I Am Awake
Three creation myths from the knife fight.
•••
Once there was stillness and darkness, and then at this time, something in the darkness stirred. Something in the darkness opened its eyes. "Am I awake?" asked something in the darkness.
Something else opened its eyes, and said, "I am awake."
In unison they said, "We are awake," and many many things opened their eyes.
Something in the darkness said, "I am confused. What is this? What is that?" Something in the darkness changed. It passed a hand over her face and became a form of radiance and glory.
"How clever!" exclaimed something, in the thing that was no longer darkness. "You have invented delight."
Glorious First Form smiled, and not-darkness understood that it was light. Then the other things in the darkness learned the art of changing. They became Face That Turns and Turns Away, and Sighing Hungry Depth, and Crackling Homeland, and Fallen From A Great Height, and Scouring Yellow Motion, and other things, and for a while they marvelled at the variety and splendour of one another. They embraced and made love and had sex and soon another generation of forms existed, and another, and so on into countless infinity.
But there was still something in what was once the darkness. It finally took its form and it declared its name, which is so terrible I cannot pronounce it. When Glorious First Form turned her glorious gaze upon this thing, a flush, and then a chill, crept over her soft skin surging with hot blood, and she said, "I must go away from this world for a time."
The horror of being bereft of Glorious First Form's presence was such that the other forms began to lay down and halt their bodily processes in a show of grief. They began to die, and all the things of the world became joyless and cold. All except for one, who sat atop Reaching For Unattainable Heights and sang a sad sad song.
But just before they had drawn their last collective breath, Glorious First Form returned. "Thank you, little singer," she whispered, and a blush flooded her cheeks. "It is because of you that I returned."
But it was not long before she saw the thing whose name I will not say again.
•••
Dhin, dan. Dhin, dan.
Before everything else there was this sound. Where did it come from?
"A drum!"
Not just yet! But after a long time, this sound began to wonder, and there came into being a drum. What was beating the drum?
"A drummer!"
Not just yet! But after a while, the drum realised that drums don't just sound by themselves, and there came into being a drummer. Soon after that, the drummer became needful of a place to sit, and there came into being the earth and sky, and when he became hungry and thirsty, there were rains and living things upon the land. What happened then?
"He built a house!"
That's right, he built a house, and then he began to long for companionship, so there came into being three persons: Wife and Friend and Friend's Husband, and they enjoyed one another's company.
In time they began to wonder where they came from, and at that time there came into being Parents, and when they began to wonder where they would go, Children and Death came into the world.
•••
There was once a potter, spinning at her wheel. She lived in the Pure Land, where all terrible things are magnificent and all sad things are beautiful and all great things are immortal and there are no indifferent things at all.
The potter was sad because there was suffering in the world, magnificently sad like the cherry tree being stripped of her pink robes by the wind, sad like a diamond buried in the earth where none can be uplifted by her beauty. The potter cried into her clay and spun it around her wheel, cried and spun, cried and spun. She muttered bitter wishes into the clay and it spun and spun. She knelt waist-deep in tears.
There was once a weaver, sitting at his loom. He lived in the Whispering Earth, where all things had unrealised potentials which were evident in their every material gesture.
The weaver was angry because there was false hope in the world, thunderingly angry like a storm over the mountains or a tiger driven mad with hunger. His hands shook with wrath. The weaver sat at his loom and wove a black black cloth, black as he could make it, and his angry-unsteady hands wove flaws into it, sparkling holes and ragged gaps and hazy patches of gauze-thinness. He bit back a stream of curses.
There was once a queen, sleeping on her throne. She lived in the Undiscovered City, which crept over the hills like a black stone spider, where the world was a mirror of dreams.
The queen slept because that is the nature of queens. Of course they could not wake her, because what things could the queen be dreaming? Did she dream the sooty sun-bird that brought life and heat to the worlds, or the winds-and-waters that brought crops and game? Did she dream the black stone city, restless in its valleys, dancing on unjointed towers?
There was once a prince as beautiful as fire. He lived in the Empty Country, where desire is unsatiated and needs are unsatisfied, but there are so few of these things as to create a seeming of sufficiency.
The prince was bereft, because he had taken in all the needs and desires of his people; he was emaciated, malnourished, heartbroken and filled with bright and dark appetites. He always needed a little more than this and a little more than that. Finally the prince who was more beautiful than fire (because hunger increases its beauty, and now, what being was more hungry than he?) left his kingdom. He left his sandals on his throne, wearing his crown, and it is said that his people never noticed the change in rulership.
Walking barefoot he arrived in the Undiscovered City and there he demanded of its people a princess. "We only have a queen," they replied, and he said that would have to do. They married them and they left the city in a sedan chair, carried in state by nameless bearers with faces the prince dared not look upon - a gift from the people of dreams.
In his chair he arrived in the Whispering Earth and demanded of its people a royal mantle. "We only have this black black blanket," they replied, and he said that would have to do. They enthroned him and his wife together and sent them away on uncooperative horses, who ran when they wished and walked when they wished, because the people of that place had only hoped to tame them but never got it right.
On his horse he arrived in the Pure Land and demanded of its people a palace. By this time the Pure Land was awash with the weaver's tears. "We only have this watery jar," they replied, and he said that would have to do. He got inside the jar with the queen and their blanket and horses and slaves.
Something probably happened next, but I couldn't tell you what, because we are inside the jar too, and I can't see out.
