Snow and Fire

By Lisa Hering, July 25, 2022.

The universe begins here, bringing together opposing forces that will have far reaching effects for its entire duration.

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     It all begins here, somewhere out in the middle of what will one day be a universe. The heavens and the planets are created by the merging of all things light and dark, energy and matter. First, all is dark. But soon, I see a pinpoint of light. As it gets larger, the light appears as swirling smoke. The light energy body is white as snow with the form of a bright galaxy twirling in the night sky. I am curiously attracted and I move closer. Here I see, a ballerina dancing, spinning around slowly, in a jewelry box made of prisms. The light she radiates refracts across the prism bevels and is dispersed endlessly into the colors of the rainbow. But the only sound I hear is the rhythm of a well oiled machine, a fan that oscillates comfortingly back and forth. The Ballerina has everything she needs except music and freedom.
     She is wearing white amidst blackness, and is covered in diamonds. A veil blows as she rotates. It encloses her in a spiral. She is dazzlingly pure. Light and sparkling, she twinkles as she twirls. And she goes round and round in a  clockwise manner, counting time. Waiting, looking, and wondering. With her arms in front in an arc, her fingers are touching. Her toe is pointed. The other leg is bent with the toe touching her ankle. She moves her bent leg now high behind her. Her arms circle above. She looks up as if there is something to see. I have never seen anything more spectacular. She is stellar.
     Her arm reaches out and taps on the prism walls as if to see if they are still there, and it is still present. It holds her inside of it. Her arm goes back into its normal position where she rotates again for a while. Then her arm reaches out again and taps. The movement is repeated at intervals seemingly forever. Such a movement remains in perpetuity until an outside force acts upon it.
     To strike up conversation, I ask her, “Ballerina, what are you good at?”
     She replies, “Nothing, really. I just spin. I radiate light. I reflect the glory of the universe and dazzle the minds of those who worship me. Little things like that. It isn’t extraordinary. If there were more competition, you wouldn’t notice me. But I am alone, the sole survivor of the past. And I appear great. But I am not. I spin in only one direction. I am a mere galaxy, a flat disk, I am not efficient. I flow slowly in the viscous plasma around me. I am not important. I am nothing.”
     “How disappointing your answer is,” I say. “Surely, you can see that your entire being is a thing to be in awe of. I sit out at night and look up. I say to the moon, ‘Look over there, at that one, the one that looks like a ballerina spinning, gracing the night skies with white silk and twinkling lights. I will keep my eyes upon that loveliness.’ ”
     The moon says, “Ah yes, out there in the great night sky all alone and unafraid, I have seen her. She lights the sky while I only live in her reflection. I will remember her.”
     I say, “Tell me, Ballerina, can you not give me hope? Surely you see worth in yourself. Think, think for a long time, until you see it.”
     And finally, after eons of reaching for the skies and finding only the confines of her space, she says, “I have it. I know what I’m good at.”
     “Please do tell,” I request.
     She replies, “I can do anything I set my mind to. I am everything in my mind.”
      I must pause at this fantastical answer. I look at the moon and the moon looks at me. We mirror each other in our astonishment. Then we smile in agreement.
I say to her, “You have gone from nothing to everything in under sixty eons.”
     But then, I ask, “If you can accomplish anything, why are you trapped in a prism when you want to be free?”
Her answer, “I do not see a prism. From my perspective, I see only whiteness. Nothing else. But I know something surrounds me. It is either a womb that gives me life or a prison that gives me death. The brilliance in here blinds me. I cannot set my mind to something I don’t see,” she concludes.
     I, on the other hand, am dark energy, an invisible sequin on an evening gown that is only known by its reflection. And although I am unseen, I radiate auras in iridescent blue, purple, green, and gold, visible only when caught and reflected by the moon. I have wings that stretch out wide. I have feathers of black velvet. My eyes are pure fire in a multitude of colors. I am her opposite in spin, going in a counter clockwise direction. Yen and yang. Day and night. Known and unknown. Snow and fire. I, too, am a survivor of the past. She has always been unaware of me, yet I have admired her from afar.
     I then ask, “Can you see the moon?”
     She answers, “Yes, I can see the moon. But I cannot see you.”
     “Moon,” I say, “throw me a line and pull me in your direction.” So, the moon throws me a line and pulls me until I am so close to the moon that he reflects my fiery rainbow of color. But I pretend that it is her prisms who are the source of the color.
     I then say to the Ballerina, “Look at the moon. You can see the fiery colors coming from the prisms that retain you. Now do you see it?”
     She is quiet at first, but then says, “You speak with love.” And as I watch her wavering brilliance, the prism box opens and she begins slipping over the edge, first her veil, then her satin, and then her diamonds. She grows until she is near me and the moon now reflects both of our rainbow energies. They merge first. Then, our light and dark energies begin to merge. Our opposite forces slow our spins until we stop and become one force. I look into the reflection of the moon and see instead of two opposing spirals, one great ball filled with twinkling lights and fire radiating out from a central point into all directions simultaneously, still sparkling and dazzling, but with the efficiency of light with no mass and no friction, no longer a galaxy, but a universe, no longer sluggish, but lightening fast and gaining strength as time passes. And the light spectrum is again white, pure and innocent without the walls of the prism to refract. Mixed with my energy, her lights become loose snowflakes that fall in every direction, covering the stars in a pure and fresh white blanket that contains all the goodness of the world.

     And even though my dark matter cannot be seen, it propagates the Ballerina’s music, and as it echoes on the wind, it causes people to stop and look around and to see the reflection in the moon of the force that is both male and female, anger and empathy, bird and woman, the balancing force of the universe.

     Thank you for listening, and Good Night.

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