Trip to Michaelene's

I've started taking pictures again. I stopped because I was burnt out: Burnt out from trying to make every moment feel artistic, burnt out from seeing life through a viewfinder. I just wanted to live life and see it through my own eyes.

But I recently had a paradigm shift where I instantly became very aware that life is a cupcake and a teacup. Sweet but fragile. And that's when I knew I wanted to start taking pictures again. I want proof that I was at this tea party. Mostly I want to leave something behind. Breadcrumbs.

We woke up last Saturday...

...ate breakfast...

...got in the car...

...and drove to Aunt Michaelene's.

Abe kept himself occupied while riding in his carseat.

When we arrived Tori was there looking fabulous, as always.

Abe was going nuts in the water, as always.

And everyone enjoyed splashing around under the crusted August sun, as always.

The Dissent

I spend my days in the tops of the trees
Searching the sky for balloons.
But ebbing currents disturb the leaves, part the limbs, and
Disclose the Empty Eyes that haunt from below.

Far underneath the braided canopy
Of twigs and sticks and branches and trunks
Lay a beast that carried me in his mouth
And spit me out on this bit of earth.

A bit of earth that floats,
It floats in a boundless water drop.

I sit in the tops of the trees and dream
Ignoring the earth below and
The beast and the bees and the snakes and the spiders;
I'm lost in a beautiful dream
Imaging a life will come.

A life of floating in coral blimps
Leaving billowing paths behind.
Carried away to land of peace,
Carried to a land of honey.

"Take comfort, my heart, there is no beast
Circling our tree house home, I'll soon be rescued from
Depravity, a beautiful life will come."

The dream inspires endurance

To sojourn the lonesome terrain. 

The dream inspires survival

Upon this abandoned isle.

But the ebbing currents will not be dissuaded
From disturbing the leaves and parting the limbs
Revealing the Empty Eyes,
Revealing my inescapable fate.

I am weary of living in trees.

Scream at the sky for rescue.
Find solace in a prospective balloon.
But I've lost my voice and my hope is squelched in the
Vacuum of space and stars.

Ergo I leave the canopy's cradle
And descend to the cracking boughs.
And there I watch and hope for ships
To beach the water's edge.

But I've seen no vessels dot the sea,
No messengers have come to me.
And yet the beast's Empty Eyes keep watching me,
Though I fix my gaze on the droplet sea.

I am weary of living in trees.

The boughs are breaking, my grip is slipping
And I descend to the twisted roots.
Hidden beneath a lace of tubers,
I reach for any happy truth.

But I feel the Empty Eyes.
They rest upon my figure.
His polished, bared teeth prod through the roots
And my neck is tickled by his breath and dripping saliva.

Peeling bark, shadows and moss
Make poor friends in a room of timber.

I am weary of living in trees.

Weary of wishing for
Balloons and
Ships and
Abstract happy truths.

Weary of hoping for perpetual existence
Away from this bit of earth,

Pretending the beast is slain.

The roots crack, they break apart.
As I climb from my woody cage.
I press my toes in the mud and sand
Taking my stance on the tangled floor.

Lungs expand with organic breath
Breaths of active life, of
Thriving briers,
Flowering groves to
Decaying logs and swine.
My diaphragm sups vitality and I
Grip my dukes for a fight.

A blow to my back rips my flesh to the spine
Knocking the breath clear out of my chest.

I'm slammed to the floor by his
Solid paws and
Thunder crashes out his jaw
Blasting my face with rotting blood
Fangs gaping and unhinged.

Locking the gaze of the
Empty Eyes with my
Deep Blue Eyes
I glimpse in the back of his skull,
Nothing.

A sickening silent stare,

Then I scream:
"I'll not live in fear of you!"

He gruffs a laugh in reply.

But I cry:

"You brought me here!

"You may take me away! But

"I'll make my life my own!"

I'll make my life my own.

Ripping my shoulders from under his claws
Digging my nails deep into the earth I
drag my body out from under his weight and
I run.

