A CREATION MYTH
Sharon Van Raalte

How can there be a beginning? Can something come from nothing?

In the beginning, the darkness was vast, and thick, and soft, enveloping, concealing, protecting. The darkness was. Everywhere.

Soft pulsings of potential, perhaps of promise. A sense of something, then nothing.

Timeless winds and currents, drawing together or casting apart that which could be.

She drifted dark and sad, silver and cold, gossamer robes billowing in a gentle sea of motion seeking something. Her face was hidden beneath a shimmering veil encrusted with frozen tears. Her eyes remained closed, for there was nothing to see. Her being was vast and infinite. And, always and ever, sensing the presence of something close, yet far, she held her arms in front of her, hands open, palms up, her fingers aching for what was beyond, hidden and unknown. And so, she drifted dark and sad, silver and cold.

He drifted, brilliant and intense, flaring, flaming, consuming and consumed, a fiery, golden heat source seeking to illuminate that which was, but finding nothing. There was nothing and yet the promise of something, a kind of longing, drew him to scan the limitless spaces about him with restless, flashing eyes. His outstretched arms, alive with shooting flames, betrayed a yearning to touch, something. And so, he drifted, brilliant and intense, flaring, flaming. His path was of continuing darkness, since there was nothing to reflect his light, to inform him of the reality of his fierce presence.

Darkness, promise, winds of desire.

Then a subtle shift sent an almost imperceptible tremor through the expanse of all that is.

A sensation of warmth began to touch her being, starting at the tips of her fingers, slowly winding and flowing over her hands, along her arms, until her whole body leaned toward its soft embrace. She felt some new energy quicken within her.

The mirror of his searching eyes, long resigned to seeing nothing, caught the reflection of a pulsing source of light, shimmering in the distance. His fiery heart flared with new intensity and the source of light glowed brighter, as if in answer to him.

As time without time took its course, an increasing heat continued to flow through and around her. The frozen veil of tears began to melt and her eyelids began to flutter and timidly to open. Her glittering veil was like a beacon, reflecting the passionate surging of flames from his heart, and it had drawn him near to her. As he approached, her gentle cooling presence washed over the fiery intensity of his being. His restless, flashing eyes came to rest on her soft and silver lids. She opened her eyes, daring to see for the first time. The ardor gleaming from his eyes enflamed her heart and, in his eyes, she saw and knew herself for the first time. Reflected in her tender gaze he saw and knew himself for the first time.

Then each beheld the other and knew what had been missing. Their arms reached out, their fingers touched and in one dazzling moment there was darkness no more. Cool, silver gossamer swirled together with fiery, golden bursts. What had been frozen and remote was cradled in life-giving warmth. What had been burning without aim or purpose became a thirst that could be quenched. They drifted closer and closer until it could no longer be said where one ended and the other began.

His fiery form calmed and glowed softly. Her frozen form softened and sighed. The light they emitted, the melding of gold and of silver, the mist of ancient tears, pierced with the memory of searching flames, shone star-bright through the heavens. And so it continued until there was no space between their beginning and their becoming.

As time wove in and around them, they explored with awe and wonder the many expressions of their union: they knew sunsets and sunrises, warmth of day and calm of night, phases of moon and of sun, the fecundity of earth, and the changing garments of season, all witness to their ever-mingling essences of fire and of ice. And, in their embrace, life grew and multiplied, taking on countless forms, repeating the mixing and mingling of essence, of light and of dark, always and ever seeking to recreate that moment of perfect recognition.