The first word. Sung into being by a God. Unutterably beautiful, unspeakably sublime. Beckoning us into the dream-world where the past can be touched and the future painted in vivid colour. No wonder its rapture became a snare. Spider told us but we touched the web all the same. Minutes after birthing that first sound-seed the Trickster God whispered into the waters of being: ‘Listen not just to the word, but to all that it does not say’. But he is a Trickster and not to be believed. We love to be charmed by that one perfect Truth, crafted with such skill we mistake it for the only Truth. How safe, how simple. Yes, we think, Yes. I have seen the face of God, I am made whole; this is the only Truth that matters. Perhaps this is why so many of the northern Gods are wounded, scarred and imperfect; as a reminder that all that seems flawless is an illusion.
What if the first word was not an answer or an absolute? Not an all encompassing utterance birthed by and embodying omnipotence but an incantation? A summoning? Not an instruction but an invitation?
Dare to dream a new dream, it says. Even if you don’t yet have the words to communicate it. This time before words is precious and raw and innocent. Dare to think the unthinkable – for that is the path to freedom. Dare to hope when word-smiths and rule-makers hem you in with their cynical quills and authoritative diction. They are simply repeating an echo; afraid of the silence. Sit in your silence, let it fill you. Trust the word that is growing within you. Trust your dream.
The gift of the word is exquisite. Through it we can name the past and conjure the future. Yet do not forget that the All-Father himself travels not just with his ravens Huggin (thought) and Munnin (memory) but with his wolves Geri and Freki whose names reflect their insatiable hunger. What do the wolves of a God who is said to take no food hunger for? Perhaps they are there to feast on the scraps from the table of utterance lest we mistake them for Truth? To devour the perfect and pristine which offer death to the soul just as surely as the decay of chaos?
Nothing is more beautiful than your own free voice singing into the bliss of the present moment. Nothing holds more power, offers more truth or frees more absolutely. Even the first word must be devoured; for in the silence that follows it is born again within us.
I dream of a world where we are gentle with each other. Where we choose love over hate every day. Where we value curiousity above control and cherish each other’s dreams. A world where we are led by those who are sensitive, thoughtful and rooted in a present that looks far beyond the horizons of 7, 8 or even 9 generations.
What is your dream?