conclusion with the help of a simple, solitary musician transitioning across the cosmos, moving from a life long since terminated to a destiny defined by time and space and substance . He was tired, hungry and lost.
    The gods were intrigued. Movement from one dimension to another was generally
simple, a straightforward proposition. This soul had lost his way. It happened without their knowledge. It was most unusual. How had this mortal anomoly slipped so easily through the celestial cracks and from where had he come? There he was. Cold and tired and alone.
    They summoned him and questioned him at length. “From where did you originate, and what is it you carry in that aging leather bag?”
    “I am the sum of your parts. You created me. Convinced I didn’t meet your
expectations, you cast me out. The gods of another universe collect junk souls. I was retrieved by them.”
    He’d been paired with a lost and beautiful soul. They were mates in the purest sense. A delicate balance of past, present and future. She was majestic, warm and possessed a fiery spirit. He was cool, reserved and often silent. When she was flying too high it was he who brought her lower. When her passion flamed out of control it was his reserve that cooled her fever. And when the sounds of too many voices threatened her sanity it was his silence that gave her solace.
    Over time one of the gods grew desirous of the majestic female soul. Though she shared no feelings for the god, it was irrelevant. She was faced with a difficult choice. If she chose to leave the musician and give herself to the errant god her lover’s soul would be spared. Otherwise he would be banished to an unknown galaxy, never to be encountered again.
    She reluctantly agreed and the musician’s soul was spared, but only temporarily. Upon consummation of their union the god banished the musician to a foreign galaxy. The fiery maiden lashed out with a fury even the gods could not stem. The errant god lay vanquished at her feet. The intensity of her fury destroyed all that surrounded her. Suddenly she was alone in the universe.
    She was trapped in one galaxy, her soulmate in another. In a twist of vicious irony the galaxies moved closer, parallel, yet seperate. The musician and his soulmate were separated by time and space, yet visible, each to the other.  The musician’s soulmate eventually succumbed to the ravages of loneliness and anger. She decided to end her life. She had no knowldege of her immortality. Death was impossible.
    She was trapped, or perhaps not. In a final burst of anger and sadness she summoned all her strength and brought about her own demise, or so she thought. With her soul no longer part of the galaxy it broke apart and disrupted the spacial relation to the parallel universe sadly inhabited by the wandering musician. It was not what she had intended. She was forever gone and her soulmate was destined to stumble aimless and alone through the night skies.
    It was in that moment the lost and lonely musician shared his solitary wisdom with the gods. They came to appreciate the importance of the sun and of the moon. One without the other would be a vast disruption threatening the very soul of the universe. As payment for such valuable advice the gods created a new soulmate for the musician. It was the death of an aging ending and the birth of a fresh, new beginning.
    A single ebony flute lay sleeping, tucked neatly deep in an aging, leather bag slung low on the shoulder of a simple, solitary musician.