In the beginning, there was nothing. And then, like a spark in the dark, there was everything and we called it God. In an instant, everything happened. Birth, death, life renewing itself. Stretching itself across eternity in beautiful agony. And in that life, stood you and I. Side by side and far apart. Existing, disintegrating back into the air from which we came, and reassembling in mere moments.
God so loved the world that he gave his only sun. Light, life, warmth in the middle of the nothing, for the sake of everything.
The sun so loved the world that he gave his whole life, and all his power to the Earth. A tiny ball of flames sacrificing itself for the sake of creation.
Everything is always reaching into nothing, disturbing its peace, filling every corner with possibility.
Everything expanded so far and for so long that soon nothing disappeared. And everything was all there was. Alone and not alone in all the space it occupied. Alone with itself. Wanting only more space to be and grow into. But there was none.
In the middle of everything, was a door. Opened and closed time and again, every second. Behind that door was the little bit of nothing that clung onto itself. The last bit of nothing there ever was. But the door is not easily accessible. It is only opened at the end.
On the other side of the door, there is great change happening. Energy going back into the underbelly of the mother of creation, nothing. Turning back into the dust, the space, the empty it came from.
Soon, they say, there will be so many openings of the door that nothing will grow big and strong and hungry enough to expand. Everything will be so weak, holding onto the last bits of itself for life. In desperation, everything will beg nothing for mercy.
Licking its lips for water, squinting to see the last lick of fire on the far away sun, everything will end. Parched, dark, dry and struggling to grasp air, everything will erupt in its final pleas with life.
Nothing, as patient and wise at it is, knew this day would come. Nothing will open its hand, welcoming everything back from which it came. And then, only in that moment, will everything know peace. For there will be no mother abandoning her child, no beast slain in the wild, no broken promises or cries of rebellion and everything will finally get its chance to rest.
And just like it was in the beginning, so too shall it be in the end. Nothing sat with itself, impressed and finally satiated by its silent solitude.
Until again, one day, life will spring from its coils and become. Desperate for space and joyous with possibilities. Everything will reemerge and reformulate itself and begin again.
Jam Bridgett (she/they) is a queer student, visual artist and writer of Afro-Jamaican descent in Toronto. They are interested in gender, sexuality, diaspora and human connection to the Earth. Their work can be found in Ascend Magazine, Tongue Tied Magazine and Rose Quartz Magazine. They can be found on Instagram & Twitter @yikesjamaica