The amorphous bubble floating before the watcher cocked its shape sideways in curiosity. It wondered, "Why are you suddenly calling me Nana? You’ve called me 'aspen' and 'butterfly' before, but never 'Nana.'”
“You’ll know why in a moment. But look up, now,” the watcher replied, her wings crossing a tad impatiently.
Nana looked up to see several billion kites streaming brilliantly across a golden sunset. Each kite was a spaceship, promising to take unformed souls to existing worlds to “live life,” whatever that meant.
The watcher, whom we might recognize as “angel” and “atom,” waited anxiously. Her feathery white eyelashes fluttered, and powdery stardust fell, sending the shivering stars below her into a sudden season of snow. The watcher had good cause to be anxious. So much of her charge’s earthly identity depended on which kite tail the young soul chose, and where on the tail she clasped onto. Each kite tail featured a series of small, colorful ribbons tied along every few inches. Those ribbons were ancestors’ souls, clinging along to life through memory. Thus, the kite, in essence, did not function simply as a spaceship, but also provided the inheritance pathway which would allow the young soul’s existence to manifest into reality, into “Nana.”
Seeing the airy young soul bubble and froth in hesitation, the watcher called out urgently, “Nana, now! Reach!”
Air reached up into air, and a translucent cloud grasped a kite tail.
All at once, a strong breeze blew through Nana’s hollow form. She felt the voices of many souls whispering to her until they were thrumming vibrantly in her own “heart.” Several thousand stories, all of which were barely hanging onto existence by a single iridescent thread of memory, now shivered down the wind-tightened tail, newly awakened, coming to quiver brilliantly against Nana’s little “palm.”
A billion stars burst aflame in her soul, and the secret energy of the universe sang loudly, “Don’t let go now!”
Nana cried out as light shocked her to her core. Her small hand clenched around the string – or so she thought, but in this world, the “string” was her mother’s finger.
“Yes,” her mother whispered, staring down with love-filled eyes at her newborn, who was crying and clutching her finger, “we’ll call her Nana, after her grandmother.”
Nana’s father stared down at his baby in awe. “She looks just like Grandma, doesn’t she? It’s incredible. She could have looked like anything, and she looks just like Nana.”
Nana’s father would never know how true that statement was, how “Nana” had truly been capable of any manifestation whilst still in her floating form. For human beings forget where they came from – that hauntingly beautiful, yet forever tragic dreamscape where memory exists in the form of kites. But sometimes, when the fabric of space-time rips out a single stitch to allow a soul in or out, we remember, ever so briefly, that otherworldly land of pure origins.