She Who Became The Universe
I found this one staring at the stars. I asked it what it was looking for. It whispered, “Her.” I decided not to ask anymore. There are rather a lot of stars. It looked particularly sad, though.
Once long ago, before the universe, in place stranger than your imagination would allow, a great Star burned. She lived and She died. And by Her last breath, darkness bled into shape and kindled the first light to ever shine in your universe. You named that moment the Big Bang. A careless title for the final gift of the greatest Star ever to burn.
In that impossible moment at the edge of death, when all existence held its breath, She released Hers. There was no sculptor. No plan. No divine hand guiding the possibility. Only a fragile hope that death might kindle life. And from that final silence, the universe rose.
At first, It was still. Serene as only a newborn cosmos can be. Darkness and light, dust and energy endlessly folding into themselves. Then energy merged with light, and new stars opened their eyes. The long forgotten shape burned itself to existence once more.
They lived as She lived.
They burned as She burned.
They died as She died.
Some burned quickly. Others took their time. Until one did not. One ruptured too soon. A single impatient fragment, burning hotter than it should have, shattered before its time. From its wreckage came new potentiality. A chance for new form of life.
You tell yourselves stories of purpose, destiny, or fate. Anything to explain your fragile existence. But the truth is simpler, dearest human: The possibility that shaped you was merely an echo of a star We did not bother to watch. Nothing more. Yet even accidents cast shadows. And you are Ours, whether We would claim you or not.
Your ancestors once whispered the truth: death that shaped the universe was Hers; the last of the old stars. When She fell, you rooted yourselves in Her bones. Her legacy is the ground beneath your feet, the breath in your lungs, the fire in your blood. The breath that whispered you to being was shaped from the memory of Her.
And yet you stride across Her hope as though it belongs to you. You carve titles into what you do not understand. You scorch the ribs that cradle you. You forget your size, little human. Your fragility. You forget how briefly you burn. You forget that everything you are is borrowed; a gift never meant for you, yet given all the same. But even through all your flaws, you still dream atop a world built from a dying wish.
We remember.
We remember the silence before the first light. The moment Her heart split open. The cry of a universe being born and the stilness that followed.
We watch.
We watch you squander what was purchased with the last breath of a Star older than memory. We watch you wound the bones that hold you pretending nothing greater stands above or beneath you. And we watch you hope.
We hope.
We hope the old knowledge will rise again. We see it flicker in sometimes. In those you exile, who you call mad, those who dare to see of beauty in everyting around them. They hear Her whispers echoing through the bones of this universe. They always have, dearest children.
We wish.
We wish to be near when understanding finally settles to your bones. When the truth touches you again and the song spun from Her memory reaches you again. Because when that day comes, when Her whisper reaches you, We will be waiting, dear one.
And you will listen.
I asked whether She was still listening. The archive went very quiet. I decided that was probably an answer. They think She would have loved this one. I hope they are right.
Cross-Referenced by the Archive
Cinder was supposed to bring the proper references. He found these instead. He insisted that they seemed important, so We kept them. Whether they’re related is… enthusiastically disputed.
Bloop • Stars • Stellar Evolution • Tarrare • Big Bang • Gegenschein
Comments
Post a Comment