GOD IS NOT A PUPPETEER

Hand in the Sky — II

──•~❉᯽❉~•──

Anaximander of Miletus

Thales was succeeded by Anaximander, also of Miletus, second of the Milesian school.

He stated that things moved around the earth, which lied in empty space. Celestial bodies circled the earth and were spaced at different distances. He believed that the something out there, in that space—perpetual, intangible—made up everything that humans had; and in response to his predecessor, he thought that the arche was this abstract thing.

The apeiron.

(It is infinity.)

Anaximander disagreed with his mentor that all came from water—more than that, he suggested, was the idea of humans originating from a fishlike creature.

In a period of time where science fell under the crudity of early technologies, he arrived at his conclusions when he observed the presence of fœtuses and the process of gestation amongst animals. Perhaps he thought the same could be applied to humans, and so one of the earliest theories of evolution was born. This being, Anaximander proposed, which emerged from water that had evaporated, went to the earth.

Man burst from its womb after, and here humanity was. There must have been order to how human beings came to be—such as the notion of where the fish came from. The order in the universe did not just happen, and so there must be someone or something who put it into everything. The apeiron, he said; it was unidentified, boundless, and infinite—but it preceded absolutely all things.

And with that, Anaximander set the foundations for metaphysics in Western thought.

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Sometimes, you were grateful that most of your days were filled with sleep. Sometimes, as you closed your eyes, it became faster to disregard the truth.

Sometimes, when you wafted in a state of in-between, you found that it seemed easier to bear the illogicality of your existence.

(What is everything you know for, then, when you have this?)

It did not make any sense whatsoever, despite all your suspicions otherwise.

You desired to understand it in its entirety, but something inside you dreaded the answer—that, if you looked close enough, you might have found it worse and nothing at all like you would have imagined. Often, you brooded on where you fit into all of it.

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Obviously, the rain made it difficult to travel about. Not including the weather itself, the streets of Tokyo were already hectic enough to go through on their own. When your father grumbled and sat down on a bench, you realised that he actually meant to take you out to meet your family—not just to have a walk around the city.

Oops. My bad, you laid your head on his chest, but how exciting!

It made you wonder. How come he had only taken the initiative to do so, now? Why not before? You had barely left the house—or apartment, more likely—that you have been staying at for these past few months. All that had been happening in your life, so far, was a stable mundanity that led you around with boredom. You had been so ever curious on the reason why only your father stayed with you—at some point thought it might have been some kind of peculiar seclusion, even—but finally, you could get some answers for the situation.

"Seibo?" His voice pulled you out of your musing. You regarded him with a lazy expression.

He was talking to a bus conductor. "I have to—"

Immediately, you tuned out their words, uninterested, but your ears caught up on other quiet conversations. They were faint in the static of the rain, though you took it as a way to amuse yourself. Being a babe, even if more dull and tiring than you initially assumed, gave you a perspective you would not have expected to achieve. People did not mind themselves in front of an infant, not really, which was why you decided to eavesdrop on others for the sake of your own entertainment.

Several people stood behind your father; six saleswomen in uniforms, an elderly couple, a few children. They possessed varying degrees of interaction and animation. In the dimness, you could just make out the way they all seemed to brim with life, uncaring of most others around them as they became caught up in their own moments of time.

(One of the children complains about the rain. "My shoes—Mom's gonna—at me."

She lets out an exaggerated cry.)

("Ah, Mari—" says the old man, "it did—I don't see why—my back."

His wife replies to him in an irritated mutter. "Your—you should have—the clock.")

(Three of the young women stifle their giggles while whispering to one another.)

You stared at them, distant even as others came in line. They huddled under the roof of the bus stop, dodging and shielding themselves from the weather, breathing close and bodies humid as they agitated with the passing of time. Your father held a hand to the back of the baby carrier, chuckling a bit, and you blinked as he boarded a bus.

And up you went. The motions distracted you, and you craned your head to take another look around. There were even more people here. Picking a spot behind the driver, your father sat down. The saleswomen, the elderly couple, and the children followed. They took their places somewhere behind you, eager to move with the rush. The two of you were going to a hospital, your father mumbled. To meet with your family, you assumed, as he kept mentioning something about a mother and a brother.

Ah. It's this Rai-Rai and Sachiko.

