First he made colours; he made blue and red and green, magenta, orange and azure. He made yellow and ochre and peach, violet and mauve and lilac, he made cream and ivory and pink. He made the pure white of clouds swirled across an azure sky, the glistening white, red and blue of stars on velvet black. He made the blanket of wild bougainvillaea in purple, red and peach. He made the profusion of wild flowers dotted across a meadow of vibrant green, and sun’s rays shining through rich storm clouds. He made every beautiful colour the eye could see, a riot of them splashed across the world.
Then he made colours the ear could hear. He made the sound of the wind in the leaves, a brook chuckling to itself, water trickling and splashing. He made song and laughter and silence, the purr of a contented feline, the whine of a happy puppy. He made the sounds of small creatures scurrying through grass, raindrops on the forest canopy, the powerful ear-colour of thunder, and geese calling as they fly south. He made music – melodic lines and harmonies, tunes and lyrics, instrumental and voice colours that tickled the ear and reached for the heart. He made all the sound-colours the ear can hear.
Then he made colours the skin can feel. He made the sensuous caress of silk, mud squeezing between the toes and a light breeze ruffling hair. He made the feel of grass on bare feet. He made the sting of a hot sun on flesh and the cool refreshing of a wind drying sweat. He made the cosy comfort of a soft wool blanket, the rough peeling bark of a birch. He made the prickles on the back of elephant grass rubbed the wrong way and the rock hard solidity of granite. He made the smooth silk of marble, the softness of hair across the hand and the wonderful wellness of a full body hug. He made all these and more; all the colours the body can feel.
He made colours the nose can smell. He made the sharp tang of pepper, the whiff of garlic, the perfume of roses. He made te wonderful homeyness of roasting beef, the welcome of salt on the air above the ocean. He made the fresh colour of rain on a hot road, the comfort of honest sweat, and the clean freshness of pure mountain air. He made every colour the nose can smell.
The good Wizard looked at all the colours he had made and smiled.
Then he made more. He made colours for the tongue. He made salt and sweet and bitter. He made tart and citrus and melt-in-the-mouth chocolate. He made crystal clear water that fills the mouth with clean life and he made thyme and onion and guava and pineapple. He made tastes that, put together, make different tastes. He made milk and cheese and coca cola. He made every wonderful colour the tongue can taste.
The good Wizard enjoyed all the colours and wanted to share them. So he made people that could see all his colours, could see them with their eyes and noses and ears and tongues and skins. And he shared the colours with them. And they smiled together.
Then the Wizard made more colours. He made colours for the mind. He made ideas and thoughts and dreams. He made questions and answers. He made humour and fun. He made colours like the origin of the soul, the meaning of life, the reason for green leaves to feed the plant. He made the thoughts of bread landing butter side down and chance. He made philosophy and apologetics and theology and science. He made history and physics and chemistry and invention. He made a myriad of colours for the mind.
There were still some colours missing. So the Wizard took more of himself and made colours for the heart. He made hope and joy and peace. He made love and laughter and belonging. He made selflessness, and courage. He made bravery and self-sacrifice and humility. He made soft pastel heart colours and vibrant colours of passion and zest. He made all the beautiful colours of the heart.
The good Wizard and his people revelled in the colours he had made.
Watching all this was a wicked Wizard. He was not such a strong Wizard as the good Wizard. He could not make things, he could only change or twist them. He could not make things because he would not give up any of himself at all. He hated the good Wizard and so he began to change the colours the good Wizard had made. He began to take the colours and tease their strands apart and twist them and weave them into something different. Something ugly. He took the colours and tore them bit from bit and put them back together all wrong and twisted. In so doing he made ugly colours. He made the colour of rot and decay, black and rancid browns. He made screams and hatred, sulphur and rotten eggs. He made doubt and fear and pain, dissonance and wounds and tears, betrayal and death, the harsh sounds of mockery. He made the angry roar of a hurricane and fear. He made selfishness and deception, he made colours caustic and bitter and he made addictive intoxication. He shredded the good Wizard’s colours and wove dark hurtful sub-colours and taunted and lured the good Wizard’s people with them. He tricked them into embracing his un-colours. He fooled them into lusting for his warped creations.
The good Wizard saw what was happening and grieved. He knew that if there was any hope for the beauty of his colours and for his people he had to do something. So he began his greatest work. The good Wizard reached out and started to gather to himself all the colours in the world, the good ones and the twisted ones. He pulled all the ugliness and pain, all the hurt and despair, all the rot and decay, all the blues and greens and yellows into himself. 
He pulled all the lust and doubt and hope, all the fear and joy and music, all the warmth and cold and peace, all the softness and sharpness into himself. He took all the colours that now lived in the world, colours for the eyes, ears, mouth, skin, heart and mind, and he drew them in. When he had gathered all the colours he began to re-work them and re-weave them into new and different colours. And then he released them into the world in a huge eternal tapestry of beauty with new richness and depth. For he had made something completely new out of the essence of himself; he had made the colours of forgiveness and mercy and grace.
Now whenever any of the good Wizard’s people want to come into his beauty they can walk through the place he made, through his being into this place where the wicked Wizard dare not go and cannot taint; this new world of rainbow hues, glorious colour, freedom and love.