Looking back at the beast he circles and
Parades his coat of striped citrus and ink
Unobstructed by branches and leaves.

Satisfied by acknowledged existence

That I accepted my inevitable fate

The Empty Eyes disappear in the shadows

Preparing a capricious pounce.

And I am not afraid,

But pleased

He let me live this long.

Light toes and quick feet propel my frame
To the peak of the highest sierra.
Sinks my heels in fresh mud on the apex
As I drink in the panoramic realm of
Thick wild trees,
Clear open lakes,
Deep foreboding canyons,
Cruel icy crests,
The beast, and
Me
All floating on an endless water drop.

And bleating to the whole of the earth
I cry,
"My home!
I'm home."

I construct a cozy cottage
With wide picture windows
And bask in sherbet sunsets,
Gulp liters from springlets,
Delight in sugary pears,
Tend the broken wings of blue jays,
Holiday on the beach's carpet,
And scale and climb the trees.

I weep in the bitter, harsh storms;
I bleed when thorns snag my flesh;
My body wrinkles and ages with time.
I absorb the harsh contrast of life,

Searching the stars for reply.

But whether I'm rescued by ship or balloon,
Or devoured by an Empty-Eyed tiger,
I will savor my brief existence.
I will make my life my own.

And I will create bare-handed
For myself and all folk
And for all who will ever proceed
A life filled with strawberries and smiles and peace,
The life I imagined would come.

The life I imagined would come
When I lived in the tops of the trees.

Boy Power: What I Want My Son To Know About Being A Man

Dear Son, 

Society often presents a distorted and rigid perspective about a man's identity. As your mother, I want to give you a broader and more accurate picture of who you are and who you are capable of becoming. Throughout your life you will very likely struggle with many or all of the qualities I mention below. That's okay. In fact, it is commendable. Your goal is not to become perfect, rather, your goal is to adopt an attitude of consistent, gentle course correction. A rich and full life is one of continual growth, adjustment, and balance...and the occasional character overhaul every decade or so. I use your father as an example in all the traits I list below and though he is not always as perfect, my words fully capture the man he seeks to become. I encourage you to look to his example, but I also hope you will become your own man. 

1. A Man Nurtures Others

As a man, it is your responsibility to nurturer the world around you. To nurture means to care for and encourage growth and development. Cultivate another's confidence through your words and actions. Set jealousy and envy aside, and instead recognize, empower, and rejoice in the strengths of others. It is not enough to respect the Earth, but you must better the Earth. It is not enough to respect the people around you, but you must inspire their growth. Look to your father as an example. Notice how he supports and cheers my personal advancement. Notice how he takes an active role in your development. Notice how he lifts others in all his interactions. He doesn't just love or manage, he nurtures. 

2. A Man Protects Others

As a man, it is your responsibility to protect your family, your friends, all children, the elderly, the disadvantaged, and anyone else who finds themselves being unjustly attacked. Defend their rights and their honor with maturity, strength, and integrity. Never seek cheap acclamation by preying on the weak - this will only undermine your identity as a protector and as a man. Look to your father as an example of a protector. Notice how avoids jokes about the elderly and the disadvantaged. Notice how he jumps to defend his family whenever we are in harm's way. Notice how he defends those who are unjustly ridiculed. Notice how he is quick to protect. Notice how his protective nature fosters peace more often than hostility.

3. A Man is a Homemaker

One of the greatest responsibilities a man possesses is that of homemaker. Although society looks down on homemakers, whether they be mothers or fathers, wives or husbands, bachelors or maidens, or hired help, the role of a homemaker is one of the most crucial and influential roles in society. You will find great satisfaction in creating a clean, healthy, and happy environment for your family or household. Don't ever let anyone tell you that because you are a man, you will never make an adequate homemaker. Your gender does not inhibit your abilities, and in fact, your gender enhances your abilities to excel as a homemaker. As a protector, you will want to keep your home sanitary to protect against germs and filthiness. As a nurturer you will want to prepare healthy meals so that your family can enjoy the benefits of good nutrition and you will want to decorate your home in such a way as to promote good energy and happiness. Regardless of how you distribute household responsibilities in your future family, always consider yourself a homemaker. Look to your father as an example of a homemaker. Notice how he picks up after himself and washes dishes daily. Notice how he takes on household chores despite his busy work schedule. Notice how he is concerned with sanitation. Notice how he takes an interest in purchasing special candles to give our home a pleasant scent and a homey feel.

