“Almost Nearly Awesome”

Here, in the beginning was the word. And the word said ‘here’ and here he was. He knew not why he was here (do any of us?), but he was here and there was nothing else here, only darkness–though lacking even the quantity called ‘darkness’. And though there was not yet loneliness, terror, or cold; the being found himself terribly lonely and cold. Before the being could utter a magic word or a command, light raised up to the sky and illumination seeped onto the earth causing the being to smile for a moment, but then again he found himself crying because the light had only further lit up and revealed the full extent of nothingness.

And into this he inserted “friends”–a species that existed too briefly for history and science to find or name them. But these ‘friends” lacked food and water and as the being tried to speak with them and tell them of his pain, their skin shriveled up from thirst and fell upon their bones from hunger. While the being spoke of loneliness and heartache and longing, the creature he had created perished painfully and died one-by-one until all he could speak to were corpses.

So he created water, to wash away the dead and clean the bloody ground. And moving over the crystal clear substance, the being saw his own face and shook the earth with horror and disgust. I’m awfully ugly, he thought, as again he thought of the word ‘here’ and asked himself ‘Why am I here?’ if I’m so ugly. Then out
of
the water
arose bits of
reflectionless land,
were his face
couldn’t be seen and
he was as beautiful as he wanted to beThen out of the water arose bits of reflectionless land, were his face couldn’t be seen and he was as beautiful as he wanted to be. Plants and trees grew up on this mass, but the being didn’t like that the light shined for all eternity, so he split the day into two parts: one light, one dark.

Then all the plant and trees died from the shock of the new, unsustainable darkness and he had to start again. And as they healed, he created a new batch of species, let’s call them “friends 2″, and this time he thought to make them in his image. But having spent so much time on land, he hadn’t seen his image in a while and these “friends” he made were everything he wasn’t, but wanted to be: perfect, beautiful, sure, and confident even when the nighttime nothingness came. And they too were hungry, so not wishing to repeat his mistake, the being went about filling the water with fish for them to eat and while doing this he saw his reflection again and then saw theirs and realized the vast difference from what we think we are and what reflections tell us we truly are. So, though his anger was really with himself, he sent a giant fireball to wipe out the new “friends” and that was that.

The Earth then began feeling up with creatures he planned properly; odd, strange looking things that he didn’t have to fear: ducks, zebras, spiders, anteaters, elephants, whales. And then he said, “Let the word now be, without a doubt: I am the most beautiful being here.”

But whether angry at their lot in life or just unable to communicate, the creatures didn’t talk to him, didn’t thank him or praise him, didn’t ask him for anything. There’s really no such thing as “charity” on this earth, we all act in our own interests–that’s not to say we’re bad, but even the most charitable among us wants a simple “thank you” every now and then for his own pleasure. God didn’t get this from the beasts, even as they fed on the very grass he had put in place for them.

And so came Eve. A thing far more flawed than the “friends”, perhaps even an accurate mirror of himself. And God spoke to her and, to his delight, she spoke back. And he told her about the stress of power, of not understanding the ‘why’ of the ‘here’, and–though almost whispering–he told her of his great loneliness. And she smiled in sympathy. Eve was thankful, Eve was talkative, Eve was kind; but Eve grew bored rather quickly and soon Eve was “too tired” to speak and was “too busy collecting fruit” to listen. But on occasion, when the storms came and the ground shook, Eve would start talking to God again and asking him for help. And he would help and then ask if she ever got lonely like he did and did she know that it’s–

But she didn’t care once the rain stopped.

And God grew envious when she went other places and mad at her occasional stupidity and flustered with her fickleness and impatient when she wouldn’t thank him again and again. Who the hell did she think she was? Doesn’t she realize that I’m the be all and end all of her existence?

More storms came and more earthquakes; poisons found their way into Eve’s food, making her sick and the animals became violent and mauled her several times and though God came down and asked, “Oh, Eve, are you okay?” he still grinned from up in the heavens at all her new miseries.

One day he found her sobbing, shedding the same tears that had used to create his oceans and his rivers.

“What’s wrong,” God asked, as the old tenderness came back; speaking while stopping the rains and stabilizing the ground.

But it wasn’t the weather or beasts that bothered Eve. “I understand,” she finally said. “I know the loneliness you speak of.”

And all of their long talk together came into his head and he realized that he was, for her, nothing but a voice from the heavens. Not a mate or a partner or even a friend. Oh, what a mess I’ve created, God thought, as the sun rose over the seventh day. Too tired to start again, too tired to even argue with Eve: he created Adam for her and retreated back into his nothingness for a time. “Have fun”, he thought as he took one last somber look at his creations.

And his reflection could now be seen on the land too. In us. In Everything.