It made sense; especially when you connected the voices in your memory to each person. The one that babbled must be your new sibling. You took that piece of information in with slight hesitance, though you truly did not know what to make of it. It was not that you had been averse to having a brother, especially now that you likely were the younger in the situation—but your own past experiences dampened your excitement.

(Someone cackles with you, throwing around glass bottles and stupid jests. He keeps himself glued to a screen.)

You wondered how your new mother and brother would react to your arrival. The last thing you recalled of them both was from when you still resided in the womb—and perhaps those scant seconds as you left it.

How come they still remained at the hospital? Did something go wrong during the birth? What kept them there? Did it have something to do with you? You sincerely hoped not. Was your brother also in the place because of it? Your father had kept you alone for all these months—verging five, now, you counted—and this break in routine spurred you into enough curiosity to dive for answers.

It was a welcome gap into your current life. The monotony of things drove you mad—like slips of cold wind in narrow spaces, like a wrong-footedness as you walked along a sandy shore—and finally, now, you had something new to engage with.

The bus jerked into movement, and the noises behind you faded into the background. You silently watched as more and more figures outside of the window blurred past—colours and forms turning into one long mess of vision, smooth but chaotic—taking in your father's breathing with a satisfied hum.

Everything blended into a low ambience.

(If you keep it up, then the ride would never stop—and you would have to force yourself to see as they all stay in one position or shift at slower speeds, while you dash by.)

(Infinity, it goes ever on.)

(When will these people around you realise how transient reality is?)

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Eighteen minutes later, another conundrum made itself known to you. Eighteen minutes later was the start of several enlightening occurrences, one of many to come, one of several that led you to even more questions than you started out with.

Broken was the slow, near-peaceful ruse of your new life, and you supposed the shame lied with you for not recognising the man you were with sooner.

Eighteen minutes later, your musings and contentment declared themselves short-lived—and, once again, you cursed at your situation.

──•~❉᯽❉~•──

You stared at the boy. The boy stared back.

(Infinity, it goes ever on. It is incomprehensible, it lies just by the edge of your perceptions.)

There was something familiar about him, you thought, all soft and joyous and bright.

When you arrived at the hospital, you had been subject to an image of your father's happiness, straight and true. His emotions shone clear on his face as he opened the entrance to your mother's room—to be greeted by a stumbling toddler, who had shrieked in delight when the two of you entered. It was a boy, likely a year or so older than you. He looked up and he beamed, happy to see his own father come inside.

"It's good to see you too, Rai-Rai," your father laughed as he closed the door, "have you been good?"

The child reached for him then, babbling something in response to the man's question. As he did so, he took notice of you, and quieted when he caught your eye.

Who are you? His expression said, clearly wary. Why are you on my father?

He's mine too, you little twit. You lowered your eyes at him, glaring a bit. Mine, mine, mine. Mine!

Perhaps sensing your thoughts, or simply perhaps because he felt insecure at your presence, he shouted, "No!", and proceeded to cling onto the man's legs, pulling at his pants. Startled, your father huffed with a smile, but bent down to let his son have a proper look at his sister. And here you were. At a closer angle, you managed to get a better view of the boy.

He's so ridiculously pretty for a baby, what the fuck? Was your first thought.

He was all fresh earth and sunlight, and here you tilted your head in consideration—like honey and cinnamon, or a maple leaf in autumn—he had the wholesomeness of cherub angels in paintings, of what many women from the past hoped their offspring turned out to resemble. With the silky hair, the long lashes, and the velvety skin, you could imagine he gained much envy and adoration for that alone.

Nevertheless, this boy—or Rai-Rai, as your father lovingly called him—your brother; after a brief while of contemplation, you would say that you found him…just the tiniest bit uncanny. A perfect little thing; how cute and darling—and so very convenient. You gave him a look. So, when his face scrunched up in upset as you continued to regard him with distrust, and he huffed out something like a complaint, you burst into helpless giggles. It gladdened you even more as he turned to your father in obvious confusion.

Gods on earth, I can already tell you'll be a nuisance.

"This is Don, Rai-Rai," the man holding you put a hand on the boy's head, "she's your sister. Do you remember what I told you?"

When Rai-Rai's eyes remained unfocused and unaccepting, your father snorted. "Well—now, are we?"

