Into the Deep Wood

Before there was night and day, before there was anything really, there was an Idea. The Idea did not exist in a way that other things existed. In fact, it existed in a place where Nothing else existed. The Idea was something different, it was something strange, but stranger than what? The Idea was not pleased in the loneliness of the Nothing.

Out of that Idea, came something even more strange and different. Out of its want manifested matter. It ebbed and flowed, swirled, and grated against itself. It resisted and collided. Out of this came anger and sprung forth mountains, sharp cliffs, and stubborn stone against stubborn stone - and in it came fire as hot as rage. The matter burned, and the matter cooled so much that frost began forming on its surface. Yet, other matter flowed freely, cool as the frost but fluid in how it formed rivers through the mountains. Where it settled in its stillness, it formed lakes. Where it flowed and agitated, oceans and seas formed. Where the matter was plentiful, plains developed, and where it was very fine grew deserts. Where the matter was light, it became clouds and skies.

The Idea was pleased. It was so pleased that this created warmth and circled the mountains, skies, and deserts whole.

This matter existed. This matter was. But the Idea wanted more.

The Idea wanted, and so its want became something else. Something else sprung forth from the matter, breathing, forming, reaching up to the skies above. Thick trunks and fragile plants, weaving jungle and moss crawling over the stones in the oceans and lakes, and against all odds in the unforgiving deserts where it grew harsh and equally cruel. It covered the earth and swallowed all that would have it.

The Idea was pleased.

It took what it had created and enveloped itself around it as a heavy mantle. But the Idea wanted more. It wanted to become. But how can you become if you are not? In this new world, the Idea tried and tried to be something that was in a place that wasn’t. Giving pieces of itself, it pushed its might, and suddenly, it rained upon the earth as conscious life - where for an eternity it was not, suddenly it was. These tears hit the ground, and where they did, things began to crawl. Where its tears were swallowed by the ocean, they began to swim. Life fought for itself among the mountains, streams, and plants. Each one of these little pieces broke forth, and soon it walked, and soon it ran.

The Idea was pleased.

But still, it was not quite a part of this creation. And so to be in this world, it left the world that was not, and as it entered the world that was - the trail it left behind littered the sky in an uncountable amount - sparkling but never falling to the ground. It moved with force, trying to break into life itself. And so it did. But as it did it broke into a million golden pieces, stuck between time and space as they rained down onto the Earth.

And just like that, the Idea was no more.