Take the world in fast-motion: clouds brew above mountains before hurrying across the landscape, dissolving to raindrops absorbed by the sea. A daily ritual of infinite days. Peaks and crests emerge from the hills, like sinews of muscle swelling with strength. A green film of stubble spreads over the rolling knolls, the yawning blossom of fauna reaching for milky sunlight. There the mineral strength passes to wood in the curvature of bark - a giant’s legs taking root - the sun god’s power softened from rocky crag to groaning birch.
And from the oceans they come forth, the fleshy breathers of bone and blood, squinting in the hot light and shriveled by thirst. From mineral to bark to bone, the skeletons forget their divinity in the siren’s wail of hunger pangs. They build walls and wage wars and eat the land and when the land is eaten the eaters eat themselves. All the while they tremble to remember the origin encoded in their skin, in the air, in their water. They struggle in vain until their breath leaves them, questions unanswered, their moisture soaked back into the ground their ancestor.
And then they see it. A bolt of lightning branches through the sky and the morning light beams red through their eyelid and they see it: the spider’s web of veins and capillaries glowing blue, the branching circulatory system of their pupil. The flow in their arteries like the tendrils of rivers, like the snarl of roots below and bramble above. The bright cluster of synapses on gray matter like knotted bundles of stars. It was staring them in the face this whole time. They starve themselves, howling chants and prayers, accelerating their consciousness until they too vibrate at the speed of the world: the rate of motion where the divine lifeforce pulsing through all things is readily tangible.
They build spaceships and train rocketmen and propel them into the blackest corners of the abyss, unclear if they chase the light or flee the grasp of time. But the faster they go, the slower the stars burn around them. Faster and faster still through lightyears of space and galaxies passed until finally the moment arrives: time stops, transforming the universe from a film strip to a painting. Their minds step out of the continuum, free to explore every moment at every angle.
But they are blind again. For as they frolic through their histories saving every bungled kiss and exacting vengeance on their enemies, behind them the bubble contracts. The life of the whole universe flashes before all eyes until draining back into the Big Bang. Whole nebulae and solar systems circle the cosmic tidal pool like a galaxy sucked into its own black hole. And in the childlike silence that follows, a tiny voice, larger than a million suns, will loudly whisper, “Again.”