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Deity of Waking. The first child of the Sky Mother, the embodiment of life. You are sitting in a field at the back of this orphanage, watching all the small children play.
There is a child next to you, too.
Small. Smaller than a child has any right to be, you think. But perhaps it is just because you found this one sooner than you had the others. Their size doesn’t matter, their chatter makes up for it. You enjoy talking, even if you think that this child would be better off playing with kids their age.
“The sisters say that you and Birth are twins.” “We are.” “Then who came first?” “Me, of course.” “Why?” “Why not?” “What if Birth came first instead?” “I don’t know. Does it matter?” “I don’t know. The sisters got into an argument about it yesterday though. One of them said that you came first. The other said Birth came first. I just wanna know.”
Ah. One of those, then. You would have smiled, but you weren’t sure this child would understand what a smile looked like on you. “Well, I don’t think it matters. But I did come first. About an hour or two earlier, in your mortal time. After all, life is defined by how you experience it in your waking hours. That makes sense, doesn’t it?”
The child takes this, turns it over in their small head full of thoughts and ideas and half made plans. “Yeah. I guess. But don’t you need to be born to be awake?”
“You are awake long before you are born, my dear. What good is it to be born if you can’t be awake to experience it?”
“Then doesn’t it matter who came first? Birth wouldn’t have woken up without you, right?”
“Everything matters, child. Everything is all we have.”
“Then it does matter. Why did you say you didn’t think it did?”
Hm. This one remembered. You hadn’t met many children as small as this one who remembered the things you said. Then again, this one was to be your sibling. Mothers children were always a little bit different from the regular mortal. “Everything matters, yes. But it all matters in the grand scheme of things. Right now, here, in this moment? It doesn’t matter which of us came first. We’re here now. It’s all over and done with.”
“Oh,” The child hums, and you know they don’t really understand it. It is fine, truly, it is. They have so much time. Time to learn, to understand. “When’s your birthday?”
“Birthday?” You hum, considering. You hadn’t been ‘born’ in the traditional sense. Eons ago, you had just… woken up, is the best way to put it. One moment, nothing had been there, and then, your conscious manifested, and since then, you’d been awake. Always waking, always experiencing. Always loved, too. Mother had made that extremely clear. “I don’t believe I have one. I wasn’t born. I just came.”
“Everyone has a birthday. It’s the day you started existing.” The child insisted, and you supposed that made sense to them. This one had been born during a period that had an actual time system. You existed before time had. Before mortals. Not before this planet, but still. It was a very long time to be alive.
“I existed before we counted these days you have. Before our planets collided and broke into the moon.” It’s the best answer you have, though you knew it was no answer at all.
“Does your mama know?” The child asked, and it was such a sweet question. Did Mother know? She might, though you don’t think it matters. To ask her such a trivial question…
“She’s your mama too. You can call her that, it’s okay.” You say instead, because it’s easier to address your siblings struggles with accepting their place in the family than to delve into your own mind.
“But I’m all the way down here. And she’s all the way up there.” The child points upward, the sky clear and beautiful. A brilliant blue, the same colour of the childs bracelets. Gifts from Mother, that she’d placed in their little bedroom to surprise them. You didn’t see any stars other than the sun, perhaps she was giving you two privacy for the conversation. Not like it meant much. You could feel her in everything around you two. Especially in the child next to you.
“Love knows no distance. She loves you, no matter how far you are.” You insist, feeling that strange, human feeling in the stardust that rests where you would have a stomach. You’d lived for so long, you knew just how much she loved you. Every one of her children knew they were loved. This one will too. This one just needs a little more time.
“How do you know?” It’s an earnest question, from this child with their knees clutched to their chest, like the answer could be painful. Maybe it could be. But it shouldn’t.
“That you are loved?” You will ask, and you will wonder it yourself. How do you know you are loved? You are loved, you are certain of it. You couldn’t have gotten this far if you weren’t. You are quiet. The child doesn’t repeat the question. Doesn’t move on. Just sits with you, silent as a mouse.
You are still thinking when all the children are called back inside.
Still thinking when you head to the temples, picking up the offerings for yourself and your twin.
