The Sieve
There had to be a beginning. Our logical mind compels us to this conclusion, even if we cannot claim to know everything about how to think and order the world.
We imagine an atom, although in the beginning, scientists tell us, these small stones of energy could not exist. There was something else then, a cosmic soup, a plasma, waves so dense and wide that their tide had no meaning, no direction.
And then, something must have occurred, a kind of sieve with large holes, allowing a first separation, perhaps the wheat and the chaff, perhaps none of that yet, only a differentiation that grew ever more intense, not as we picture it in Hollywood films, with great bursts of light, but slowly, linear monsters engendering vertical monsters while other separators, conciliators, and slayers were being built.
Gods? It is still too early to think of them. All we know is that our ignorance has no access to this and probably never will.
It is believed that proto-atoms appeared one day in a universe that had no days. Thin densities began to swirl among themselves and, through repeated encounters, eventually collapsed, loved one another, let us put it that way, until the stars, spontaneously and, it is thought, almost all at once for the first ones, were born.
Light after so many nights and so much churning, sieves multiplying, forming ever more geometric layers. Everything became magnificent, grandiose, nothing tamed, probably just as implacable as before. Order had been born.
Gods? Not yet. The Earth did not exist, nor even the sun. The circus went on without humans. It is supposed that Intelligence appeared in one of these cosmic rumblings, but surely very far from the region that would become our neighbourhood.
We know so little. All we can tell ourselves now is that our atoms flee, pass through subtle sifters, akin to what may have been God after all.
But this too we will never fully convince ourselves of, for the small Time jostling through the channels of our veins is the echo of no call, of no cry.
Our existence can only be music, song, and dance. This is no doubt what comes closest to those first currents carving beds into the promising substrate of the World.
Let us listen to our melodies, observe the beauty of our spasms and the rhythm of our rituals. Let us become humble again, for the chaos that seems to engulf us is but illusion. We are little and everything in the Universe, which, in the end, should silence us in prayer.
