Out of the darkness, the chaos of time, The whirlwind gave birth to the Mother sublime. She woke to Herself knowing life had great worth, The dark empty void grieved the Great Mother Earth. The Mother was lonely. She was the only. From the dust of Her birth She created the other, A pale shining friend, a companion, a brother. They grew up together, learned to love and to care, And when She was ready, they decided to pair. Around Her he'd hover. Her pale shining lover. Her full, rich voice seemed to fill the entire space and depth of the great cave. Ayla was so moved, she not only felt shivers, she felt her throat constricting and tears forming.
The dark empty void and the vast barren Earth, With anticipation, awaited the birth. Life drank from Her blood, it breathed from Her bones. It split Her skin open and sundered Her stones. The Mother was giving. Another was living. Her gushing birth waters filled rivers and seas, And flooded the land, giving rise to the trees. From each precious drop new grass and leaves grew, And lush verdant plants made all the Earth new. Her waters were flowing. New green was growing. In violent labour spewing fire and strife, She struggled in pain to give birth to new life. Her dried clotted blood turned to red-ochred soil, But the radiant child made it all worth the toil. The Mother's great joy. A bright shining boy. Mountains rose up spouting flames from their crests, She nurtured Her son from Her mountainous breasts. He suckled so hard, the sparks flew so high, The Mother's hot milk laid a path through the sky. His life had begun. She nourished Her son. He laughed and he played, and he grew big and bright. He lit up the darkness, the Mother's delight. She lavished Her love, he grew bright and strong, But soon he matured, not a child for long. Her son was near grown. His mind was his own. The deep cave seemed to be singing back to the One Who Was First, the rounded shapes and sharp angles of the stone causing slight delays and altering tones so that the sound coming back to their ears was a fugue of strangely beautiful harmony.
For all that her full-bodied voice filled the space with sound, there was something comforting about it to Ayla. She didn't hear every word, every sound — some verses just made her think more deeply about the meaning — but she had the feeling that if she were ever lost, she could hear that voice from almost anywhere. She watched Jonayla, who seemed to be listening hard too. Jondalar and Wolf both seemed to be as enraptured by the sound as she was.
Her fair shining friend struggled hard, gave his best, The conflict was bitter, the struggle hard pressed. His vigilance waned as he closed his great eye, Then darkness crept close, stole his light from the sky. Her pale friend was tiring. His light was expiring. When darkness was total, She woke with a cry. The tenebrious void hid the light from the sky. She joined in the conflict, was quick to defend, And drove the dark shadow away from Her friend. But the pale face of night. Let Her son out of sight. But the bleak frigid dark craved his bright glowing heat. The Mother defended and would not retreat. The whirlwind pulled hard, She refused to let go, She fought to a draw with Her dark swirling foe. She held darkness at bay. But Her son was away. When She fought the whirlwind and made chaos flee, The light from Her son glowed with vitality. When the Mother grew tired, the bleak void held sway, And darkness returned at the end of the day.
