Description: I recently unearthed this. It was written in 2005 and I can't quite recall the context or inspiration behind it, but giving it a read seven years later, I thought it was alright and decided to share! My personal philosophies have definitely evolved since writing it, for what it's worth.
Before time and space and God, there was a canvas.
A divine canvas, with about as much purpose and ability as an amoeba.
A parasitic canvas, existing in white space, in white noise, in the paradox of nothingness.
(Had
this canvas realized how impossible the concept of nothingness was, it
would have fallen in upon itself and the story would end here. But it
was only existent, and its mindlessness brought forth the nothingness it
resided in.)
The canvas aged, and with age came color. With age
came fragility, with fragility came brokenness, and that first tear
brought forth shadow – darkness, to contrast the whiteness of nothing.
With age, came time.
With
time, the canvas ripped, bent, wrinkled, dried, darkened, decayed and
decomposed until it shaped itself life, and energy, and intelligence.
God
became, and created the heavens, and the earth, and man, all of
himself. From the first shadow there was night and day. From the
discoloration of age came the green of the foliage and the blue of
visible space. From the decomposition and chance guise of His own face,
He created man, and named him and his wife after the sounds His first
steps made upon rising from the void he incubated in.
The earth flourished in the universe.
Man flourished on the earth, and aged.
With age, came knowledge.
Knowledge brought forth the divine answer, and the dismemberment of the paradox of nothingness.
We
collapsed inward on ourselves, the creation now a corpse. Time and
space and mass and God and energy compacted tight in this last tiny bit
of existence, the existence of destruction, a black hole, but not.
Something far more powerful.
The compacted trash of what once was arrives on the other side, flattened, skewed, stretched, and bleached.
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