4. A Man is Virtuous
A man celebrates his sexuality. He is not ashamed of his body or his passions. He acknowledges all of his sexual desires, but only gives heed to the desires that bring balance, peace, and loyalty to himself and others. He engages in sex to express love and to receive love. He enjoys the pleasure of the moment. He does not allow his sexuality to become an object of addiction, but if it does, he does not demonize himself. Instead he carefully restores balance, joy, and intimacy to this area of his life either on his own or with the help of others. He never selfishly engages in sex at the expense of another. He views his sexuality as but one exquisite facet to his multi-faceted identity. Look to your father as an example of virtue. Feel free to openly discuss with him any questions or concerns you have regarding this area of your life. 

5. A Man Is Prepared to Provide for His Family
As a man, it is your responsibility to be prepared to provide. This means doing whatever is necessary to provide your family with food, shelter, clothing, health care, childcare and simple comforts. Depending on your family's circumstances or preferences, you may not always be the breadwinner for the household. However, you should actively pursue a career so that you will be able to provide when needed. Do not sacrifice your role as a nurturer and protector to take a job that goes against your ideals. Never engaged in deceitful and unethical practices within your profession. A man does not find his worth in job titles, but in the integrity of his work. Look to your father as an example of someone who is prepared to provide. Your father employs energy and creativity to each work project he is assigned. He actively seeks education within his field. Although he wishes to build a respectable career, he would never be ashamed of taking a less-desirable job for the sake of providing for his family. He is a hard, honest worker.

Although providing is a fundamental responsibility for a man, it is not his only responsibility. There may come a time in your life when disability, disadvantage, or circumstance prevent you from being able to provide. If this is the case, put all of your strength and effort towards nurturing, homemaking, and protecting your family and the people around you. You are still a man even if you are unable to actively provide.

6. A Man Constructively Expresses Emotion
As a man, your life and the lives of those around you will be greatly enhanced if you constructively express emotion. Although you will have your own unique way of sharing personal feelings and ideas, and you may only share them with a few individuals, share them. Emotion is one of the most defining characteristics of humanity. Your capacity to feel deeply is what makes you human. It is beautiful and heroic. You can express emotion constructively through avenues such as music, art, prose, poetry, speech, discussion, construction, design, etc. Emotion is not always rational, but it is always valid. If you bottle up your feelings and repress expression, your suppressed emotions will become toxic and destructive. Look to your father as an example of one who constructively expresses emotion. He initiates positive discussion with me regarding issues he feels strongly about. He will sometimes express his emotion in solitude by silently reflecting on his feelings. Sometimes he expresses his emotion by playing the guitar or writing in a journal. Sometimes he expresses his emotion by throwing things. But even when experiencing deep anger or sadness, he never resorts to any form of verbal, emotional, or physical abuse. He channels passion into constructive expression.

7. A Man's Worth is Not Based on Money
One of the biggest lies our society feeds young men is that their worth is based on the amount of money or power they accumulate. Financial responsibility is a worthwhile pursuit. Providing for your family's basic needs and comforts is a worthwhile pursuit. Seeking to earn a little extra to enjoy a few of the finer things in life is a worthwhile pursuit. Falling prey to the fallacy that the worth of a man corresponds to the size of his pocketbook is a damaging, destructive disease that will shatter the essence of your very manhood. Look to your father as an example of one who does not base his worth on money. Although he works to responsibly provide for his family and excel in his profession, he is not obsessed with making money. He purchases possessions as a way to enrich our life, not as a way to prove his personal worth. He freely gives of our excess, not spending too much time determining if the receiver deserves the gift.

