The Goddess, the Guardian, and the Sun

The Goddess was a painter—the cosmos her canvas. There were no laws—only imagination. Birds with endless wingspans flew across skies painted with the colors of her dreams. The sky mingled with the ocean; birds dove into the blue, green, gray waters and emerged with legs and then strolled across various plains.

    After a time, the Goddess grew bored. She longed for a new canvas that might stretch her imagination. Her mother was not concerned with her daughters restlessness, which she was told was the artist’s way. The Goddess’ mother consulted the others—they were cautious about the Goddess’ ever-expanding imagination because as it stretched, it could very well envelop them all. But endless imagination was the way of the Great Creator and could not be denied.

   “I heard that the Sun in the outer universe of the Milky Way has some planets,’” an elder said, “perhaps the Sun will entrust a planet to your daughter.”

   The elders agreed that the Goddess should ask the sun for a planet.

*****

The Sun’s brightness and extreme heat caused the Goddess to pause as the intensity was new to her; liquid seeped from her body, hot and salty. She tried to imagine how she would depict such heat in future paintings.

“Who are you to dare approach the Sun, the center of all planets of the Universe?” a voice demanded.

The Goddess was not accustomed to such rudeness. “Your Sun is impressive in light and heat, and is perhaps the center of your cosmos, but is a mere pin of light in the vast Universe.”

The Guardian resented the Goddess’ tone. He had little patience for unfamiliar spirits.

“My purpose is to speak with the Sun; let me pass,” she insisted.

Before the Guardian could protest, they felt the Sun’s heat. “I will speak with this Goddess,” the Sun said.

The Guardian had no choice but to let the Goddess pass.

A heatwave emerged followed by hot breath, “What brings you so far away from your place in the Universe?” the Sun asked.

“I am told you have a planet upon which I might paint,” she replied

“Yes, I have a hold on these planets, orbs, and moon. You may paint on one, but it must remain within my solar system.”

The Goddess surveyed the celestial orbs. She was tempted by the one with the rings, and was intrigued by the one with the red dirt and mountains. After a while, she decided on the planet that was close enough to the Sun to enjoy its warmth without being too hot, and not so frigid as to be cold.

When the Guardian learned that the Sun had given permission for the Goddess to paint Erda, he became incensed. The Guardian was something of a scientist and he had experiments placed on the third planet from the Sun.

The Sun was wise and appreciated all forms of creation. “You and the Goddess should work together,” the Sun suggested.

“Her creation is nothing more than folly,” the Guardian scoffed, “she does not adhere to any rules.”

“Perhaps your rules could benefit from shades of color,” the Sun suggested.

The Guardian snorted his displeasure.

“It is your choice,” the Sun said, “I have already given her permission to paint on Erda. Your experiments may remain, or you may move them; it matters not to me.”

The Guardian did not want to move what he had already started on the planet. His only hope was that he would be able to intimidate the Goddess to leave.

                                                          *****

The Goddess loved Erda and painted with abandon and experimented with new colors and textures. The Sun’s heat today was the hottest day she had ever experienced since coming to Erda. Everything floated and since they were weightless, arranged themselves without regard for her sightline. The relentless heat caused her vision to blur. She wondered what this foretold.

The Guardian saw she was exasperated. “What seems to be the problem, Goddess? Are you not pleased with your creations?”

“They are beautiful. It’s just that their will—“

“They don’t obey?”

“I do not expect obedience. It’s just that—“

“Let me show you something,”

The Goddess followed the Guardian to what he told her was a forest. It was much cooler here. Trees stood erect. There were flowers, bushes, and even animals that hopped, ran, or bounded, but always returned to the ground.

“What? How?” the Goddess asked.

“Gravity…it is one of my inventions. It helps keep order. I have applied it all over the planet—let me show you.”

                                               *****

The Goddess was surprised how often the Sun made its appearance on the planet. The Guardian explained the system of mathematics he had devised and had convinced the Sun to adopt. Once gravity was in place, Erda was then put on a rotation schedule. The Sun appeared and disappeared—most often replaced by the Moon when the planet went dark.

The Goddess created flowers that bloomed before snow fell from the sky, and then clouds that covered the sun, and rain fell. Leaves on the trees took on various hues from green, to orange, to red and brown.

The Guardian liked the vast array, but was annoyed by the chaos. He took her colors and temperatures and organized them into seasons.

The Sun encouraged their collaboration as her beautiful creations and his sense of order turned Erda into a magnificent orb of landscapes, mountains and prairies, and restless oceans and crystal lakes. Every day it seemed a new color joined the pallet.

The Guardian placed an atmosphere over Erda as a protective shield.

The Goddess and the Guardian fell in love. The Sun knew when they were quarreling because mountains would erupt, and streaming lava would pour down from the exploded tops.

The Sun found it odd that two such different beings could forge a strong relationship. The Sun also knew that the Goddess’ mother would not be pleased.

