Big Bang, with Sternutation and Seer Stones

Abstract

i.In the beginning, Mother worked yleminto a loose sphere. A swirl of stray particles,stirred by the breeze blown through herstudio window, circled her workbench,tickled her nose. She rubbed it, sneezed.Light filled the globe she held in her palm,seared it to a sea of glass and fire. Shepolished it marble-smooth with her apronthen, calling Father to come see, balanced iton the brim of the universe, stepped back,watched it sputter, spin, orbitinto the cosmos’ overturned hat. ii.Faces pressed tight in the hat's mouth,Mother, Father watched the orb whirl, churn,effloresce, breathe. Their eyes burning withfocus, they traced its off-kilter pirouettethrough the darkness, translatingits circuit around their peepinginto prophecy. Its respirations stirredtheir fervor, flooded their knowingwith the promise and uncertainty of lifesprawling across the sphere. Consciousnessflickered in the chaos. Mother exhaled,whispered the spark to smolder, flare, blaze. iii.God-bodies stirred in the burning. Piqued,Mother, Father leaned in, inhaled,ash whirling helical in their huffing,the whorl baring the paired adamah: dyadtangled fetal in red soil. Mother, Fatherpraised the unfolding, prodded the bodiesto sigh, to rise, to shake soot fromsaurian skin, to amble forth—fever-hotand hungry—and plunder the Gods’ orchard. iv.Baskets ripe with their picking, their take,the adamah—weary from reaching—looked God-ward, stretched, sat againsta tree. The orchard's dappled canopy,whispering like scales confessingthe Gods’ oracles, gossipedwith the harvest. Eavesdropping,the adamah—insatiate—palmed a drupe,took a bite, breathed its sweetness whilemulling its flesh, its inebriating grace. v.Fingering the drupe-stone, tracingthe ancient and always unfolding breviaryetched in the seed-face, the adamahbreathed in (two, three, four),breathed out (two, three, four, five),blew open the cosmos. Emergence andmovement murmured in the reverie:Mother, Father chatting in the next room,trilling laughter and “Let there be . . . ,”their gerunds palimpsest and penumbrae,life written on and written over,the groove of ritual and remembering,epiphanies and recurring dreams.Their conversation seared the drupe-stoneseared the open palm of the adamah'speeping. The seed cracked wide, sighedflaming tongues of quanta throughthe holy book of appetence and consciousness.