There are those who feel that the universe is cold, unfeeling and unyielding. And there are those who feel that the universe is but the playground for the ultimate forces of good & evil in which to have their merry way with all of us. And there are those who feel that the universe is but a transient home to this whim we call life, and endure only because we know of no other place to go...

But I say to you this - the universe is alive... sentient... and reciprocates the attention given unto Her...

This is a long, and very old, story.

In the beginning there was naught but the long and silent dark. For ever did it dwell in this way, spinning about itself with naught else to see, to feel, to touch... to experience. But awareness persisted... indeed, it came unto being as a subtle shadow within the greatest of all shadows. And so Death was born. Even before the first "living" thing, was Death begotten. For even the infinity of shadow we call darkness knew that it had an end. An end which would in turn lead to yet another beginning. But that is a different story altogether....

"In the beginning, all was formless and void...."

The dark circled endlessly, and, knowing this, sought for a way in which to experience itself. It existed, had always existed, yet now sought for a way in which to view itself.

"And a light was cast forth upon the waters...."

The eternal darkness sent forth a bit of itself, separated a part of itself, and cast it forth. And upon casting this forth it was able to view itself, by reflection. But this was not enough. For all it could see was its own shadow, illumined by the light that was its reflection....

"There was a commotion upon the waters of the dark...."

Think carefully upon the word "commotion"... "communal motion"... Thus began the dance... The dance of creation, the dance of life, the dance of all things...

And this dance was not exactly the dark dancing with itself. No. This dance was the dance of the eternal with that which is transient. This was the dance of Death. And this dance shall continue until the universe collapses unto itself, until She retreats from the majesty She has created. Until existence tires of itself and desires to be refreshed...

We are still but as babes unto Her. Her wandering children, each a reflection of the whole. Each of our unique perspectives waiting to be received back into the eternal bosom from whence we were born. Waiting for each of our hearts to join with the heart of all. Waiting to go Home... Waiting for that spark of the singular flame which burns within us all...

This singular flame was the union of that which is eternal with that which is transient. It was born of the dance. For the motion of such created an energy hitherto unknown, and the resultant fusion of Death and Darkness (and the darkened shadow, light) produced an expanse of energy which radiated out from the body of the infinite. As it passed over the body of Darkness it took on shape, and form... mass and energy... until it became as if an infinite number of eyes were reflecting upon the body of the eternal dark.

And so was the first lie born, for the eyes of the infinite gaze upon the body of the infinite. And we are but the dying embers of that first initial flame...
And as the starred eyes of the infinite spread, encompassing Her body, the body of the dark, some of them became closed. Upon these smaller, even more transient, eyes opened. They could not see the body of the dark in all of Her magnificence. They could only perceive the closed lid, and that which danced upon and within it. Full of fleeting thoughts, and quick impulses, these smaller eyes matured and eventually began to wonder. They also spread more quickly than the larger eyes and became more and more diffuse, until all but a slight spark was left of the original dance. But it still remained, as pure as the moment it first occurred.

There were many sparks who could not believe that they were offshoots of such a grand dance. Many chose not to see the source which glared at them nightly. Rather, they would believe that the closed eye which they inhabited was all that existed. While others yet recognized that the membrane upon which they existed would awake at some point in time, but chose not to realize all of the implications of this.

And there were but a few who realized that they resided upon an eye which was but dreaming, and that their lives were as the rapid REM movements of that eye. For the infinite has eternal patience and an unending curiosity... But eventually the drummer who lulls such eyes unto dream will tire and cease, and the eye will open once again.

And the beauty of the eternal dark will come crashing home as a full blown light, incandescent against the shadowed sky, and the swirl of the eternal dance will catch up that world in the ecstasy of a moment, and all will become dark, once again...

And a myriad of impressions, recollections, lifetimes... the continuity of the quick, fleeting consciousnesses will merge into one final, glorious, collective sigh and the energy of but one eye from an infinite amount of them will return from whence it came with but the slightest shudder of orgasm.

And the Darkness will smile, for this happens continually... And She will open yet another eye...

And Death will bow, courtly and statesmanlike, and begin yet another dance...

Until the end...

There are open eyes, and there are dreaming eyes... The open eyes of the infinite are the stars, ever burning. Burning until the moment they have seen all of Her that they can comprehend. Then they jettison their matter to create the smaller, quicker and brighter eyes which inhabit the dreaming ones. Or they condense upon themselves in an effort to return from whence they came.

But the dreaming eyes have shut their lids. For they have become home to the lighter energies of Her diffuse form. They are the bright eyes looking out upon Her body fractionally, in the moments between, to see if that which is transient can remember that which is eternal.

We are the swift, momentary lights which can either strive after Home or ignore it.

We have the choice of acknowledging that which we all share, or merely pecking at the dust that accumulates upon the lidded eye of our transient home. To peck at the dust is to become one with the dust. It is our choice.

The lidded eyes, the dreaming eyes... These are the worlds. We find ourselves inhabiting these, and we are bound to them in a most subtle way. For our memories are the world's memories. Each and every one of our bright lights are entwined with the world which we inhabit, for we return to Her as one.

Meanwhile, Death harvests and transmutes/recycles the quick, bright lights of each world, keeping everything whole. Until the time when He must come for a world as a whole. Then the dreaming eye awakes. Then that world's eye is shut, and returns unto the infinite dark. Then that world and all upon it go home, as one.

What has this to do with our lives, our day to day existence? Everything and nothing. For we always have the choice. We can strive to feel that singular flame, or not. We can become entrapped within the confines of our physical restraints, or seek to break out of them. We can seek to know, to feel,... or simply seek to exist.

We can all seek to break the bonds of physicality in our own, unique ways. For the infinite contains eternal diversity. There is no one way, no one god/goddess, no one point of view which can be said to be more valid than any other. For our own lenses of that which is eternal will always colour that which is transient. And that which is transient is but our lives, as far as we can perceive them.

Therefore we should only listen to our hearts, for within our own, bright, flickering hearts burns the flame of the eternal spark. And that spark is a flame which is limitless, colourless, heatless... A flame which knows no boundaries, physical or otherwise. A flame which burns whether we recognize it or not.

The flame that burns, ever. It is there, always. And will continue to be that same flame even after we, as distinct personalities... are gone.

2001 by Daniel Kemp