Before the beginning there was a blank page,
an empty space onto which would be written
the story of the universe.

Before the beginning
there was a singularity of possibility,
an infinitely small dot
heavy as the body of God,
pulsating with the shining imagination
of potential, of all that could be:

all of the energy and the dark matter
and the wildflowers and the stars
all of the mud and photons and quarks
and the lovers and the broken hearts
all of the rage and the ruin
and the redemption and the dancing
and the galaxies colliding
all of the birth and death and sex
and salvation.

Before the beginning
there was an intake of breath,
the divine lungs filling
with hope and fire
and the shaking multitude of souls,
then there came a roar,
a symphony of relentless light
a wild explosion of creation
the universe tripping over itself
in the becoming of its becoming,

and through it all,
through the fury and the wonder,
a gentle, powerful, playful voice
sighing over everything
it is good, it is good, it is good,

and beneath that declaration
a heartbeat,
a bass note pounding out
the deep rhythm of time.
Even now
when you put your ear to the ground
you will hear it,
sounding strangely similar
to love.


– Gideon Heugh