the Origin

the Origin

Wound, Well, Womb


Her hair falls down, down to the depths, to meet a well of living water.


Her life waits upon the Word cradled in her womb. 


The first stroke to mold her was but a single wound, still there to part the clay.

After the Storm

When the smoke had parted, when the fire fueled by the lighting-stricken tree abated, the purpose of the storm remained.


In that fateful stroke, the waters down below once met the waters up above.  They flow still, to meet where the waters turn to blood.  In her they ebb and churn for life anew. 


the Origin
the Origin

Walking on Water

Fury in the waters!  The observed laws of gravity should sink her.  Rage in the winds!  She violates the forces as she remains upright within them.  


“Come!” resonates in every chamber of air, land, and sea.   The elements obey the ancient words of the winds upon the waters as they form the vacuum’s womb about and within her who tends the wound.


The Primordial Womb Reformed

Alone in the empty waters, she cries for help.  The eagle's talons bring the bitter opposite. She is again in the state of the primordial womb.  Amidst the call and the hiss, she too now grips the serpent.  


Alone in the empty waters, she cries for help.   A cry from above joins hers, but the bitter opposite comes hissing in the eagle's talons.  Amidst the primordial womb of the vacuum, she too now grips the serpent that would strangle the created womb.  Her wound again joins that of the creature that parts the waters.


the Origin
the Origin


Her hands were made so she could mold the veil, her eyes and ears for her to behold its forms and thunders.  That same veil bound her hands, separated her eyes from the light, shut her ears.  Indeed, she slept within the strangling bonds that wanted for her life.


Still she hears one call, that of the Origin she had confessed to be the Word with Us even as she lay abandoned.  With every awakening, with every unfolding bud she sees in spring, she hears the words "Come Forth!"  Her confession stands upon the pedestal, the foundation of art and science.



The nations seek their origins; they weigh upon her shoulders.  From where will she find the strength to carry the infant that weighs upon her womb?    


She walks the treacherous path where the rushing waters split the earth, where only the ancient pillars hold her.


Between the weights, the waters that gather about her turn to blood.  They generate the strength to carry the infant Origin.


the Origin
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