8. A Man's Worth is Based on Whether He Improves His Sphere of Influence. 
Every man lives within in a sphere of influence. Whether his presence impacts close loved ones, acquaintances, strangers, enemies, animals, forests, dump grounds, governments, companies, a pile of rocks, whatever - a man's worth is based on whether he improves what he affects. If you feel let down by your inadequacies, examine each area of your life and remember the ways in which you have enhanced your surroundings. If you feel empty inside, fill that void by bettering the world around you. Build a bridge, write a book, empower a friend, defend a belief, fight for good. Look to your father as an example of one who improves his sphere of influence. He looks for inefficiencies within every organization he joins and creates solutions. He uses kind words and humor to buoy my spirits. He offers advice to friends and family. He jumps to serve others when he sees a need. He cleans a smudge on the fridge if he notices it. Every situation, person, organization, and environment is improved by his existence.

Son, you are magnificent. Your life is full of purpose and significance. Regardless of the twists and turns your life takes, you will find strength as you seek to become a better man. I am proud of the person you are today and I have confidence in the person you will become.

Love,
Your Mother

Good News/Bad News

The good news is that the baby has reached a new developmental milestone: exploration and discovery.

The bad new is that my lingerie and books are scattered across the room.

Give What You've Got

I knew he was going to be a human. Intellectually, I knew it. First you do the "baow-chic-a-baow-wow," then there's nine months of pregnancy, and bam! A baby human. That is the way of nature. Ducks have ducks, platypuses have platapi, and humans have humans. But somewhere deep inside my psyche, I truly expected to give birth to a blob.

Listen. I'm not a geneticist! I'm not a biologist! I'm not a painter! Nor am I a sculptor! So when that OB carefully held up a tiny, perfect little body that wiggled and coughed and blinked, I gasped with fear. "That can't be my child, " thought I. "My child is a bulging, globular blobby thing that once resided in my belly. It rolled and flipped inside of me for fun and caused a lot of trauma to my gut, but we had a good time. A blob - that's my baby. But that thing you're holding up? That's an actual person. A living, breathing individual. Oh wow. Yeah, he's actually making crying noises now. Obviously equipped with some sort of vocal contraption. Yep, definitely not my baby, because, you know what? I actually don't know how to make vocal boxes....or brains, or hearts or livers, or femurs, or toes, but this kid apparently has all of those things. Yeah, why don't you guys go and take him over to that table? Yeah, better just go over there and I'll just be over here...having a cow. Haha...little joke there. Oh my heck, oh my heck. George! Don't freak out. What do you mean don't freak out?! A miniature person just popped out of me! Oh my word, oh my heck. Oh my replacement curse word!"

On and on went my internal dialogue as they cleaned off the baby. But sanity eventually prevailed and I became excited to see my son. I have a son! The hormones were going nuts inside of me and I was suddenly filled with excitement and anticipation to hold him. And finally they brought him over and carefully laid him on my chest...and he was terrified. Coughing up tiny bubbles, gasping for air, and eyes darting to and fro in search of relief. This baby did not return my enthusiasm at our meeting. The NICU nurses pulled him away from me a few moments later because the truth was, my baby didn't need me at that moment. He needed medical attention beyond my instincts, beyond my skills, beyond me.

I’ll admit it. It hurt. It hurt to have him taken away from me. Not that I was mad at the NICU staff for saving my baby’s life. I wasn’t mad at them. And I wasn’t mad at the baby for having some respiratory trauma. No. I was mad at myself, because somewhere inside of me, I believed it was my fault. Maybe I did something during labor. Or maybe my body did something wrong. And even if I didn’t do anything wrong to cause the problem, I sure didn’t have the skills to fix the problem. My baby didn’t need me. And that hurt.