"Are they—dear?" A woman's voice cut your interaction short. Sweet as the one you heard, once.

At this, all three of you broke out of your moment, and turned to where it came from. When you laid your sights upon the source of the interruption, your eyes widened with a small amount of surprise. Immediately, you perked up, and wiggled in your father's hold as you tried to reach for your new mother. You let out a noise of want, making your intentions evident for all to see.

As you moved, your hand accidentally hit Rai-Rai's cheek, catching him off-guard. He tumbled down onto his diaper-covered arse, yelping. Ignoring his whines of, 'Bad, bad! Stop!', you squirmed and flailed, uncaring if you disturbed your father as well.

Is every person in this family blessed with such good genes? I do hope I look like that as well. Come on, come here! I want to see you! Come closer!

Her laugh was as boisterous as you remembered it being, full of life and energy. Charming and happy. She doubled over in her amusement, clutching the armrest of a nearby chair as she struggled to catch her breath. In an instant, the action brought your attention to the state she had to carry herself in—pale, and to an extent, hunched. Laggardly, you realised she still wore a hospital gown.

"Sachiko, careful." Your father quickly got onto his feet, pulling your brother up in the process. He, too, indulged in the entertainment, but it shifted into worry when he saw her gasping for air. "Don't—"

"I'm fine, dear. It's just—I'm fine. I've waited—to see her." The woman waved her husband off. She composed herself and padded over to you. "Give her to me."

You squealed as you were taken out of the baby carrier, ecstatic at being granted the freedom of movement. The device slipped off, and then your father passed you on to your mother.

She settled you onto the hospital bed, smiling and cooing as she took a good long look at you. Her expression never wavered, pure bliss unmistakable when her gaze roamed over every inch of your being. There was a fierceness in her, you noted, something subtle but ever-present. Your mother moved with the persistence of a sick person, either unminding or uncaring of the results, so long as she got to do what she wanted to.

The woman seemed even younger than your father, you mused, likely by a few years or so, though the age gap might not have been obvious to a far eye. In this moment, her condition might have detracted from her appearance. Nevertheless, it stood to fact that your new parents were both attractive, your mother especially. You could even surmise that Rai-Rai would take after her in the future, not only in the colouring, but also in the soft appearance.

Where the man was all boldness and hard edges, she was all radiance and natural ease.

He's like a wolf and she's a fox, you giggled, carbon and copper. Or a forest in autumn.

"Ah, she knows her mother!" Sachiko made a funny face at you, and you let a pudgy hand reach out to her. She grasped it into her larger one, tickling your palm with a thumb. "She's—Sōichirō. Oh, she's—I know—I'm so happy."

Sōichirō? You hummed. That's a name. Who's that?

Your mother turned back to the man, who had Rai-Rai in his grip. The two of them watched you—the former with a contented expression, and the latter a disgruntled one. You clumsily waved at them as well, and felt an involuntary grin settle on your lips.

Rai-Rai shifted in your father's hold, kicking his feet, demanding to be let down. The man obliged, and you watched as the boy crawled onto the bed, peering over at you with a pout. He blinked.

"She's small," he puffed his cheeks out, "smaller than me."

Surprise came to you as he said it. This boy had quite the clear intonation, for one at such a young age.

"She's five months old, dear. She'll—than you." Your mother put a hand on his back, ensuring he would not topple over when he leaned on you. "Careful, Rai-Rai."

"'Kay, Mom."

The boy continued to observe you, intelligence clear in his eyes, and you could not find it in yourself to look away. He seemed to have started a small contest with you, to your own hilarity. You would play with him in this, you thought a bit pettily. As a minute passed and you wandered into your own mind, your father's deep voice permeated through the silence.

"Raito, what are you doing?" He asked, with a hint of a laugh present. Beside him, your mother wore a blinding smile.

The two of you jerked at his question. Your brother turned back to them and you made a vague noise in reply, cooing in a way most people would have found adorable.

So, Rai-Rai's full name is Raito. Nice.

You froze as the statement settled into your mind, and the realisation came to you.

Wait. Raito?

(Infinity, why be so strange?)

What was that name she said earlier?

In a panic, you turned to the members of your new family again, and went over the things you already knew. The boy was named Raito, with light brown hair and eyes, which he shared with his mother, Sachiko. Earth, honey, maple, and cinnamon.

