The Desert
"My soul leads me into the desert, into the desert of my own self... My soul, what am I to do here?
But my soul spoke to me and said, "Wait."
Liber Novus, cap. iv.
I am walking through the desert. I feel the hot sand on my feet. I am thirsty, the salt of my sweat stings my eyes.
I lay on the ground, arms spread wide and palms and fingers exploring the parched earth.
I get up onto my knees.
Suddenly, I am very old, with a long white beard. A great wind comes from the right.
I am caught in a cyclone. It feels like a wave, and I am caught in the undertow.
The wind is blowing harder. It is blowing away not just me, but the desert and terra firma itself. It is a cosmic wind, clearing the plate, so to speak.
I/matter/the desert struggle to maintain a foothold. The cosmic wind is overpowering.
The last vestiges of matter, now shaped by the wind into a form like the head of a comet, are being blown away, exit stage left.
There is utter stillness and silence.
A tiny, embryonic shape emerges from the vastness of space.
It disappears, then reemerges in the shape of a sunflower -- or is it a sea anemone? -- undulating.
Light emerges from the center of the flower.