While receiving “hoorahs” from family and friends, I was as happy as could be. I looked at pictures of Handsome giving the baby his first bath, I stared in awe at the baby's wide open eyes. He was so cute, he was so beautiful, he was so real. I couldn’t contain my pride and my excitement. But as Handsome wheeled me around the corner of the NICU so I could see by baby again, my heart pounded with anxiety.

"Here he is," the nurse smiled as she waved us in his direction, "and he's as hungry as can be. He's ready for his mama to feed him."

Right, right. I'm a mama. I'm his mama. I'm not an aunt. I'm not his mom's friend...I AM HIS mom.

They set him on my chest and I held my breath. What will he think of me?

The little boy looked around slowly. His movements were soft and gradual. He was soft and wrinkly. And then we locked eyes. We stared for a few seconds and I frantically searched for any indication that he recognized me. I spoke to him and caressed his little, perfect face. He stared back at me. And then he did something I didn't expect...he furrowed his eyebrows.

I'm not kidding! The one-hour-old baby furrowed his eyebrows at me. And it wasn't a little spasm furrow either. It was a full-on furrow as if to say, "Who the heck are you? I'm starving here! Can someone please get this girl out of my way and get me something to eat?" Then he started crying. 

At the order of the nurse, I opened my hospital gown and stuck the poor thing up into my chest and prayed for a blasted miracle, because, let's be honest, I ain't never had no food come out of there before.

"Drop your shoulder," the nurse commanded as she pushed it down, "Straighten your back and loosen your grip. You need to relax or the milk won't drop!" All this was said as I sat exposed in a room full of random nurses watching while I tried to carefully hold onto a very tiny and a very fragile person who was, apparently, my child, and who was also, apparently, supposed to eat FROM ME! Talk about an existential crisis. And then the nurse suddenly grabbed my breast.

She repositioned me (aka the bottle) until the baby "latched on." But the poor kid couldn't get anything out because, surprise! I wasn't relaxed at all.

So that was the second meeting with my child - just like the first meeting: awkward. 

The following days were very interesting. Handsome and I visited our baby in the NICU every third hour for a week. The hospital allowed us to stay in an empty room, which meant we could spend a lot of time with the baby, but the awkwardness between the baby and I remained. 

I remember staring out a window between NICU visits scrutinizing my thoughts in hopes of figuring out what the heck was going on with me.

It's not that I didn't like the baby. I liked everything about him! But that was the problem: I didn't know very much about him at all. How could I love someone I didn't know? The awkwardness was a familiar feeling and I realized that it was the feeling I get when I meet someone for the first time. You see, I'm not a very socially gifted person. I’m not like, hey! You’re cool! Let’s be friends! My aunt explained it best when she described me as a toddler: "Anytime she met someone she didn't know very well, she gave off the vibe: you are not my friend." Of course, once I get to know somebody, I have a much easier time interacting with them. But it takes me a LONG time to get to know someone. 

But you know what? It's more than getting to know them. I have to know that they think I'm worthwhile. I want them to consider me to be their friend before I consider them to be my friend. I want them to love me first.

A little complicated, I know, but that's pretty much how all of my social relationships have been formed throughout the years and it hasn't been a huge problem. Okay, elementary school was painful, and dating was a little (a lot) weird, but other than that, I've gotten through okay...until I had a baby. 

Because here's the thing about babies: They need to be loved by their mamas - immediately. Moms don't have the luxury of waiting until the baby loves them back. They don't have the luxury of evaluating if the relationship between her and the baby is going to be mutually beneficial, because, first of all, it’s not going to be mutually beneficial relationship - that’s the point of parenthood, and second of all, babies need to be loved. They just do. 

I did love my baby! I did. But I kind of didn’t. Don’t get me wrong; if anyone looked at my baby the wrong way, I turned into a psycho monster bodyguard. But I was afraid of the baby. I was afraid to love him. I mean, there he was in the NICU. Yeah, it was nothing to be worried about, but guess what! I was worried! He could die. And if not in the NICU, maybe somewhere else. Something could happen when I least suspect it. But even if he lived a full and healthy life, what if he hates me? I’m a pretty weird person. What if he’s ashamed to be associated with me? Or what if he disrespects me? What if he hurts my feelings? I can’t just love this little person I know nothing about.

