In the Beginning
In the beginning there was nothing but God. God was not he, she, or it. God was just lonesome, not to mention bored.
So God broke off a little piece of self and created the cosmos, and it hurt like hell but it was worth it. Pretty soon there were other beautiful things and other voices and other emotions and smells and astral planes. And it was more than good. It was great!
But there was also the pain and the loss that comes with bringing something into being. God had never felt pain before and could not stand it. So another little piece broke free, a little piece of God who would always be innocent, and this one didn’t hurt so much coming off. This was the divine child of many names. And God rode away on the back of her mother.
The rest of God heard the screams of one creature devouring another, and it was too much to bear. So another little piece of God broke free, a little piece who welcomed the cycles of the hunter and the hunted. This was the man of antlers, his own worst enemy, his own best friend. And God danced away in the forest.
The rest of God felt the pain of loving and not being loved back. So another little piece broke free, a little piece of God who was strong enough to handle the danger of passion. This was the fiery lover in the volcano. And God felt the earth move, and had a little smoke afterward.
The rest of God tasted the tears shed by new babies, old men and women, and young girls about to grow up. The changes were all so beautiful and sad. So another little piece broke free, a little piece of God who could make room for new things. This was the lady of passages. And God lapped up the blood.
The rest of God saw every creature and longed to speak to them all, to understand the many parts of aliveness and what it was all about. So another little piece broke free, a little piece of God who could fly anywhere and speak to anything. This was the messenger and the healer. And God coiled himself around the tree of life.
The rest of God smiled and cried at all there was, and thought of all the possibilities. And all that was God broke into little pieces: a vigorous fish never caught, a jewel-lined cave never seen, a bird of prey in its eggshell, a hungry boy about to be fed. God became a toad, poison ivy, a rock in an avalanche, a little girl with no hair. God became all the books in the library, all the dainty spiders in the sac, every color in the crystal, every muscle in the dance.
God became you. God became me. God became all existence, all joy, and all suffering, until once again there was nothing that was not God.
And it was more than good. It was great.
© 2002 Joy Harwood
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