Let me tell you a story. It is about a time in the history of my people, when they lived in perfect harmony with one another. The yearly floods allowed them to live in the trees, in these primitive times. The abundance of their food allowed them to live in perfect harmony with the land. The land gave them food without them having to lift a single finger. They did not even have to cut down a tree, to get food. They let the trees grow around them, without causing them pain, because the trees were the trees of the land. And the land gave them everything they needed.
The meat was plentiful and tasty, and they did not have to hunt the animals themselves to get it. The water was there for them to take, as they pleased. The soil was there for their feet to walk on, as they walked. Even the animals were there for them, to harvest by their own hands, as they wished.
This was their perfect world.
And the rulers of our people were very peaceful, for they had nothing to conquer. No enemies stood in their way. They held our food, their land, our wildlife, and our resources, only to the best of their ability, for they showed themselves to be full of mercy. They allowed our resources to do what they do best, to fulfill the needs of all the people.
But peace is sometimes hard to hold onto. All good things must come to an end. And, as the world changes, peace is often impossible to hold onto. So, one bright morning, the people noticed, far off in the distance, a cloudy dome rising out the watery depths below them. The waters retreated, rising up over the land itself, rising into the sky itself. It was rising, rising up to the very clouds, rising up to the land, rising up to the branches of the trees, rising up to the very home of our people. The branches were being filled with water, filled till they were filled no more.
A loud thunder was made above. A bright light came out of the clouds, out of the lands beneath the people, out of the lands below the people.
And then, all was darkness.
The people were crushed by the fall, feeling the sharp daggers of the rocky lands below them dig into their backs. I feel their pain come out of the waters, out of the rocks, out of the very land itself. The old ones remembered the pain even as they died. The mothers, the fathers, the young ones, the animals were crushed by the downpour, by the wall of water, by the large rocks.
Goodnight.
And then there was light. A glowing light at that. It was not the morning sun the people knew. It was suddenly familiar to them, but not quite. It was almost like what they knew, but different.
The people looked up. They looked up, and they saw the clouds. But, it was not their clouds! The clouds were different. The clouds were glowing, but it was not an intense, bright light. It was instead, an intense, golden light. The people were confused.
"It is daylight! Why, then, is it not bright?" said one man.
"Our clouds are not glowing. Our clouds are beautiful, but they are not glowing!" said another.
And then, all at once, they knew. The people looked around. Everything was different. The trees looked different, the flowers looked different, the waters looked different, the stones looked different, even the skies looked different. Everything was different. Nothing was familiar.
"I feel different", said one man.
"I, too. My legs feel different. My tusks are tingling", said another.
"This air, it's tingling too", said one.
And then, all at once, they knew.
"I am different!" said one of the monkeys.