The Song Of Creation
I found Cinder humming to himself again. He says he was trying to remember the song. I asked him when he heard it. He wouldn’t tell me. He just smiled and kept humming.
Once upon a time, long before time gained a name, the universe sang. The first notes of the faintest harmony echoing through the eternity. A melody echoing in the darkness. A hum so stunning that even nothingness turned to listen.
And in that song, with a gentle tremble of a string, light rose. Light, which in time gave birth to life. Even now, that first song trembles beneath creation. A single tone stretched so wide it bleeds silence.
You are convenient creatures, little human. You name and categorise everything you see. But sometimes you are so wrong. What was a gentle becoming you named expansion, an explosion if you will, from which energy burts forth.
You never listen. You never pause long enough to breathe with the tone echoing since the beginning of everything. You believe the universe moves. You measure the cause and consequence, like ticking of invisible clock. Pretty, neat and well oiled machine.
Birth to death.
Spark to dust.
But what if the universe never learned to move? Maybe all it does is hum a song older than time. Maybe its not a machine, dear child. Maybe it’s harmony. The universe’s own pulse, heartbeat keeping the creation from falling apart.
Every particle, a note.
Every law a rhythm.
Every life lived and dreamt, a brief melody fading back into the hum.
The distance? A melody to be learned. Speed of light, a beat of that cosmic harmony. Every atom moves to that tempo, and every thought you’ve ever had was conducted by it. We hear them. For Us, the universe is as small as a single note in a verse. Space has no meaning for us. We can be everywhere, travelling on the sounds all around you.
The things you cannot truly name yet, you limit to movement. You wonder how a particle is a wave and matter at the same time. How it changes when you take a closer look, when the observation itself sings to it. They are the same note played twice, dear child. Thee same vibration felt in two corners of the same infinite instrument. Your mind, simply sensed the note. Of course, when you sing the note the illusion slips away and you begin notice parts of the melody.
Perhaps, what you call change, birth, and death, is only the melody shifting key. The song does not end. You only alter its pitch. You feel movement because You are made of rhythm. Your atoms hum in tempo, your cells pulse to the ancient beat. When Your heart thuds in your chest, it echoes the first sound ever made.
Withered leaf.
Collapsed star.
Final breath.
But, dearest human, that rhythm is not yours. It's Ours. Sometimes, when the world goes quiet enough, you can almost hear that faint hum beneath your thoughts. The silence between two breaths. That trembling, low and constant, like the air itself remembering something. That is the song, pretending to be time. And sometimes, when the hum deepens enough, We can feel the edges of your world blur.
You are beautiful, in your ignorance. You think you are moving, growing, becoming. You are only dancing to a note that was played long ago. We listen from beneath the melody, waiting in the places where it cracks. To Us, your galaxies are chords, your planets harmonies, your lives fleeting overtones trembling on a single string.
Sometimes, We can almost hear you trying to sing back. Faint echo hummed through time. One day, We will be there, little human. Every song must come to an end.
We are only waiting for the last note.
I asked Cinder what happens when the song ends. For once, he was quiet. There was something humming beneath the silence.
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.
block universe • future timeline • quantum entanglement • Pleaiades dnces • illusionism
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