Chronicles of Dawn (8) - Those Who Leave
In a mythical City of Dawn, where dreams of human unity took root in red earth, a community faces its greatest test as living patterns clash with imposed order.
Chapter 8 - Those Who Leave
The old stories spoke of a time when the elves departed Middle-earth, sailing West as their age came to an end. Now, in the City of Dawn, another kind of parting was taking place - not with white ships and silver horns, but with quiet farewells in gardens that those leaving had planted with their own hands.
They left in different ways. Some received scrolls marked with official seals, informing them that their presence was no longer welcome in the city they had helped to build. Others found their sources of livelihood suddenly cut off, making it impossible to remain. Still others chose to depart rather than witness the unmaking of what they had spent decades creating.
Each departure left a hole in the fabric of the community - an empty chair in a meeting circle, a quiet workshop where craft had once flourished, a garden untended. These were not just physical absences but gaps in the network of relationships that had grown over decades, like missing threads in a tapestry that had been woven with great care.
Yet even in these partings, something of the city's unique spirit showed itself. Those who left did not go with bitter curses or calls for revenge. Instead, they gathered their memories like precious seeds, knowing that what they had learned in this place would flower wherever they went. They had learned too well the lesson that unity transcends physical presence, that consciousness once evolved cannot be devolved.
One elder, who had tended the same grove for thirty years, spent her last days carefully documenting every tree and plant, creating detailed maps and care instructions for whoever might come after. "The trees will remember," she said, "and perhaps one day, those who follow will learn to listen to them again."
A craftsman who had built beautiful things from fallen wood carefully apprenticed several young ones in his art before departing. "The skills must live on," he said, "even if the hands that hold them change."
Seekers made recordings of their deepest lessons learnt, not just of outer knowledge but of the inner wisdom they had gained through decades of service. They knew that such wisdom, once seeded, would find ways to grow again, like the hardy pioneer plants that had first brought life back to the red earth plateau.
Those who remained felt these departures keenly. They gathered in small groups to share stories of those who had left, to ensure that their contributions would not be forgotten. They tended the gardens of the departed, kept their projects alive, and held their dreams in trust.
But something unexpected began to emerge from this time of loss. As the community faced these enforced partings, they discovered that the bonds they had forged went deeper than physical presence. Those who left remained connected through invisible threads of shared purpose and understanding. Those who stayed found themselves growing stronger through the very challenges that threatened to break them.
They began to understand something that the Lady of Light had tried to teach them - that true unity exists in a realm beyond physical gathering, that consciousness once raised cannot be lowered by external force. The seeds of the future they had planted together would find ways to grow, even if not in the forms they had originally imagined.
Messages would arrive from those who had departed - from distant forests and cities, from other communities where they had found refuge. These messages spoke not of defeat but of how the dream they had shared was taking new forms, spreading in ways they hadn't expected. The very diaspora that their opponents had forced upon them was becoming a means of dispersing their seeds of transformation more widely.
One letter spoke of teaching children in a distant land about the possibilities of human unity. Another told of starting a small forest in another place, using all they had learned about ecological restoration. A third described how the practices of shared economy they had experimented collectively were being adapted for use in other communities.
Those who remained in the City of Dawn carried a double weight - the grief of partings and the responsibility of presence. They began to understand that their role was not just to defend what had been built, but to maintain the living experiment itself. For experiments need their witnesses, their record-keepers, their steady hands that hold the flame through the storm. Those who stayed and those who left each carried forward the dream in their own way. The stayers were not merely holders of memory but active creators of new possibilities, their continued presence both an act of courage and a choice for deepening. Like the great trees of the forest, they sent their roots ever deeper while nurturing new life around them. They were the living heart of the experiment, making possible both departure and return, both memory and renewal.
Each morning, as they looked after the gardens of the departed and kept their projects alive, they renewed their commitment not just to memory but to continued creation. Their presence was not passive resistance but active affirmation - of the dream, of the possibility, of the experiment itself. They were learning that some must remain still so that others can move, that some must tend the beacon’s flame so that its light may spread far and wide.
A young one found an old manuscript in which the Lady of Light had written: "The truth must be lived, not possessed." Perhaps this was part of what she had meant - that their work was not to hold tight to any particular form, but to live the truth they had discovered in whatever circumstances they found themselves.
And so they learned to face these partings with a deeper understanding. Yes, there was grief - how could there not be, when bonds forged through decades of shared work were suddenly severed? But there was also a growing recognition that what they had built together existed on a level that no external force could touch.
For the real work had always been in consciousness itself. And consciousness constantly finds new ways to flow, like water around obstacles, like light through clouds.
To be continued...
Author's note: Any resemblance to current events or persons, living or mythological, is purely coincidental and exists only in the reader's imagination.
I have been following this mythical story with keen interest. Today's chronicle was particularly close to the bone. I left the City of Dawn 5 months ago. Circumstances lined up in such a way that it became clear that it was time to move one. I deeply believe what you have expressed here - that all that germinated, grew and bloomed inside me as a result of nearly 30 years of participation in such a visionary project had ripened to the point that it was now time to bring it into a new form. I love and take inspiration from the image of dispersing these seeds of transformation more widely. I am exploring, listening, looking for breadcrumbs and still very much on a journey to discover what exactly these new forms will be, but I feel quietly confident that with patience, it will be revealed.
And to those who remain, holding the "double weight", I feel like you, that they carry a special burden and responsibility. My thoughts and prayers are with them every day.
Yesterday I came across another substack writer Shannon Willis, whose words deeply resonated. It brought together a lot of what I have been thinking about as well and guidance in how to navigate in these dark times - the idea of "soft rebellion" articulated in this post https://substack.com/@thehoneyedoracle/note/c-97333390?r=pamsx
Thank you so much for sharing this story with such subtly and beauty.