Where to begin?
Hmm, right. Right now only one thought is spinning in my head. Only one, probably, worth... telling about myself.
But the moment a thought appears, silence immediately steps behind it. Silence not because I don't know what I want, no. Silence because I don't know who I am.
Although... perhaps both the first and the second. Life has never been constant. People are inconstant. The whole world is inconstant.
And gods? What about those who call themselves gods?
Immortals.
A word that sounds like a promise. No, like an oath, no... like a foolish childish "never-never-never."
That which will never disappear, even if everything disappears. And yet my answer is "No."
Wait. You mean to say that even those who are above life and death, whose name once drove people into trembling just by pronouncing it, are also inconstant?
I would say: "Yes. No one has ever been constant." Not them, not me, not you.
Welcome again to my abode of forgotten desires. I thought about where to begin. And, as if on purpose, I began with precisely this.
Presentation of my identity.
In such cases, it seems, one is supposed to state their name first. Very well, my name is Enua.
Yes, strange, I know.
In katakana it means nothing. Just a set of sounds "エヌア."
E.
Nu.
A.
Emptiness, disguised as a name. But if you write it in kanji, the structure changes.
炎 — flame.
永 — eternity.
亜 — a slight admixture of the alien.
Together this reads as: "eternal flame with an admixture of otherness"
Amusing. Usually I don't think about my name, after all gods don't need it. A name isn't decoration or a toy. A name is a hook in memory, to catch, so you're not forgotten even after the last breath.
A higher being doesn't need hooks. It's carved into the heart from birth. Then... why do I have a name? Shouldn't I be known without it? Remembered without it?
Am I remembered? Is there anyone left who remembers?
Welcome to a world where humanity, according to legends, has already vanished.
My name was given to me by my mother. The one who created me. The one who abandoned me in the same hour.
Fair? I don't know. Probably, or maybe not.
In the end, it's not for me to decide what's fair. A world where everyone decides for themselves. A world where everyone has their own truth.
This is a story of how a soul gained a shell. A shell without place. Without time. Without matter.
The shell wandered, looked around. Right, left, forward, back. Until... it stopped, sat down, from despair. From what it saw.
After all, if you don't see a path, you don't see life. And if you don't see life, you don't find meaning.
No one knows how long she sat in this empty, white nothingness. No one except her. Until at some point she decided: let me not be alone.
Let.
Because loneliness is an enemy, and in the long term no one has defeated it. She waved her hand, said "Be," and it appeared.
Life, but not life, matter. The same empty shell.
Why?
The question was asked so often that one day the question... answered: "Want to create something like yourself, create yourself."
Create yourself? She looked at herself, but... did she look? Ran her hands over her face and understood: she has no eyes. To see the beautiful, you must look through the beautiful.
She created eyes and saw herself for the first time. Then created form, living, real. That which can be called "I."
Thus being appeared.
Not a thing.
Not a subject.
Being.
Only by understanding yourself can you understand everything else. You cannot draw a landscape without knowing it.
When the shell, no, already "I" understood this, then said "Be."
And a world appeared, space appeared. Time appeared, but... this was not enough. A landscape is empty while there's no living things in it. Loneliness lasts while someone similar to you doesn't appear nearby.
Creating life turned out to be harder. This isn't something you can do with a word. This is what requires mind, soul.
A day passed.
A second passed.
A third approached.
And finally, in the stubbornness of his desire, he achieved it.
On the third day life appeared.