Handsome saw my turmoil and gently prodded an explanation.

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I just want to be a good mom. I want to take care of him. I want to love him so much. But- ”

“But what?” Handsome urged. There was a long pause as I searched my thoughts and tried to truly understand myself.

“He doesn’t love me.”

“Of course he does.”

“No he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what love is. He doesn’t know how to love yet. But he needs to be loved. And I do know how to love, so I have to love him…but I don’t want to love him.”

Handsome touched my arm and simply asked, “Why?”

I sat there for several minutes trying to figure it out.

“Because I want him to love me first. It's terrifying to put myself out on a limb not knowing if my love will be reciprocated. Or maybe it's because I'm afraid he might die. I might lose him. I don't know.” And all of that was true, but there was something deeper that I was afraid to face.

Handsome sat patiently as I built up the strength to admit what I was feeling.

And then I whispered, “I’m intimidated by him.” Tears filled my eyes and started streaming down my cheeks and I looked up at my husband. “I’m intimidated by my baby.” I breathed in slowly and then burst into sobs.

I could barely speak. “I’m intimidated by a 7-pound miniature person that poops in a diaper!” More sobs. “Because he’s more than that. He’s amazing! He’s perfect! He’s going to do incredible things. He’s better than me. How can I be the mother of someone who deserves a perfect mom? How can I love someone who deserves greater love than what I can offer!?” 

So there it was.

I couldn’t love my baby because I felt like I wasn’t enough. My baby deserved someone better than me. And here’s the reality:

It’s true. I’m not enough. And my baby does deserve someone better than me. Quite honestly, I’m going to screw up my kid in some way due to my inadequacies.

That’s life. The baby was born and now he has to deal with life. I thought I could protect him for at least a short time before he had to experience the flaws and pains of existence, but I didn’t realize his first encounter with imperfection would be me.

So I accepted it and grieved. And by “grieved” I mean, “I had a complete melt down”: “Noooooo!!!!!! What were the fates thinking!?!?!?! My mistakes are going to affect this innocent kid for the rest of his life! Nooooooo!!! Pain! Suffering! Despair!!! AGONY!!!!”

Whoa. I forgot how crazy you get when your postpartum hormones rebalance. It was a painful thing to accept. It still is painful. But this isn't the end of the story.

Luckily, I’ve accepted another reality. A reality that is waaaaaaaaaay more important than anything else. And that reality is this: a moderately imperfect mom is a million times better than no mom at all. My baby doesn't need perfection. He needs me. 

Amidst this swirly, whirly tornado of conflicted self-evaluation – I knew the answer. I’ve always known the answer, but I didn’t really know the answer until the answer became relevant.

I needed to love my baby.

Which meant I needed to have a little come-to-Jesus with myself:

“Okay, George. It’s time to pull down your barricades and love that baby. No calculation. No preconditions. Forget yourself and love. that. baby.”

So I did. I gave him everything I had, and, frankly, it wasn’t much. I didn't initially feel that overwhelming and irrepressible affection other mothers describe upon first meeting their babies. But I did want to take care of my baby. I wanted to make sure he was clean and fed. I wanted to hold him and snuggle him, and give him kisses, not because I received any obvious benefit from those actions, but because I knew he needed that closeness. I wanted to give him assurance that he had a mother. I wanted him to be safe. I wanted him to grow and be happy. I served him as best I could. I reached out even though I knew he couldn't reach back.

And as I did I realized that maybe love isn't just about overwhelming and irrepressible affection. Maybe love is also about sacrificing and serving regardless of whether you personally gain or lose.

Once my baby was 7-months-old I finally felt like I had bonded with him. That overwhelming and irrepressible affection finally appeared. I felt bad that it took so long, but I've since learned the bond between parent and child forms uniquely in its own time. Nevertheless, I am glad to know that love is not just about that bonding affection or admiration.

