Today, I read about astrophysicists, for the first time, being able to track the waves of spacetime as we drift along them, like a dinghy tossed around the sea at night. Dying stars pull at the sea of our universe, just as the moon pulls at the primordial waters of Earth. And I think of her.
Lilith’s always had that feeling to me. A vast, black sea, in a frame of sparkling cosmic dust. Bottomless, weightless, void, yet crushing and blinding all at once.
My first memory of her, she came to me in a dream. She didn’t speak, but I knew her as Mother. And we sat at her throne, mounted in a void of blackness amongst the stars, the formless cosmic sea gently lapping at my feet, as I sat on the steps below her repose.
It is so beautiful to me, this great, endless, glittering nothingness. It’s what I see in her eyes, like the irises of a blind owl.
And when I want to be close to her and my mind just won’t settle, I go out onto the water at night, tossed around on the black waves. Foolish, little child.
But this is where I know her best.
At the end of everything, looking out at the waves, so far in front of me that the horizon curves, as the stars fall around me.
And to think that perhaps we see such similar night skies gives me joy.
A comforting feeling indeed. I see her around me in all ways and media, now more than ever, in every endless form. Something is beginning. Something beautiful and dangerous and enigmatic. The unknown awaits. I feel it in my blood and I am filled with awe. The waters are rising.