They line up in a circle. There are 7 of them, all facing towards the center. Their eyes are closed and mouthes moving on their own accord, but never forming words. Without pretense, one starts speaking aloud. "The sky is blue. Grass is green. Animals move and trees stay in place. Water is wet and can make things wet. When I am happy it is good. When I am sad, I am not happy…." When one finishes, another starts, and the utterances continue in this manner around the circle.
The seven do not notice a small boy on the outskirts of the circle. He faces away from them and wanders with his eyes moving in every direction. He is the eighth. This boy does not speak. He does not flap his mouth. The boy walks, farther and farther from the group. He hears the crunch of the grass beneath his feet with each step. Feels the wind hug him. Sees what the sun shows to him. With each sensation, the boy's mind is unable to form words for what it feels. The boy is no longer walking, but running. Without knowing why, he is smiling and laughing, running without purpose or direction. He does not realize, but he crosses a hill and leaves eyesight of the circle.
Eyes snap open. Utterings cease. 7 heads turn in the direction the boy has followed.
The boy runs along the side of a cornfield – hand outstreached touching each stalk as he passes. He turns the corner and stops. Blocking his sight of the field are the seven, standing in a line. One steps forward. "Why do you not join us? Do you not believe? Do you not wish to connect with the One? What are you doing?"
The boy is frightened. He will not meet the eyes of the seven. His lips begin to move, uttering wordlessly. His eyelids begin to fall. Just before they close, they notice something on his hand. A butterfly. His lips stop. His eyes spring open. No longer afraid, he defiantly returns the gazes of the seven and whispers,
"I am praying"