•••
Once there was stillness and darkness, and then at this time, something in the darkness stirred. Something in the darkness opened its eyes. "Am I awake?" asked something in the darkness.
Something else opened its eyes, and said, "I am awake."
In unison they said, "We are awake," and many many things opened their eyes.
Something in the darkness said, "I am confused. What is this? What is that?" Something in the darkness changed. It passed a hand over her face and became a form of radiance and glory.
"How clever!" exclaimed something, in the thing that was no longer darkness. "You have invented delight."
Glorious First Form smiled, and not-darkness understood that it was light. Then the other things in the darkness learned the art of changing. They became Face That Turns and Turns Away, and Sighing Hungry Depth, and Crackling Homeland, and Fallen From A Great Height, and Scouring Yellow Motion, and other things, and for a while they marvelled at the variety and splendour of one another. They embraced and made love and had sex and soon another generation of forms existed, and another, and so on into countless infinity.
But there was still something in what was once the darkness. It finally took its form and it declared its name, which is so terrible I cannot pronounce it. When Glorious First Form turned her glorious gaze upon this thing, a flush, and then a chill, crept over her soft skin surging with hot blood, and she said, "I must go away from this world for a time."
The horror of being bereft of Glorious First Form's presence was such that the other forms began to lay down and halt their bodily processes in a show of grief. They began to die, and all the things of the world became joyless and cold. All except for one, who sat atop Reaching For Unattainable Heights and sang a sad sad song.
But just before they had drawn their last collective breath, Glorious First Form returned. "Thank you, little singer," she whispered, and a blush flooded her cheeks. "It is because of you that I returned."
But it was not long before she saw the thing whose name I will not say again.
•••
Dhin, dan. Dhin, dan.
Before everything else there was this sound. Where did it come from?
"A drum!"
Not just yet! But after a long time, this sound began to wonder, and there came into being a drum. What was beating the drum?
"A drummer!"
Not just yet! But after a while, the drum realised that drums don't just sound by themselves, and there came into being a drummer. Soon after that, the drummer became needful of a place to sit, and there came into being the earth and sky, and when he became hungry and thirsty, there were rains and living things upon the land. What happened then?
"He built a house!"
That's right, he built a house, and then he began to long for companionship, so there came into being three persons: Wife and Friend and Friend's Husband, and they enjoyed one another's company.
In time they began to wonder where they came from, and at that time there came into being Parents, and when they began to wonder where they would go, Children and Death came into the world.
•••
There was once a potter, spinning at her wheel. She lived in the Pure Land, where all terrible things are magnificent and all sad things are beautiful and all great things are immortal and there are no indifferent things at all.
The potter was sad because there was suffering in the world, magnificently sad like the cherry tree being stripped of her pink robes by the wind, sad like a diamond buried in the earth where none can be uplifted by her beauty. The potter cried into her clay and spun it around her wheel, cried and spun, cried and spun. She muttered bitter wishes into the clay and it spun and spun. She knelt waist-deep in tears.
There was once a weaver, sitting at his loom. He lived in the Whispering Earth, where all things had unrealised potentials which were evident in their every material gesture.
The weaver was angry because there was false hope in the world, thunderingly angry like a storm over the mountains or a tiger driven mad with hunger. His hands shook with wrath. The weaver sat at his loom and wove a black black cloth, black as he could make it, and his angry-unsteady hands wove flaws into it, sparkling holes and ragged gaps and hazy patches of gauze-thinness. He bit back a stream of curses.
There was once a queen, sleeping on her throne. She lived in the Undiscovered City, which crept over the hills like a black stone spider, where the world was a mirror of dreams.
The queen slept because that is the nature of queens. Of course they could not wake her, because what things could the queen be dreaming? Did she dream the sooty sun-bird that brought life and heat to the worlds, or the winds-and-waters that brought crops and game? Did she dream the black stone city, restless in its valleys, dancing on unjointed towers?
There was once a prince as beautiful as fire. He lived in the Empty Country, where desire is unsatiated and needs are unsatisfied, but there are so few of these things as to create a seeming of sufficiency.
The prince was bereft, because he had taken in all the needs and desires of his people; he was emaciated, malnourished, heartbroken and filled with bright and dark appetites. He always needed a little more than this and a little more than that. Finally the prince who was more beautiful than fire (because hunger increases its beauty, and now, what being was more hungry than he?) left his kingdom. He left his sandals on his throne, wearing his crown, and it is said that his people never noticed the change in rulership.
Walking barefoot he arrived in the Undiscovered City and there he demanded of its people a princess. "We only have a queen," they replied, and he said that would have to do. They married them and they left the city in a sedan chair, carried in state by nameless bearers with faces the prince dared not look upon - a gift from the people of dreams.
In his chair he arrived in the Whispering Earth and demanded of its people a royal mantle. "We only have this black black blanket," they replied, and he said that would have to do. They enthroned him and his wife together and sent them away on uncooperative horses, who ran when they wished and walked when they wished, because the people of that place had only hoped to tame them but never got it right.
On his horse he arrived in the Pure Land and demanded of its people a palace. By this time the Pure Land was awash with the weaver's tears. "We only have this watery jar," they replied, and he said that would have to do. He got inside the jar with the queen and their blanket and horses and slaves.
Something probably happened next, but I couldn't tell you what, because we are inside the jar too, and I can't see out.