The desert stars are so bright that they cast shadows.
She stood illumined like a primordial goddess with a panoply of stars above her, and she reminded me, just by the way that she stood, that humans are also gods, we each have a spark of divinity within us, and in some of us, it burns more brightly than in others.
The same fire burning in the desert stars also burns within each of us. Just looking at her, shrouded in the starlight of the universe, I was reminded how casually we humans toy with the most powerful and misunderstood force in the multiverse, the urge to procreate. The urge to procreate inspires all species, even, I believe, the trees, for whom time moves very differently.
Of course, she laughed. There may be no more quintessential human activity than the ability to mock ourselves and our own plight in the multiverse, where a mere four percent of all mass comprises our detectable universe, and the remainder, in the forms that we call dark energy and dark matter, is denied to us. We know that it is there. Our mathematics, which is one language of God, tells us so.
Just because you can say something, or think something, does not mean that you have mastered it. It is a step. But we have not yet unlocked, deciphered, decrypted, the words of power that will explain the mysteries of dark energy and dark mass to our meager minds, capable of sensing the phenomenon, but not capable of knowing them. Yet.
So I am left with the immortal immensity of the desert sky, uncountable billions of stars casting shadows over an infinite expanse of desert, with a woman, an innate priestess carrying in her womb the potential to unmake all creation. Anything can be born.
Her laughter is the most beautiful thing that you will ever hear.
Nothing could ever mock so sweetly.