At the beginning there was nothing. Just an abyss of nothingness and darkness, but it was before light had come into existence, so the darkness was without a name. It just existed within the framework of nothing, yet nothing knew that it existed. It was from this state of nothingness that chaos emerged. The beginning of the void itself. The empty nothingness from which all matter sprung from and from which all matter is contained.

At this point, a being of pure essence had been born and the nothingness contained a tiny part of its essence.

The essence was the beginning of light. Light was the beginning of matter. And when light met darkness, the two combined and became known as the soul; a particle that is both darkness and light. By being part of darkness and part of light, the soul could live in either; a creature with light and darkness mixed together within it.

This was the first order of the cosmos.

From within the essence there was a spark that grew and grew until it burst into swirly, twirly gumdrops of energy that sparked an explosion that set the universe into motion.

It happened in an instant and over a thousand millenia. From the womb of nothingness, nothing dilated as chaos shifted into position and through the cosmic birthing waves the universe came into being.

Planets emerged and were destroyed in the wake of a thermonuclear storm and were formed again as existence rushed forward at a speed of 13.7 billion years per second.

The first order of the cosmos was named Light.

And the essence saw the Light and saw that it was good. And through the essence’s words, the light gathered itself into a form, separating itself from the darkness and within that, darkness had a name and the second order of the cosmos came into being.

The second order of the cosmos was named the Abyss. The Abyss was filled with darkness and that birthed the third order of the cosmos as the worlds were formed.

The third order of the cosmos was named the Earth. The Earth separated from the heavens and the waters were all formed; separating chaos from order.

And from order came Being, the fourth order of the cosmos. Within Being lived the soul, where darkness and light still were mixed together; living in order or outside of order, in chaos.

And from Being came the fifth and final order of the cosmos, Consciousness, as the first symbiotic membrane pulled itself onto the shore and willed legs into existence.

The algae and plankton of the waters were replaced by flora and fauna from the Earth. As well as algae that grew at the base of towering trees and enormous networks of fungi. Nourishment from the Earth allowed Consciousness to form into cohesive thought and with thought came desire and desire came in the form of procreation.

Generation after generation of mankind rolled past me. From the ecstasy of coupling to the pain of birthing—over and over again. Emerging from the womb—crawling, pushing, pulling out—crying out as a lightning strike reignites a dying star and a new being emerges from its mother—crawling, pushing, pushing out.

Over and over again until I am crawling, pushing, being pulled out. Sucking in air for the first time. Crying.

Where is my mother?

And she is there holding my hands as I take my first steps.

And then I am there, holding Eleanor’s hands as she takes her first steps.

Pulled back into my childhood. Feeling myself running through the woods. Bouncing off the walls with an enormous amount of energy. Laughing. Telling jokes—mostly about pee-pee and poo-poo.

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“I have a big penis!” I once shouted at the top of my lungs.

“Do you know what a big penis is?” one of the neighborhood boys asked me.

“Um, it’s a thing on a horse. It has—”

He cuts me off. “You’re going to have to do better than that. How big is it?”

“I know!” I shout. “I know! It’s the biggest…” I’m at a loss for words as my young mind sorts through other words I had heard other, cooler kids saying, but was unsure what their meaning was.

“I think you only have a small penis,” the boy says. “The smallest penis in the whole world!”

“No way!” I shout, finally figuring out the right word. “I have a giant cock!”

And that was when my mother came upon us after calling and calling for me with no answer. She was scared something had happened, but the vulgarity of penis talk had sent her over the edge. She grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me, telling me that if I don’t cut it out and calm down she’d put me on Ritalin.

Closing myself off. Putting up barriers between what I feel and what I am expected to feel; barriers between what I should say and share and the potentiality of getting into trouble or being shamed.

My uncles are pinning me to the floor of my Grandparents’ house. It’s a ritual during these family gatherings: torture the nephews.

They are tickling and pinching. Sharp little pinches behind my knees, then on my thighs on either side of my testicles, and then near the perineum. I don’t like how it feels. I don’t like how it makes me feel, but I just lay still and take it until they get bored and move on to someone willing to kick and scream.

“Close your eyes. Go to sleep.” I’m sitting on Eleanor’s bed and she is laying under her covers, her eyes open, watching me.

“Daddy,” she begins, but I cut her off.

“It’s night-night time. No more questions. Time for sleep.” I’m anxious about something. Tired of the constant questions. Needing my own time; time where no one is making demands of me. Veronica is asleep—the pain medication finally kicking in—and after this final task I could get to whatever mindless activity I wanted to get to.

Pushing.

Avoiding.

Constantly pushing people away, so I can be alone.

And then wondering why I feel so alone.

It’s ironic how as soon as we’re born we’re moving or being moved away from our parents. That’s what we’re told to do. They don’t trust us to do what’s best for ourselves. We don’t trust them, because we’re our own person and we’re constantly trying to inject our sense of independence. Until we are our own person and we realize how lonely it truly is.

I’m sitting up in bed and my childhood room is dark. I’m scared, but I know the rules and the expectations around the rules. I’m too old to go into my parents’ room for comfort. If I crawled into their bed, I’d wake them up and get yelled at.

“What are you doing out of bed?”

“How old are you? You’re too old for this! You’re not a baby anymore. Are you a baby?”

So I sit there, looking at the shadows in the hallway thinking that within the shadows there’s something there; something from the nightmare I just had.

But God is all around us. He will help me feel safe. So I ask for him in the silence and there’s no answer. Is he angry at me? Did I do something wrong the day before and that is why he isn’t answering me?

Maybe Mary will answer, so I start to pray. “Hail Mary…” I watch the shadows and listen in the silence for some form of comfort to emerge, but there isn’t an answer. I think about the Bible story about how a man listened for God and it wasn’t in a fire or an earthquake but in a cool, almost silent breeze. So I listen harder; straining my ears beyond the creaks of the house or the buzzing of the air conditioner.

And when the silence breaks with something of a sigh, I don't feel like I'm being listened to by God, and a certain loneliness is born within me.

No. No. No, Mary doesn't know. She shouldn't listen to me. Why would she? I’m just a fuck up; another bad kid. I don’t deserve to hear her voice.

No one answers, so I fall back asleep.

Eleanor lays in her bed, finally asleep.

I lay in the vacuum of space and time. Suspended without a gravitational pull; feeling completely free.

Around me, I can see a shimmering in the darkness. A string plucked; vibrating, creating a quiet resonance.

I keep getting lost in my own head.

And I have work to do.

I can see the stars.

I can see my dreams all around me.

I can see my dreams.

I can see my dreams.

I can see my dreams.