Throughout his short little life I've admired my baby for his energy, spunk and determination. I've admired him for his deep curiosity and his deep, blue eyes. I've admired him for having his dad’s zeal to take risks. I've admired him for everything he is today and everything he will become.

But admiration is only observation. Love requires engagement. It requires self-sacrifice. It requires everything I am.

And “everything I am” doesn’t require me to be perfect. It just requires that I give what I’ve got. And whatever I've got, no matter how inadequate or flawed, counts as love.

Loving my baby is not about my abilities or inabilities. It's not about his traits, accomplishments, or personality. It's not about his returned love or lack thereof. It's not about how much value he brings to my life.

He could give me sweet little kisses and pretty flowers, or he could give me kicks and screams and smacks in the face. He could deeply appreciate my sacrifices, or he could rip me to pieces for my unrelenting faults. And although the choices he makes and the choices I make will forever affect the other for good or ill, they will not affect my love for him.

And that is the beauty and pain of motherhood.

I love him because he is mine.

*thanks to my sister, Catherine, for introducing this lullaby to me.
*also, thanks to everyone for forgiving the rawness of this recording. You don't have to have a great voice to sing a lullaby, right? :)
*press the orange button twice once the song has finished or it will repeat over and over again into the eternities. The lullaby is nice, but not that nice...

Starry Night: a bedtime story

In the beginning there was nothing.

Not a vacant expanse, not an empty paradigm, but a nothingness. To say it was void would give reality to space, but there was no space. There was no time, no dimension, no substance, no light, no life - no cruelty...no happiness.

And then instantly there was something.

A sudden flicker of brilliance ignited within the mind of God and a pinprick of Everything burst into existence. Within seconds the pinprick inflated into a realm of angry primordial chaos. Explosions of heat and radiation ripped against the nothingness and unfolded a blanket of time and space.  The raw universe was scathed as energy unleashed its colossal antics, birthing the forces of physical law and sparking being to the first elements. Genesis was macrocosmic surges erupting into infinity. Darkness crashed through the hysterics and coursed its way across the newly formed cosmos leaving behind a hot, ebony canvas.

As it cooled, gravity dipped her finger into the black abyss and swirled around pockets of scattered hydrogen creating gigantic, billowing rings. With each swirl the hydrogen rings coiled tighter and tighter, folding in on themselves, until they swirled into compressed orbs of pressure. One orb in particular began rising in heat until the temperature reached the ranks of astronomical. Gravity was initially a lackadaisical participant in the hydrogen ballet, but she became unrelenting. Swirling, then squishing. Compacting, then contracting. Smashing, Bashing, Crashing, Collapsing, Crushing!! and then...FLASH!

The orb of hydrogen was crushed until it erupted into a bursting flame of helium. Strokes of dazzling light shattered the darkness, a ring of heat and energy ripped across the velvet night. The orb of hydrogen pressure transformed into a floating sphere of fire, bleeding energy. Suddenly, another orb exploded into the darkness, and then another, and then another. 

And the stars' debuted.

The vacant expanse filled with smoldering diamonds; ovens cooking up the elements of creation. They thundered and roared as Gravity continued crushing their cores of helium...FLASH! Lithium filled the nucleus and pushed helium to the surface. The crushing continued crushing and FLASH! Beryllium. FLASH! Boron. FLASH! Magnesium. FLASH! Zirconium. The hot balls of fire became layered globes of elements growing hotter and hotter and bigger and bigger with every explosion. 

Until...

The stars began to implode and filled the universe with glittering stardust - Gravity's play dough. 

Miraculous creations unfolded:

You are made of the stars, my child. Stardust courses your veins - a reality signifying the divinity coursing the very essence of your being. The stars ignited and perished for this moment. A God lived and died to give your breath immortality and unimaginable significance. You stood with Them before the stars bled. You stood with Them before the nothingness was extinguished. 

You stood with Them before this beginning.

Forget not your origin, forget not your capacity. You are a child of God.

Dude's First Laugh

First giggles...