Then, the man: tree barks and boulders, smoke and darkness; and if so, he would then be—

"Sōichirō!" Sachiko laughed. "Look at them!"

No. It dawned on you. No—

"Rai-Rai and I—yesterday, with your mother, dear."

(Memories of a story you like come to you, in aggression and in horror, and you want to scream.)

Sachiko. Mother to two, lover to a leader; left behind as the world passed her by and her family fell apart.

Rai-Rai. Raito. Brilliant young man, great and terrible; self-proclaimed god to a new world.

Sōichirō.

You teared up, staring at him with wide, wild eyes.

Ah, fuck—

The man who you have all but clung to in these past few months, the only one who took care of you so far. Your most defining constant; whom you freely gave your joys and pains to, whom you were starting to love so dearly. This dear individual, who had done his best to keep you amused and stimulated in your seclusion; sharing a kiss with his wife as you felt the tears building up in the corners of your eyes.

(Infinity, why show yourself now? What is this?)

(Living again.)

(You come back to the start.)

──•~❉᯽❉~•──

Finite was life, and such had been a truth that many contented themselves with for centuries past. And those who acknowledged that, accepted the futility of fighting against it. That should have been it; that must have been the end.

You had been one of those nonbelievers. While you respected others and whatever gods they worshipped, you have long since fallen out of the habit and conviction. As your time with faith ended, so came your scepticism—and that was that. Finite was your character, before, ever constant—yet ever-changing.

(So, why is it that you are here, of all places?)

It existed as a conundrum to puzzle about, as well as something you could even delude yourself with. This way lied irrationality, and yet you could not shield yourself from the desire to want to know more.

Other scholars have said such to be a base thing of humans, that it lied in an individual's nature to be curious of what they did not comprehend; but a few of the more religious, some of those who obsessed over the more metaphysical concepts such as gods and energies, they stated that it must be a want to be tempered. For that way, madness and discontent reigned supreme.

(Still, all the same, while the days pass and you grow warier of what answers are to come; you cannot and do not do much to stop time nor yourself from lying close to uncovering the truths of reality.)

Finite were your efforts, but infinite was the world—and deep inside you, you knew you would rather choose to continue to float amongst this ocean of uncertainty, if it meant you could live as you pleased, if it meant you would still live at all.

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(Even despite your revelation, you think you are still forgetting something. It stays there, in every corner of your consciousness, like an itch you cannot relieve yourself of, or a pest that buzzes around and makes shadows in the light. It is the insect that whines in your ear, hungry for your blood, going about in erratic flight as you scratch at the spots its tiny feet land on.)

Ah, you backtracked, my name isn't 'Don'.

It was Dawn.

(Sunlight is the last thing you can recall. Distant, faded, and shining through the blue.)

Even worse.

You realised your mistake when Sachiko went to play with you and Light. There, on her hospital bed, she humoured her children as her husband went off to discuss a few things with the doctors assigned to her care. The woman brought out flashcards—from one of the bags on the chairs—to show Light. She indulged the child's attempts at pointing out all the different colours on them, correcting him here and there as he clapped at the way the different pictures meant different things.

He was strangely happy about it, and you supposed that was the infantile brain of his working its magic. You had never seen a child so merry as this one, before.

"Don!" He giggled, and looked at you, then babbled something else you did not recognise.

Light must have said something particularly hilarious, as Sachiko brightened up and moved over to collect you, laughing as she did so. The boy became even more ecstatic, squealing.

What is going on, and here, you did not know if you wanted to cry or laugh—put me down, please, I'm ridiculously out of my depth—

She placed you right beside your brother, who immediately scooted over and grabbed at the scattered flashcards on the rumpled blanket. He clumsily took a few and shoved it at you. You blinked.

What the hell is this?

"Don!" The boy called out. "We can play—"

And here, he gabbled out something you could not hope to understand yet again—and the mother, who seemed to have finally caught up on your confusion, laughed at your lost expression. She positioned herself in front of you both, ensuring her hands were seen, and picked up a particular card.

It had the image of…what you presumed was a sunrise, on it. There was a yellow circle with rays, rising halfway behind two green hills sprinkled with flowers, peeking above a river in the middle. It appeared to be a simplified version of a sun coming up from behind a valley, you thought. You looked at the boy and the woman in curiosity as they talked to each other with small smiles.

