Dunes (Notevember 2020, #13)

Where there is light, there is life. On the dunes, there is nothing but light. Too much light. Sun that bears down on the countless grains of sand, unrelenting, merciless, deadly. And no water in sight.

Where there is life, there is change. The sands are ever shifting in the wind. One day a peak here, the next a valley in the same spot. Not that you would know it, or be able to find it again. Every dune the same, every dune different. Burning days fade into coldhearted nights. And no shelter in sight.

Hot sun, cold moon, no water, no shelter, nothing to steer by except the stars. But there is life, all the same. It was here, my child – though you will not believe it – it was here that life began. Not life like you and me, no. What was born here was not human or animal, but gods.

This is the story we tell each other, ourselves, anyone who needs to hear. Is it true? Of course it is! Perhaps not in words, or happenings, or time or place. But certainly in meaning. Surely that is the truest truth you can find, child? So listen, now.

Above the sea of sand, on the night before nights, the sky opened and a star fell down. The star was not a god; there were no gods then. The star was power. That is what the sky holds, you see. Power. And the Earth holds time, and things – like sand and water, air and black oil. The stars know not the passing of time, but the Earth does. And the Earth was patient. His patience paid off. Now there’s a lesson for you.

Power was what the Earth had waited for. The power to build, to grow, to make life. The Earth alone could not make life, you see, and neither could stars. So when this star landed, dazed and bewildered by the crash, the Earth acted quickly. He stole the star’s power, letting it drain into the ground, infuse into the sand, the rock, the great fire below – and spread. Soon it had seeped into oceans, thence to rivers, onward to lakes. And water held life well. The Earth was pleased.

The star was not. It pulled back from the Earth’s grasp, trying to regain its stolen power. But it was weakened, separated into a thousand little pieces, none of them strong enough to hold the power inside. The star knew it would die. But it also realized that two could play at the Earth’s game.

So it was that the star began to build a creature. A shell hard like rock, an inside flowing with water, breath of rushing air – all these things the creature possessed. But most importantly, it was slippery like the black oil that flows from mountain crevices – so that the Earth could not catch it.

Into this creature, the star poured its power – all of it, such that not a drop was left over – and then it died. This was the First God, the God with No Name, for it had no one to name it. It was new, and alone, and frightened. But it had the power to create, and mastery over matter. All one needs to make life.

So it is that there is life in this world that is born of Earth: trees, bushes, blossoms, mushrooms and seaweeds. And life born of the gods: humans, animals, and the small things that fit into the deep places, and tiny spaces, and vibrate with the song of the world.

And what the First God did on the first day? That is a story for another time. I promise you will hear it soon enough. Now sleep, child, and know that whatever troubles the Earth may put on your path, the gods have made you, and the gods will keep you.