Time had dawned on the World, but its rays had not yet pierced the skull of thinking creatures. It was still dark where thought would one-day shine bright to blind and to enlighten. Blissfully the creatures slept in ignorance.
This bliss was not to last.
Like innumerable other planets around innumerable stars this World had bred fertile minds. For thought to bloom however there would be need for light, and the egg of animal consciousness would have to crack to let it in.
A catalyst was required.
Divinely charged emissaries streaked into the atmospheric palace, emerging from the starry filament. They burned, consumed with the intensity of their message. Some eyes followed these celestial dignitaries, but their gazes were devoid of understanding. The message was not for them.
So it went that these patient visitors, with a brief parading flash through the skies, ended their eon long journeys in pocked craters on the surface of the Earth. Under the dome of heaven in the bosom of the virgin Gaia, in fields, in forests, in oceans, the meteors glowed red hot. None were there to receive the messages, not yet. But they would come, and they would know. It could not not be so; it had all been planned.
Will of the Universe be done.
Julien Dupont 