[Eliza Hodgkins 1812]

And Then There Was

Who am I to judge?

Well, for starters, I’m God, Creator of the Universe and the infinite space beyond that is unknowable even to me. I am the omnipotent being who breathed life into all things living, He who wound you up and let you go, and it is only natural for something ticking to one day stop. An ant doesn’t die without my knowledge, though its death does not require my consent. When a tree falls alone in a forest, I hear it because I am the tree. I am the ant. I am your heartbeat and the pauses in between.

You are me and I am you and together we can never be lonely, and God (hah!), do I wish I could feel lonely now and again, like in the good ole days of dark and quiet. I wouldn’t mind a place of my own again, where my lungs don’t have to share your air and my thoughts are not mingled with the pale echo of your rambling prayers.

I would like to experience a dream that isn’t filled up with your symbolism.

What I need is a Fortress of Solitude. Superman had the right idea. Superman knew what it was like to be a part of mankind and still be set apart. When you’re set apart, say, because you’re worshiped and held to impossible standards, and are expected to rush in and save the day all the time, it would be nice to have a place where you could be by yourself, wouldn't it? I remember too well what it was like in the dark and quiet before that first day.

In the beginning there was the Void and there was me. I’m a bit clumsy but usually pretty careful. However, that day I stood up too quickly and cracked my head against the Void – THWACK – and felt pain for the first time, and for the first time I spoke, “Ow, God dammit! I can’t see a damn thing here. Light. LIGHT!”

There’s a thrill you get when naming a pet or child. Some people even name their cars. That thrill you feel is the final tuning fork vibrations of my own first thrill.

There it was in front of me – Life – and I was responsible for it. You are all just copies of copies of copies of a copy that was once the first spark.

I never wanted to be a single parent. Everybody is always staring at me at P.T.A. meetings, blaming me for everything that’s gone wrong. Let’s pretend for a minute that you don’t all have free will, and I’ll pretend that it’s my responsibility to take your suggestion boxes seriously.

Okay, your minute is up.

I may have built the thing but I never offered a warranty or a maintenance contract. Everything, in time, needs a bit of upkeep, a bit of renovation and upgrade. But I’m old, really old, and rejuvenation is the responsibility of the young. Haven’t I given you everything you need to take care of yourself? Wasn’t that expectation clear? You were made in my image. You are all designers and architects. It was dark so you invented candles and then you invented light bulbs. We are no different. In fact, sometimes I wonder if it was you who invented me. This thought makes me shudder so I will try to ignore it.

I wouldn’t have given you the kingdom without the means to govern it, but it’s not my fault you allow Camelot to fall again and again. You were given the potential for progress. I began you in the earliest of stages and let you evolve slow enough to actually learn. You were dust and comet tails. You were single-celled organisms. You were apes who became crafty, craftier, craftiest! If I had no intent I certainly gave you a beginning that could not have unfolded any other way.

There is no fault in the design, my lovelies, and therefore no fault in the maker. You may have been an accident, the result of a bumped crown, but you were a happy accident and you were perfect. You are perfect.

I cannot absolve you because I have not judged you, even though I could if I wanted to. If I could make you I’m pretty sure I could “Alt/Ctrl/Delete” just as easily, but I see no point, though I wonder if I might finally get some peace and quiet again. But to find you wanting is to find myself wanting, and like I’ve already said, you are me and I am you, and we are perfect, warts and all. Don’t mess with perfection. You can spend a lifetime ignoring your allotment of years in favor of what awaits you, but I’ll tell you now that it’s still dark here. I gave you all the light I had lo those many years ago and I’m still bumping my head against that which I cannot see.