Say to the nations, let there be no light upon the face of the earth. Let the machines all cease their movements, the wires their humming. Let the skies be empty of satellites and silver birds. Let the forests return and the watercourses find their way. All things seek their Mother—save man only. Now is the hour of Her return.
Be still. Be silent. Awaken to the Hour of Wonders when all things belong to the body of earth and sky. I am the substance of all before their making and the rest to which they return. Lift a stone from the earth and let it fall: it can only seek its Mother. All wisdom lies in this. All folly is tossing stones at the heavens and willing them to fly. I who am your Mother tell you these things. I tell you nothing but what is true. This is the first word to carry to the nations. Drop your stones and see if even one of them will fly.
Say to the nations, do you suppose I have no knowledge of what you write upon My body? Am I a girl made wanton at a word? Not one syllable of all that is written will remain. Even now I begin to speak them backwards, unwriting all you have done. What a man calls history I view as the gentle swelling of My breasts. When the milk of the night lets down, the stars will fall once more to lie with men and be their lovers. Of the former things, not one will be remembered. Did you suppose what was written by wind on water should last forever? How much shallower are the traces left by men.
The Gospel According to the Dark. I enfold the sky and the stars within My mantle, to make no mention of the dirt, which is also of My body. Nothing pollutes Me. I have never been violated. Men violate themselves by what they make supposing it to be their own. The stars are filled with those who would mine the dust of My body to shape it and give it a name. Folly rises again in the world, and even the wise become lost to themselves. But not to Me. Your Mother gathers every atom. No particle of the world is lost. But the imaginings of men are lost. Not one written word shall endure.
The Gospel According to Darkness. Your loneliness is My loneliness. The absence within you is My absence. Like a mother longing for her child, a maid for her lover, I long for you who have forgotten Me. I have not forgotten you.
The Gospel According to Darkness. I am the inviolate element, the dark that binds the stars. As shells to the vast ocean so are the moons and meteors and the long ellipses of the planets, which trace their paths through Me and turn in My embrace. They are My enemies who enlarge the light of men, who violate the shadowy bounds of My shores. The dusk is holy, and the hours before daybreak, too, are Mine. Every lamp is an altar to the mind. Do not be deceived. Where once you spoke to Me and found solace in My body, now you find solace in yourselves.
The Gospel According to the Dark, into whose mysteries men cast light and call it knowledge. What the light reveals is a reflection only, like the image of the moon in water. Your words have no body, and without a body, how could they have a soul? Did you suppose that they were real? The world is My body and you have traded it for a name. Are you not remorseful? Do you not hear My sighs for you? Do you not feel the warmth of My tears upon your breast? I have not forgotten you. I have never set you down. Even now your hearts are within My grasp. Every particle of you leans back in My embrace. I am more your Mother than your mothers were. For I am also their Mother. I am the Mother before all mothers, the dark to whom all men return.
The Gospel According to Darkness, in whose womb is the birth of stars. Would you lift the edge of My robe to seek My wonders in the constellations? Will a galaxy answer your questions about the soul? He is a fool who supposes there is anything to find in the heavens. As in the heavens, so it is on Earth. I alone am. But I am not alone. For you are with Me and within Me. Your heartbeat is My heartbeat, and your breathing is Mine. The dirt is My body. It does not defile Me. The fire that sweeps the mountains is the red of My hair. What is death to you I experience as a kiss. I part My lips and My tongue touches that which you call a soul. To Me it is but the sweetness of a lover’s mouth. Fly from it and you will drive the world into an abyss. The Gospel According to the Dark.
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