A Secret Lesson at Hogwarts

(A Story for young adults, those young at heart, and all Harry Potter fans)

A gaggle of Hogwarts students, their robes askew and faces alight with curiosity, once gathered around me in the shadowy depths of the library. “Professor”, they whispered, their voices hushed with reverence, “Tell us of “the Secret One”. Our teachers speak only of potions and charms, but not of the Secret One who first conjured real magic into being.”

I smiled, a twinkle in my eye. “Ah, but my dear students,” I replied, “each subject you study, every potion you brew, and every charm you cast, whispers of the Secret One in its own mystical tongue. Listen closely, and you shall hear the echoes of His divine  hand in every incantation.”

“Imagine, if you will,” I began, “a most extraordinary apothecary, its shelves brimming with shimmering glass bottles and bubbling cauldrons. Within each jar, a wondrous elixir, brewed with ingredients gathered from the farthest reaches of the enchanted world, each measure precise and potent… Surely, such a wondrous place would speak of a master alchemist, a potioneer of unparalleled skill. So much so that, even our legendary Headmaster Albus Dumbledore wishes he could be an apprentice at the feet of such a Lord of Magical Medicine.”

“And so it is with our Earth,” I continued, “a living apothecary, teeming with millions of species of magical creatures and fantastical plants, each a vessel brimming with life-giving remedies. This Earthly apothecary, far grander than a thousand Diagon Alleys, whispers of a Divine Healer, a Genius Scientist who breathed life into every beast and bloom.”

“Consider, too,” I beckoned, “a wondrous workshop, where enchanted looms  weave shimmering fabrics of a thousand hues from a single thread of gossamer silk. Would not such a marvel reveal the hand of a master weaver, a craftsman of extraordinary talent?

Now, isn’t this exactly what the Earth does every day, mixing the dirt under our feet with some water, to weave spectacular flowers of every color that decorate the valleys and mountains around Hogwarts, growing thousands of kinds of fruits and plants that give life to every living being, from Owls to Centaurs, from Hedwig to Buckbeak… I see you roll your eyes when I said plants Mr. Weasley, but where do you think the flour for your favorite muffins come from? And the lamb chops you love to eat, and the chocolate milk you jug down every morning, and the wool socks you wear; don’t they all come from this cute little animal we call lamb, who graze on some dry grass and magically turn them into all these wondrous delights?

So, our Earth, my young apprentices, is like a celestial machine, a contraption with a thousand heads, each head containing a thousand factories, with countless cogs and wheels whirring in harmonious symphony. It is a masterpiece far surpassing any human invention, a testament to the Master Craftsman who set the stars and planets in motion and breathed life into the very air we breathe.” Noticing the now wide open eyes of Hermione, I continued, “Yes, Miss Granger, it is most curious indeed.”

But there is more: “Picture now,” I urged, “a secret vault, hidden deep within the bowels of the Earth, overflowing with treasures beyond imagination. Gems that shimmer with the light of a thousand stars, charming artifacts that whisper secrets of forgotten ages, and natural potions that hold the power to heal or harm, all stored more securely than Gringott Wizarding Bank’s cavernous underground caves. Surely, such a trove would speak of a Powerful Guardian, a Keeper of untold riches.”

When was the last time you took a ride in a car, or a train, or a plane… without feeling a single bump on the road?

“Just like that, our Earth is like this hidden vault, except that it is also a most magnificent spaceship that sails through the cosmos, traversing a distance of  twenty-four thousand years across the Universe in a single revolution around itself, while carrying within it millions of wondrous creatures, each with its own unique needs and desires.

When spring arrives, the treasures buried deep inside the Earth’s vaults all begin to emerge from under our feet, like magical caravans loaded with enchanted fruits and dazzling flora, nourishing each and every creature who braved the harsh winter months. This Earth, this gigantic Spaceship, carries within it the very essence of magic, a testament to the Provider, the Keeper, the Orchestrator of all creation.

“Imagine an army,” I declared, my voice rising with excitement, “comprised of tens of millions of warriors, with breathtaking variety of shapes and sizes, each equipped with their own unique spells, enchanted weaponry, and mystical armor. A wise and powerful commander, with a flick of His wand, provides for each and every one, ensuring their needs are met and their powers harnessed for the greater good.

Just like that, every spring, upon the face of our Earth, a new army arises. This divine legion, comprised of magical creatures and fantastical plants, is equipped with a dazzling array of enchanted garments, mystical sustenance, and most potent spells. Yes, many even arrive wearing their unique invisibility cloaks that let them blend into surroundings so perfectly that their predators pass them by without even noticing. All of this is orchestrated with impeccable precision by a single, Supreme Commander, a testament to the Ruler, the Lord, the Orchestrator of this Earthly Realm.”

“Finally,” I whispered, “envision a city of dreams, bathed in the ethereal glow of thousands of enchanted lanterns that float effortlessly through the star-studded sky. These lanterns, fueled by an inexhaustible source of magic, illuminate every corner of this wondrous realm. Surely, such a spectacle would speak of a Master Enchanter, a Wizard of unimaginable power.”

