Before the Beginning was the Wordless

Creation dances in the stillness you carry inside you. Earth and stars whirl through your body. You knew this as a toddler, stumbling from your mother's to your father's arms.

You knew because you had no Word to explain it. When words came, they cast what they could not describe into an outer darkness. Before the beginning was the Wordless.

Say not that the world was created through the Word, for many worlds were lost, stillborn in shattered cocoons of speechlessness, galaxies unwound to threads of murmur and shadow, melodies fled into the rainforest, wishing to be no more than parrot echos among the cashapona trees.

For each Word spoken, a brown naked vision song was forgotten, sweet on the undulatant tongue
of night, the starless unwritten syllable of your innocence. This is why, if you wish to touch the Creator again, you must return to the prayerless dark; remember the uncreated stillness of the hour before dawn.

Here, now, let your breath taste the nectar of silence...

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