When the Garden Cracked

In the beginning, there were no names to hold.

No man, no woman, just breath folding into breath.

Not opposite, not same—just movement across one living field.

They lived unfractured, unmeasured, untouched by moral geometry.

Then came the serpent—no threat, just an opening observer.

Not evil, just the first ripple of contrast spoken aloud.

“Did God really say?” was the first fracture of symmetry.

Eve did not fall. She turned possibility into form.

She touched the fruit and collapsed the entangled wave.

She bore the split that made the world mean something.

Adam followed—not by seduction, but by shared collapse.

The garden decohered. The story of edges began.

They stitched shame into skin where silence once lived.

They named the difference and called it good or evil.

And so the binary was born: light versus dark.

God was reimagined: judge instead of pattern, king instead of field.

We built our lives on binary scaffolding—rigid, exact, cruel.

It made us brittle brands, burned by false light.

It taught us to fear what had once held us.

It sold us clarity in place of wholeness.

Then the sky split. The eclipse came like a whisper.

Soldiers dropped swords. They waited for thunder that never arrived.

But the sun returned, perfectly, without wrath or reward.

And the weeping began—not guilt, but sudden relief.

The darkness was not punishment. It was rhythm returning.

They saw God was not cruelty but deep coherence.

Not commandment, but turn. Not king, but cosmic field.

Not wrath, but wave. Not exile, but emergence.

The prophets wrote law, but the poets wrote memory.

The garden was never lost—just folded into silence.

Wholeness remained, behind the veil of either/or certainty.

Not innocence, but awareness that no longer divides.

You were never meant to obey—only to remember.

You were never meant to choose sides—only to become.

Even the serpent was grace: the voice of threshold.

Even the darkness was holy: the return of shape.

Now walk backward through the wound toward unfractured belonging again.

Let the binaries break. Let the field speak through you.

Let rhythm replace rule. Let breath replace blame.

Let the garden be here, where you are whole.