Imagine your weekly chore was to refuel the Sun and the Moon…

“In the grand city of our universe, the stars that adorn our skies are just like these floating lanterns. Some, according to the ancient lore of cosmography, are a million-million times larger than our Sun and move with the speed of a thousand enchanted broomsticks.” Then I turned to Harry: “Yes, my dear boy, a thousand times faster than your Firebolt. Imagine that.” I continued, “Yet, they maintain perfect harmony, never colliding with each other or dimming, their bright flames burning eternal.”

Our Sun, a celestial beacon a million times larger than our world, has illuminated the cosmos for countless eons. It serves as both a radiant lamp and a warming hearth in this divine guesthouse. To sustain its fiery glow, it would require an ocean of dragon’s blood, mountains of phoenix feathers, or a forest of Whomping Willows every single day. Yet, it burns bright without any of these earthly fuels, a testament to the infinite power and dominion that governs the celestial dance of the stars.

These celestial bodies bear witness to the King, the Illuminator, the Orchestrator, the Creator of this magnificent Universe, inspiring awe, adoration, and reverence in all who behold their splendor.”

So, perhaps your teachers don’t tell you about the Master of All Masters, the Unique Originator of the Universe, because everything around you already whispers of the Creator in its own mystical tongue. Listen closely, and you shall hear the echoes of His divine hand in every incantation…

Michelangelo’s Last Mural: A Short Story

Once, there was an artist named Michelangelo.

He was hailed as the greatest artist the world had seen.

His passion was to paint scenes onto walls and ceilings. Especially the ceilings of temples. His greatest piece was the mural he painted in fresco on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

One day, it was announced that Michelangelo had repainted the ceiling, decorating it with a new mural, which was going to be revealed with a ceremony. The rumor around town was that the Master called it “The greatest artwork I’ll ever manage to create”.

When the news spread, crowds flocked in from near and far. Artists came from all over the world to catch a glimpse of this immortal beauty. They started to line up the night before, waiting to be the first ones to witness the mysterious artwork nobody had seen before.

When the time came for the reveal, all eyes were glued to the ceiling. As the great artist and his assistants slowly pulled the cover off the ceiling, the whole chapel fell into silence, followed by rousing sounds of awe. The greatest artists fell to their knees, jaws open; their hands fell to their sides, their shoulders sunk...in both admiration and instant admission of defeat. They immediately realized: This was indeed something no artist could ever match.

What caused this instant surrender?

The painting was alive!

Every moment, one breathtaking scene would slowly morph into another, even more beautiful, one. It would take a great artist years to paint a single one of these murals. Each was unique and beautiful. Some, happy and bright, almost singing with joy. Others, dark and gloomy, almost weeping with sadness. How did he manage to paint so many? And how do they change so seamlessly, without anyone visibly moving the old ones out and the new ones in? The real shock was when Michelangelo revealed that the painting was not only alive, but it was also immortal. This beautiful symphony of colors and images, he said, would continue for as long as time goes on. Even after the great artist's death. Nobody had seen anything like it.

As the crowd slowly walked out of the chapel, every face had an expression of ecstasy mixed with disbelief in what they had just witnessed... but also a little bit of puzzlement. Somehow, the art also looked familiar. Something they had seen before... a déjà vu of sorts.

Then a child exclaimed! “I know where I saw this before! Back in my village… from our backyard. Looking at the sky, I saw the same beautiful pictures of clouds and light, dancing with each other. Blue giving way to white, and white to yellow and pink… and sometimes when a mighty wind blew, the two white cotton candies would clash and become one. Sometimes, one of them looked like a lamb, another like a horse, which then turned into a unicorn, which turned into a mermaid. In fact, this painting was always there. Right above our head.. drawing one amazing scene after another. But, somehow, we stopped noticing them… and we stopped thinking about who is drawing these breathtaking murals that cover the entire sky… which is the ceiling... of the dome.. of our temple.

Not sure how they could have been so oblivious, the crowd turned around to head back and question the Master.. only to find him standing at the door, smiling at them, with the satisfaction of pulling the perfect prank..

Of course, all Michelangelo had done was to tear down the dome of the Sistine Chapel at night.. so that everyone could see the real art in the sky, where the roof had been.. the art constantly being painted instant by instant, by the true Master Michel-Angelo, the Esteemed Angel of the Sky and Wind, whom God appointed to conduct the orchestra in the sky… who, every moment of every day since the beginning of time, had been painting scene after scene, not only over the Sistine Chapel, but over every village and town; and every mountain and valley around the World. Like a great conductor, mixing the colors of the Sun, the shades of white and gray in the clouds, and the blue of the sky to create the immaculate silent symphony just above our heads.

And all the while moving millions of tons of water in the very same clouds, from oceans to gently rain over dry lands, giving a lift to thousands of species of birds to help them cross continents, and spreading seeds and pollens to bring life to the farthest corners of the Globe.

Who to better appreciate the Greatest Artist than a great artist? Michelangelo, the man, was the first to truly witness this majesty. He couldn’t live without showing it to the entire world.