Book of Keys - Dawn

I’m not sure I’ll do anything with this book idea tbh. I like it a lot, but the conflict is pretty meta. It’s a lot more of an analysis of humanity and what God would think of modern times. Or like, what would the Bible be like if God wrote it instead of followers?

(I’m not really that religious, but I always find religious stuff to be so fun! Not just Christianity, but all kinds. Also, this story is super blasphemous.)

ANYWAY. Here’s the first chapter.

In the beginning: there was heat, there was light, and there was me.

Dawn

This is the account of a time before God, written by God, in which there is no doubt.  Those who believe in the unknown and the unknowable will be gifted guidance.  Faith is yours to gift in return.

I am not here to refute the texts written in my name or to wash away what has endured for millennia.  The admiration shown to me through time immemorial has filled me with a great sense of purpose, and for that I am thankful.  I am God, and I am thankful.  Yet, there are matters that demand correction, and the first is perhaps my most egregious: that of conception.

On the first day, I created nothing.  I was not the first thing to exist, but the third.  We all came about in rapid sequence, and I am confident of the order.

First, there was heat.  The vastness of the universe was torn asunder.  For the first time, something could be one of two things rather than one of one.  Disparity was conceived.  Difference was born.

Second, there was light.  In a form without senses, it was hard to know the difference between light and heat.  But just as others would later know me without ever meeting me, I too knew that both light and heat were present at my creation.  They were, as concepts go, the first parents of the universe.

Third, there was me.  I was featureless, without anything but consciousness.  I was disparity, as my parents were.  I was alive, as nothing else had been, as nothing else would be for quite a long time.

Time was unquantifiable.  There were no stars to measure years and no moons to measure nights.  I was a child in mind and spirit, guided along by warm and bright places.  As I learned, I grew.  I started to understand, and the boundaries of the universe became finite.  Often, guidance and discovery would fail me, and I would fill in the empty spaces with imagination.  New ideas became new truths, and I developed faith.  I was my own first believer.

Imagination led me away from disparity—binaries of yes and no, of hot and cold, of dark and light—and toward variety.  I created particles and atoms, elements and molecules, solids and liquids and gasses.  I combined so many things into one thing that I could no longer see the smallest parts of it.  I saw the greater whole.

That was the dawn of inspiration.  I had more than the power to create, but the desire to.  And thus, I became Creator.

I played with creation for an unquantifiable amount of time, building planets and moons and asteroids throughout the universe.  The planets became so large in size that I had to imagine a force to hold them together, something that all particles and atoms could agree on.  Thus was gravity.  Gasses rose to the surface as solids crushed each other in constant affection.  Thus was atmosphere.

At the time, I thought my creations were the greatest things that could ever exist.  But they were crude and simple, with no soul.  That was the dawn of something else, something I have never found a word for.

In honor of my parents, I created the first star.  It burned with unbelievable heat and unbelievable light.  It threw rays and shadows across the entire universe, cleaving planets in two.  It was the first time I thought of something as Right.  It was the first time I thought of something as Good.

With the presence of Good, I was spurred to do more of it.  Each planet became a canvas.  I decorated them in ways that would show off the brilliance of light.  Thus was color.  I dressed them in materials that would bend to the wonders of heat.  Thus was freezing and melting.  With fairness in mind, I spun the planet on a rudimentary axis so that the rays of starlight would always find their way to every part of its surface.  Thus was movement.

With the presence of movement, I was spurred to do more of it.  I gathered the asteroids into rivers and lakes.  I relocated planets and moons, closer to the stars.  I made solar systems dance together, like particles in an atom, like elements in a molecule.  Stars and planets and moons were placed delicately in orbit.  Thus was equilibrium.

I played with solar systems for an unquantifiable amount of time, building galaxies and nebulas throughout the universe.  I filled the empty spaces with particles and atoms and elements and molecules, so they would shine like the stars.  I looked upon the beauty of the universe with that same word: Good.

At the time, I thought my creations were the greatest things that could ever exist.  But heat and light had nothing to say or think or feel about it.  The only truth was me, and the only beauty was mine.  In matters of consciousness, there was no disparity or binary or variety.  I was absolute.  I was Creator.  I was God.

And that did not feel Good.