You only half pay attention to which offerings are for which of you when you place them in your home.
Your mind wanders as you trace the palm of a newborn, your twin holding the hand of the exhausted mother, talking with her, trying to help her feel normal. You don’t need to be at every birth. The mere existence of your concepts is more than enough guarantee that it will turn out fine. And yet, you do enjoy meeting the littles. It is a very human feeling. You enjoy this feeling.
Your gaze drifts back to the mother, who is nodding along to your twins chatter, but you know her mind is elsewhere. Her gaze is fixed on her baby. You think she wants to hold him, so you fashion two humanlike arms to pick it up. She startles as you bring him towards her, but she smiles and takes him from you.
You watch her arms tremble, her body still recovering from the painful birth. Your twin is gentle, energy carefully seeping into the mother, easing the pain. You watch the adoration in her eyes, the way she cooes to the tiny mass of flesh and life. Babies do not make expressions this young, but they recognize their mothers. He doesn’t cry. A good baby. Satisfied for now.
You and your twin eventually leave the hospital. Divine or not, visitors have to let the mother rest. You find yourself heading to a grocery store. You aren’t sure why yet. Perhaps you are beginning to crave mortal food. You don’t need it, but you’ll admit, mortals know how to cook. This is also an enjoyable sensation.
And yet, you do not focus on the food. Your gaze is drawn to a mother. Most people are looking at her, at least glancing. She is loud. Not obnoxiously so, but she is constantly calling for her young daughter. Always looking over her shoulder, making sure the girl doesn’t wander too far. She stops in the middle of an aisle to pick the girl up, her feet are tired, apparently. She consistently reminds the girl they have to hurry, that supper needs to be early for some reason. Despite this, she takes the girl to the dairy aisle, and allows her to toddle around as long as she liked, looking at all of the different options with all the awe a five year old can have. Dinner will be late tonight, you realise, watching the woman chuckle at her daughters amusement. And it will be fine.
You walk more. You pass a bus station, accidentally catching the conversation of a young woman, her voice nervous, breathy. Speaking into a phone, asking how her baby was. More questions, all about the baby. Had the baby eaten? Had the baby had tummy time? Was the baby awake? Was the baby napping, she shouldn’t be napping right now, she needs a schedule and really, she doesn’t need naps, she has too much energy as it is and I know habibi, I know you know how to take care of our baby I just miss her a lot. The person on the other end asks her a question, and she looks around, as if to make sure no one is watching, She doesn’t see you. She smiles, says that they don’t need to worry, two weeks can feel very short when it wants to. Curious as you are, you slip into her mind, Just a little bit, not too much. You learn that she is supposed to be on a business trip, but it ended early. She is going to surprise her husband by coming home today. From what you gather, the two of them missed each other. A lot. She was so excited to be home. You slip away, that warm, human sensation spreading through the stardust of your body. This is a good feeling.
And so, you return to Mothers palace in the Higher World, falling in step with her as she works through reshaping the raw energy of souls into people. She does not need help with this task. They could do it all herself. But still, she hands you the soul energy, her energy turning warmer as you took your place next to them. Your body, if it can be called that, does not need to rest. You are the embodiment of Waking. You never tire. And yet, next to Mother, you relax against their body, leaning into the warmth of her energy. It blankets you, a sensation as familiar as the material in your hands. You understand that the mortal equivalent of this is a hug. Or cuddling. But it is meant to portray love. You do feel loved. You do not miss the way mothers stars are angled just enough to catch you in their gaze. You do not comment on this. You know she has inherited the mortal mothers fear of her children falling ill. This is love, you realise. Allowing small inconveniences, looking back, watching to make sure one is safe, this is love. How silly of you, a being who has been loved for so long, to forget this.
You watch mother shape the souls in her grasp, and you catch someone elses reflection in a few of the stars. The child you had spoken to in the beginning of the day. Their youngest child. Your youngest sibling. And you realise, with what feels like a mortal smile, you finally had an answer for them. You relax into mothers warmth properly. You’ll tell them the answer tomorrow. You think they’ll like it as much as you do.