Gospel of the Goddess

In the beginning, the Goddess was one. In the end, she will be one again.

The nature of the Goddess is to contract and relax, to expand and retract.
The only constant is change.

But in the beginning the goddess was born; if there had been a world she would have been born on a hillside in a crackling, blowing, howling storm. As there was no world, she was born in a void-storm, a storm within the emptiness of nothing.

Imagine nothing, if you can: our best human approximation is to image greyness, blankness, a flat surface with no edges and no features directly before one's eyes. In nothing everything is small and large, loud and quiet, thin and thick, soft and hard, sweet and bitter, wrong and right. These raging contradictions cannot exist together long, and hence produce the aforementioned storm. A great disturbance of force and mass shot out of the oneness of the Goddess, and where there was once one, there became two, four, eight, sixteen, thirty-two, sixty-four, one hundred and twenty-eight, two hundred and fifty-six, five hundred and twelve, one thousand and twenty-four, two thousand and forty-eight, four thousand and ninety-six, eight thousand one hundred and ninety-two. sixteen thousand three hundred and eighty-four, thirty-two thousand seven hundred and sixty-eight, sixty-five thousand five hundred and thirty-six, one hundred thirty-one thousand and seventy-two. And each of the one hundred thirty-one thousand and seventy-two parts became one hundred thirty-one thousand and seventy-two parts became mother to seventeen billion one hundred seventy-nine million eight hundred sixty-nine thousand one hundred and eighty-four suns. But this is still only in the beginning.

Each sun collected debris from creation. Sometimes suns came together, sometimes they blew apart, sometimes they birthed new suns. The debris might make a sun grow or shrink, live or die. Doing so, however, took an incredibly long time. For some period of this time, the debris circled about the suns and from one sun to another in various patterns. This circling, even as a small subsection of long time, yet also took a very long time, particularly from our human perspective. Some of the debris was uniquely suited to further multiplication of the goddess: it was a planet, a relatively round object in a happy medium between its sun and the rest of the cosmos. But the planet was bare: on the lifeless surface where only the void raged in its multitudinous contradiction, hot and cold, wet and dry, sharp and round, where the goddess was born again, and again, the one became two, four, eight, sixteen, thirty-two, sixty-four, one hundred twenty-eight, two hundred fifty-six, five hundred and twelve, one thousand and twenty-four, two thousand and forty-eight, four thousand and ninety-six, eight thousand one hundred and ninety-two, sixteen thousand three hundred and eighty-four, thirty-two thousand seven hundred and sixty-eight, sixty-five thousand five hundred and thirty-six, one hundred thirty-one thousand and seventy-two. And each of the one-hundred thirty-one thousand and seventy-two parts became one hundred thirty-one thousand and seventy-two parts became mother to seventeen billion one hundred seventy-nine million eight hundred sixty-nine thousand one hundred and eighty-four cells. But this is still only in the beginning.

Each cell collected debris from creation. Sometimes cells grew together, sometimes they grew apart, sometimes they birthed new cells. The debris might make a cell grow or shrink, live or die. Doing so, however, took an incredibly long time. For some period of this time, the cells grew and circled each other and the debris in various patterns. This growth and circling, even as a small subsection of long time, yet also took a very long time, particularly from our human perspective. Some of the cells were uniquely suited to further multiplication of the goddess: they created organisms, relatively coherent beings able to maintain a happy medium of survival between life and death. But these organisms were question-less: their thoughtless minds only directed to the next mate or the next meal, where only the void raged in its multitudinous contradiction, starving and full, fertile and sterile, sentient and dumb, where the goddess was born again, and again and again, the one became two, four, eight, sixteen, thirty-two, sixty-four, one hundred twenty-eight, two hundred fifty-six, five hundred and twelve, one thousand and twenty-four, two thousand and forty-eight, four thousand and ninety-six, eight thousand one hundred and ninety-two, sixteen thousand three hundred and eighty-four, thirty-two thousand seven hundred and sixty-eight, sixty-five thousand five hundred and thirty-six, one hundred thirty-one thousand and seventy-two. And each of the one-hundred thirty-one thousand and seventy-two parts became one hundred thirty-one thousand and seventy-two parts became mother to seventeen billion one hundred seventy-nine million eight hundred sixty-nine thousand one hundred and eighty-four sentient beings. But this is still only in the beginning.

And this is where we are now: each of us from beavers and birds to cats and humans collects debris from creation. Sometimes we grow together, sometimes we grow apart, sometimes we birth new beings. The debris may make us grow or shrink, live or die. Doing so, however, may take an incredibly long time. For some period of this time, we may grow and circle each other and the debris in various patterns. This growth and circling, even as a small subsection of long time, yet also may take a very long time, particularly from our human perspective. Some of us sapient beings may be uniquely suited to further multiplication of the goddess: they may create some new instantiation of being able to maintain a happy medium within some new frame of reference. But with respect to these beings we ourselves are mere surfaces: where only the void rages in its multitudinous contradiction, with and without, yes and no, where the goddess will be born again, and again and again and again, the one will become two, four, eight, sixteen, thirty-two, sixty-four, one hundred twenty-eight, two hundred fifty-six, five hundred twelve, one thousand and twenty-four, two thousand and forty-eight, four thousand and ninety-six, eight thousand and one hundred ninety-two, sixteen thousand three hundred and eighty-four, thirty-two thousand seven hundred and thirty-eight, sixty-five thousand five hundred and thirty-six, one hundred thirty-one thousand and seventy-two. And each of the one hundred thirty-one thousand and seventy-two will become one hundred thirty-one thousand and seventy-two will become mother to seventeen billion one hundred seventy-nine million eight hundred sixty-nine thousand one hundred and eighty-four new beings. But this will be still only in the beginning.

In the end, there will be at least a kind of symmetry. The newest beings will die, and the oldest beings will die. The goddess will no longer expand but contract from all directions. The one hundred billion one hundred seventy-nine million eight hundred sixty-nine thousand one hundred and eighty four kinds will shrink back to one hundred thirty-one thousand and seventy-two to sixty-five thousand five hundred and thirty-six, to thirty-two thousand seven hundred and thirty-eight, to sixteen thousand three hundred and eighty-four, to eight thousand and one hundred ninety-two, to four thousand and ninety-six, to two thousand and forty-eight, to one thousand and twenty-four, to five hundred twelve, to two hundred fifty-six, to one hundred twenty-eight, to sixty-four, to thirty-two, to sixteen, to eight, to  four, to two, to one. A great disturbance of force and mass will storm across all of creation and where there was once one, there will no longer be anything. The void of nothing will reign again. So in the end, the Goddess will be one again, just as in the beginning the Goddess was one. The nature of the Goddess is to retract and expand, to relax and contract. The only constant is change. And every end is also a beginning.