for J.S. Porter

I fall at the feet of the king, my lord, my Sun, seven times and seven times.

A recurrent greeting in the Amarna tablets, written in cuneiform and addressed to the Pharaoh of Egypt.

Inside.
Our mother's heartbeat in the Womb.
Her body vibrating voicing words.
The swashing liquid sounds when she moves.
Muffled sounds from outside.
Our first memories of rhythm: unreachable, formative.
Forgotten, yet moving us unaware.

Outside.
Wind, crackling fire, a branch snapping in the forest.
Birdsong, the howling wolf, the squawk-screech-cackle-cry-yelp of seagulls.
Our tribe drumming out fear of the Unknown, the rhythm of stomping feet.
Singing in awe and gratitude, for the world is as fearful as it is beautiful.
It feeds us; it kills us.
We laugh from joy, unease, and fear alike.

Interwoven.
Too many forces shape the World.
We cannot yet comprehend them all; we are one of them.
We call them Chaos because we need names.
Chaos has always shaped everything we know.
The forces that affect us are our gods and nymphs.
They play freely in the Garden of Eden: Terra Mater, Mother Earth.