The Guardian wanted to spend time grouping and naming all of the creations on Erda. He found the Goddess’ endless creating to be exhausting. He tried to convince her to join him in the cataloging, but she quickly became bored.

She loved the Guardian and wanted to create something indicative of their love. She studied the creatures that flew and swam and walked out of the ocean. She studied eyes and noses, lips, and teeth.

The Guardian was impressed by her commitment to observation. She is adopting my ways, he thought, and swelled with pride. 

The Sun was worried about the onset of the Goddess’ silence, knowing her mother would not be pleased.

When the Sun went dark and a new moon was in infancy, the Goddess created two beings in the image of the Guardian and her.

When the Sun rose at its appointed time, the Goddess presented woman and man to the Guardian. The Sun saw the beings and knew the Goddess’ mother would not be pleased.

The Guardian was thrilled by the humans and murmured, “So handsome, so beautiful.”

The two newly created beings played in the ocean and ran through the forests. Their laughter was more melodic than the songs the birds sang.

The Goddess encouraged them to be adventurous and carefree. She healed their wounds and protected them from various beasts.

“They will never learn if you save them from peril,” the Guardian protested.

“I want them to be happy and carefree.”

“They need rules.”

“Oh, you and your rules.”

“A volcano erupted.”

During the next phase of the new moon, while the Sun set and they sky was void of light, the Guardian imposed rules on the humans.

The Goddess discovered the couple shivering under a tree. “What troubles you?” she asked the pair.

“We are afraid,” said the female.

“Who told you about fear?”

“The Guardian,” the male replied.”

“You have nothing to fear; I will protect you,” said the Goddess.

“He said you can no longer protect us; they will punish us if you do,” said the male.

Another volcano erupted.

The Goddess’ mother felt the disturbance. She was not pleased and went to find her daughter.

The Sun saw her approach and knew she was not pleased.

“Where is my daughter,” she demanded of the Sun.

“On Erda.”

“I must find her; she is in distress. I fear for her spirit.”

“She has created much beauty on Erda,” the Sun said, “you will be awed by her work.”

“Her imagination is almost as vast as the Great Creator. Yes, I wanted her to have a planet as a canvas, but now I want to know is why she is distressed?”

“The Sun knew that hiding anything from the Goddess’ mother was pointless. “The Guardian…,” the Sun began, …”the Goddess has fallen in love with him.”

The Goddess’ mother had heard of guardians. The Great Creator had experimented with order-based galaxies. These catalogers had been imbued with a little too much self-importance and had been banished for trying to impose their structure on the imaginative ones. Apparently, one had found a place in the galaxy of the Sun.

“Did the Great Creator send the Guardian to you?” The Goddess’ mother asked.

“The Guardian only told me of his skills. I was intrigued and must admit I like the rotation of the planets, the division of time, and I especially like gravity.”

“Has the Guardian tried to impose his rules on you, my daughter?”

“Oh no, but he has turned his rules on the humans I created.”

The Goddess’ mother was not pleased. She looked down and saw two humans cowering as a tiger crossed their path. Their distrust caused the tiger to bare its fangs and roar.

The Goddess’ mother waited for her daughter to come and calm the tiger and sooth the humans. But the Guardian appeared with a spear instead.

“You must defend yourselves,” he told the humans and thrust the weapon into the young man’s hand.

The male took the spear, and as the Guardian whispered instructions in his ear, the male lunged the spear into the tiger’s heart.

The tiger roared in pain and collapsed. Its blood seeped on the ground and the female buried her face in its fur and wept.

As instructed by the Guardian, the male pulled the female to her feet. “Come, we must find shelter.”

“Why?” she asked.

Before the male could respond, a volcano erupted, and bubbling lava poured down around them.

The Goddess’ mother was not pleased. She went and found the goddess weeping in the forest.

“I thought the Guardian would love the humans as I love them,” said the Goddess.

“As long as violence is in his heart, he is incapable of love,” said her mother

“I do not understand violence.”

“I am grateful to hear that.”

“What should I do now?”

“I think it would be best to leave Erda and return to the Great Creator.”

“What will happen to the Guardian?”

Another roar was suddenly silenced, followed by the female’s scream.

“He has chosen violence,” the Goddess’ mother said. “I am sorry for the Sun, but the Guardian will never be allowed to leave Erda. The planet is forever damaged. Over time, it will become hotter and hotter and hotter.”

“Is there nothing the Great Creator can do?” the Goddess pleaded.

“Perhaps, but the Universe is a vast place—a place of infinite imagination. Erda will forever be a reminder of what might happen if creation does not come from pure love and beauty.

The Goddess left Erda with her mother, and they returned to the Universe of the Great Creator.

The Sun hid behind the Moon. A volcano erupted as subsequent roars were silenced, but no longer followed by human tears.

Five millennia in the future, on an experimental planet called Erda, the humans were still not prepared for the heatwave that decimated the planet.