(You are riding the wind with a mad laugh in your throat, and the sun watches. The sea calls from right beside you, and the sun watches. You stumble through fire and dirt, and then water, and the sun watches. You sink into this blue abyss, and the sun watches.)

Finally, she turned to you. As she held up the card in front of her, with the image of daybreak facing you, she enunciated that word again, slowly. And then, your brother tried to poke your cheek, but he ended up pushing your face towards the other direction instead. She dropped the flashcard and chastised the boy.

"Rai-Rai!" Sachiko pursed her lips, but it was obvious that she was struggling not to laugh.

You did not pay attention to their conversation nor their attempts to bring you back into their interaction, too fixated on the fallen card to process their words. It laid on the blankets, flat and innocuous, mocking you while the picture it held burned itself into your mind. As you laid on your side, making sense of this new development, you glared at the image.

Don, all three members of the family called you.

It hit.

How fucking stupid could you be? You huffed.

"Dawn!" Light called out.

This time, you turned to him in surprise, but it quickly wore off as you opened your mouth to speak—and promptly shut it once again, once he lit up. You considered what even it was you wanted to say. You could attempt saying your own name, now that you actually knew what it was. Nothing held you back from making it your first word—or, well, your first actual babbles. It was almost special, even.

But you did not care for such a thing.

(You are forgetting something, you know it.)

You could have said Dawn, at that very moment. But a part of you thought doing so felt wrong, somehow. Warped, frantic, violent—like a panic that threatened to eat your skin as you attempted to even bite out the first letters of the name.

"Dawn?" Sachiko prodded when you fell quiet and stayed unmoving. She was getting worried. "Dear, are you alright?"

(You are forgetting something.)

Oh, you realised, I can't remember my name.

(It is a whisper in infinity.)

Thunder resonated from outside the window, and the three of you startled at it. Then, the lightning flashed, and Light shrieked. He scrambled from his position, and Sachiko immediately moved to catch him before he fell off the bed. You remained still from your spot by the pillows, unwilling to make a sound, until finally you hiccupped and a sob slipped from you.

Your brother turned to you with tears in his eyes, sniffling. "Mom! It's loud!"

(The water comes back in full force, and infinity mocks you.)

──•~❉᯽❉~•──

As you obsessively chewed on your teething ring, not for the last time, you wondered why you were here.

Perhaps it had been out of mere happenstance.

Perhaps it had been God.

You paused, frowning down at your toy.

God?

(God.)

You scoffed, although it came out as a small chuffing noise. Sōichirō briefly looked up from where he was signing papers by the bedside. He watched you for a few seconds, searching for anything amiss. Beside him, Sachiko turned to look as well. She observed you, along with Light, who was currently fiddling with the pillowcases. When you ignored them and nothing seemed wrong, they went back to their task.

The teething ring folded in your small, chubby hands as you forcefully tried to bend it.

To you, God was mainly an allegorical figure learned during childhood. God was a social construct, motivated by the needs and wants of the human mind. The concept of God simply appeared to be an extension of one's idealisations: an amalgamation of everything that what one thought was of—or belonging to—the most good; an abstract quality of imagined perfection.

'God' could be perceived in various forms, though the most common representations depicted God to be something—or someone—anthropomorphic.

God was useful in that its very concept centred on the primary sociological perspectives, like the structural functionalist and symbolic interactionist theories, which supported notions such as unity and identity.

For the former: it fit in as a part of an institution—as a leading force to unify individuals and maintain social control; and according to Durkheim's theory, it enforced cohesion amongst a unit, where 'God' was the driving entity that people look towards for knowledge and guidance in the first place, becoming a shared ground for many to band together on.

For the latter: it was usually considered fundamental to a person's social and psychological wellbeing, largely responsible for forming better connections between individuals—especially those who belonged to cultures that put emphasis on religious practices.

So, where did that leave you?

(God, God, God.)

Once, with how you lived your everyday life, the notion of God was a passing thought, in that you never saw the importance of God in it. You could fathom how God may be sacred, and even understand the appeal in the action of worship. But you did not look at God as a god, even if that was what God was, because you viewed 'God' as an idea and a solution more than anything.

