In the beginning, no being had a name. Before we speak of flesh, ties and blooming things, let’s speak of this beginning.
Long before there were bodies or religions, before the world became a godless bloom of ruins, before languages were invented, before arguments on faith or miracles began. Before there was day and night, before the god of skin was created, before this god accepted a variety of colours, before individualities existed, before the earth spat out its form out of darkness and depths suddenly (the god of skin’s children forever argue on its definition, whether it should be Big Bang or the origin of miracles, the first work of divinity). Before the clockwork of time and destiny existed, before the god of ruin craftily won power over the earth with a beautiful fruit, all gods received their essence and power from a single mouth: the mouth of the Elyon, the most powerful of all beings, the toughest of spirits with three forms.
It is too hard to describe or define Elyon. What is known is that this spirit hovered upon the infinite waters of the universe. This hovering is the predecessor of the wind. Mighty and powerful, the first human could not dare write the spirit’s name on sands and erase it.
Elyon, omniscient, knew that the first human would eventually fail him, losing to the god of ruin. He created him nonetheless. He needed him. Elyon, peaceful, discomforted by the slightest of confrontation, had hovered upon the dark waters for so long that loneliness seeped. The Almighty Spirit began to crave companionship, imagining how sweet it would be to hear a being in his image.
Elyon, the voice of the wind, began to plan this creation, thoughts rippling upon the waters. After a lot of considerations and deep thoughts, the Almighty Spirit figured that this new being deserved a colourful world, that the timeless world would possibly be too unappealing for a new creation, the waters too dark, the depths too thick. He decided to create godchildren first, unspiritual inanimate creatures effortlessly exuding Elyon’s greatness but lacking the Almighty Spirit’s image and likeness.
Elyon took a deep breath and spat the first godchild out of his mouth. The first flash occurred, a sudden explosion of brightness offering the universe form, weight and life. Just a word and there was now a portion of Elyon taking a bright glowing form upon the universe, the form of a new god, a god of light and lightning. With the arrival of this new god into the infinite universe, time could now begin, light its basis of measurement. Elyon, in a bid to perfect this, in an attempt to pacify the conflict between the sudden light and the darkness of ages, divided time, giving light and darkness a chance. He called the light ‘day’ and the darkness ‘night.’
Elyon began to create more godchildren, his spirit craving rest. Before the week ended, before he successfully ushered all the godchildren into the universe via his mighty tongue, Elyon’s thoughts dissolved into the waters, ripples and trembles breaking its surface. Elyon the genderless spirit kept wondering if the greatest creature of all, the one who would bear his image, would like floating in the deep or flying. While these considerations filled the infinite frames of his mind, he created more godchildren, nodding pleasantly at the beauty of each new offspring. After dividing water into two; the sky and oceans, one above and the other below, each a different shade of blue; he selectively dried up a portion of the oceans. And there was dry ground for the forthcoming ultimate being to stand tall and dominant over all the admirable godchildren, privileged to name them.
Elyon soon noticed how unhappy the godchild sky was. She hated how sudden it was whenever her endless abode transitioned from day to night. Elyon, peacemaker, quickly created the sun and the moon. The two of them began a spiteful conversation, each trying to intimidate the other ( they somehow still do, ever wondered why the darkest hours of night are just before dawn?). Elyon hissed at the two of them, spittle flying out of the corners of his mouth. The particles hung in the sky as luminous dots, eventually forming the stars, gods who winked at each other. The moon, more accommodating than the sun, began to carry these little winking gods on every visit to the sky. Eventually the sky loved them as much as the moon, giving all of them rooms.
Elyon wanted more godchildren. He filled the waters with a variety of fishes, the land and skies with more creatures.
Elyon liked the music of the trees and birds and waters but it still did not feel ultimate. He craved something more. And so he pressed his knees into the earth, fingers deep in its dust. He began to mold an imitation of himself, refusing to use his powerful tongue that had created beautiful godchildren previously. This was a god and not a godchild. Even if woven out of dust, a god needed nostrils to smell the unseen, to feel the unfelt. A god deserved more attention.
All the godchildren screamed in anticipation as Elyon breathed carefully into the new god’s nostrils.
This, of all things, is the origin of the wind, the first dance of air. Elyon’s breath, the indescribable predecessor of the wind that once lay upon the waters, is a pressure.
© Ife Olatona