Each child then unwrapped its second bundle and found, inside, a pair of spectacles.
"What are these?" they cried.
“These are your perceptions,” the mother said. “They will determine what you see in the world, and what you don’t see, and the colors and shadings of all your gifts. Try them on.”
“But Mother, they are all exactly the same,” the children said, and in fact at the moment they said this, it was true. For each pair of spectacles was fitted with an identical set of perfectly clear, perfectly colorless, absolutely flawless crystal lenses.
But as soon as the children placed their spectacles before their eyes the lenses began to change, ever so slightly at first, and subtly.
Tiny flecks and smudges appeared here and there, and discolored patches, like fog, like freckles, moved back and forth across the once-clear crystal.
Looking around them with their child’s-eyes through the lenses of their new gift, the children thought for a moment that the room itself had changed, and everything in it -- grown dimmer, or more bright; clearer, or softly blurred.
In unison, in wonder, the children turned their bespectacled faces toward the mother, and saw for the first time that they were not one with their mother, but separate and apart.
Some called out in wonder: “Mother! You are beautiful!”
Some called out, in terror: “Mother! You are dreadful!”
And still others, in distress, cried out: “But Mother! Where have you gone? We cannot see you at all.”
“I am here,” the mother’s voice said; “take off your spectacles, and you will see me again.”
And they did, and were reassured.
Then they turned, the children, one by one, and looked at themselves for the first time through their new lenses. Where before they had all been one, now through their spectacles they saw themselves as “one” and “other.”
This too was new and strange.
"Through my lenses," said one to another, "you look adorable. Therefore, I adore you."
"Through mine, you look fearsome," said one to another, "and I fear you."
"Through mine, you look honorable," said one to another, "and I honor you."
"Through mine, you look despicable," said one to another, "and I despise you."
"I see you as more," said one to another. "If you are more, I must be less. Therefore you must be more than I."
"I see you as less," said one to another, "and myself as more. Therefore, I must be more than you."
The children laughed merrily at the game they were playing. After a time, they tried to trade spectacles and see through each other's lenses, but found it impossible. So instead they turned again toward the mother, who had been watching them all this while, and cried: "Mother! What of the third and last of our Mysteries? May we unwrap it now?"
"Yes," the mother said. And each child reached into its final bundle, much smaller than the first, smaller even than the second, and pulling aside the twilight in which it was wrapped, withdrew a golden key, no bigger than a wish, and twice as bright.
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