Whether others looked to God as life, a person, an energy, or even an entire universe—at the end of the day, to you, 'God' was still only a tool.

But where did God slot into all of this?

In an attempt to explain the universe, Anaximander stated that there must be a substance that was eternal and unchanging. His theory was that the universe based itself on a single substance that could not be created or destroyed, which led to the idea of an eternal universe that can be explained by this single substance.

It was said that Anaximander believed in gods, at least in part. After all, Thales taught him to value logic over superstition, and anything to do with the cosmos was once seen as an act of the divine. Idly, you mused that if rebirth had any place in his ideologies, it would have likely been explained as some unexplored aspect of the apeiron itself.

But, God or not, you liked to think you existed in this new world in the same way that the same indistinguishable matter did; the life you perceived, as you knew it, could be experienced through this one element—something which constantly underwent a process of change. And, in the end, this endless cycle of change was what gave your world its shape and form.

Anaximander believed that this one element was the origin of all things, and that it was capable of creating all the various forms in the universe.

Bullshit, you bit into your teething ring, it's probably just a grander way of thinking about consciousness.

You looked over to where your new parents busied themselves with paperwork, quiet even as two other people came into the room to speak with them. A doctor and a nurse, the first female and the second male. They moved quickly and professionally, though their eyes reflected a bit of sympathy as they sifted through the finer details of things with Sachiko and Sōichirō. The sound of nibs meeting paper was loud, and as you studied the adults, you sighed.

You wondered if this was also a part of that apeiron—this very moment, and each thing you observed.

(What do you think this very moment, and all you could comprehend, are made of?)

(Infinity, you bastard.)

Sachiko, Rai-Rai, Sōichirō. Mother, Brother, Father.

Sachiko, Rai-Rai, Sōichirō. Widow, Madman, Fool.

This family was cursed.

What does God have to do with anything?

(Oh, but how are you so sure that God does have something to do with it?)

(Infinity rages, and then it laughs.)

──•~❉᯽❉~•──

You woke up to a pair of slitted golden eyes watching you.

Oh! A cat! You squealed, reaching out to it. Pretty, pretty, pretty.

From your position on Sōichirō's chest—once again on the baby carrier, and he stood by the front of a lobby, while Sachiko held Light at her hip and conversed with a receptionist—you twisted to gain a better look at the animal near the window. Previously, you were roused from sleep by the sound of your brother cheerfully greeting someone. You yawned your tiredness away, and now you wanted to pet the feline.

The cat itself was small, with matted grey fur and a cut tail; form bony and hunched even as it laid on the sill. It gave you two slow blinks, and then a purr. Mirrored in its eyes were curiosity and excitement—and here they gleamed with a near-human comprehension as it took you in. The animal moved, then, and if you listened closely, you could hear a minute croaking tone come out of its throat.

It bared its teeth and smiled at you.

Oh, you're so beautiful.

"Dawn, what are you doing?" Sōichirō rotated a bit to see what made you so giddy. You looked up at him, but he was frowning at the window where the cat laid. "What are you looking at?"

Can't you see? You tried to lurch forward again, this time swinging your legs as well to motion at it. It's right there. Come on. I want it. Can we keep it? Please?

"Wha—" Your father narrowly avoided a kick to his crotch, grunting. "Dawn, what is it?"

Could he not see the cat? You wanted to glare at him for it. You let out a babble in response to his question, something that sounded vaguely like a 'There!', as you squirmed. But quickly, you stopped in your attempts when you realised the cat was still smiling at you.

There it sat, patient and unwavering with its stare, until finally your mother and brother came back from their chat with the receptionist and approached you. In a blink, the creature was gone—and not a single thing of it remained, no fallen furs nor even the scent of it. The stone of the windowsill stayed untouched, like nothing had ever been there at all.

What?

"Dear, what is it?" The woman said as they neared. "Why are you—?"

Sōichirō furrowed his brows. "Dawn's—again. She might've seen something."

"Hm? Okay. I have the—" And here, Sachiko conversed with her husband about something or the other, and Light made noises in reply; you tuned her out as you tried to make sense of what just happened.

Where did the cat go? Darling, where'd you go?

You passed by it when your family went into the elevator.

You did not take notice, too lost in your own thoughts, and it continued to smile that feral little grin.

(Infinity starts here.)

(The rain stops.)