The Goddess’ power emanated from her entire being, radiating outward in shimmering waves of opalescent light. She held the power of generation, populating the heavens with stars and moons and planets, sending them all spinning out from Her being. She regenerated the Earth each year, too, but She had little thought for all the creatures who lived on the rotating and revolving sphere of water, stone, and soil.
Because the Goddess resided in realms of time and space beyond the Earth, her perspective of humanity was skewed. Although She had created them, She found them a bit dull and uninspiring—just tiny beings with two legs and two arms and brains the size of pebbles. With the whole of the universe at Her command, it was difficult to pay heed to these creatures who seemed so unaware of Her existence as they scrabbled for theirs.
Evelyn was two and one half years old when the Goddess first noticed her. She was barely old enough to form complete thoughts, yet somehow old enough to know her own self. Evelyn’s parents and older brothers thought her odd. Evelyn knew they were wrong. She wasn’t odd. She was awake—awake to all that surrounded her. She had a preternatural sense of the animals and the plants, the seasons, and the weather. She knew when the rabbits her family kept came into heat. She knew exactly where the lightning would strike. She could hear the toads make their way out of the ground when the Earth began to thaw. She could taste the pine pollen. She could also sense what her family members were feeling and needed, and she instinctively knew how to meet their desires without exhausting herself.
The Goddess sensed the pureness of the spirit residing in this girl child, and a thrill ran through Her ethereal body. What could this mean? The Goddess peered closely, closer than She had ever deigned to look upon a human being before. Her keen eyes watched Evelyn as she calmly played in the sand at the beach, letting the grains sift through her chubby toddler’s fingers.
The Goddess absentmindedly drifted her own fingers through the clouds of mist and vapor that enveloped Her. Is this my child? The Goddess wondered. How did she come to be? I breathed life into all of humanity, but this one is different. She seems so sure and true. So of herself, unlike the others.
Even at her young age, Evelyn knew that she was a child of the Goddess. She knew that all people were children of the Goddess. They had just forgotten. She would never forget.
As she grew, despite societal constraints and well-intended parental teachings, Evelyn maintained her connection with all the things of the Earth—the creatures, plants, rocks. Even the people. And she never wavered in her faith that it was all good. That she was good. That she was a daughter of the Goddess.
The Goddess saw Evelyn for who she was—pure light, pure peace, pure joy, pure love—a whole and perfect soul. And nothing the Goddess could do would ever destroy Evelyn’s essence. Not that the Goddess tried. She didn’t test or torment Evelyn, She just watched, in wonder and in awe at this creature who seemed to be untouched by the madness the other humans inhabited.
For her entire life, Evelyn existed in harmony with her small world, content in herself, her knowing, her power. For there was nothing else that could pull her to be anything other than who she was created to be. Oh, the rabbits still needed feeding, and the garden plot still needed weeding, but the Goddess and Evelyn would exist no matter.
The Goddess wrapped Evelyn in her arms, held her close, and they were one.
Maybe through this one child, the others will come to know me, and I them.