Fault Lines
FAULT LINES
A VERY Short Story by R. Armstrong
Vishnu swirled the liquid soma in his chalice, idly watching the bubbles come together in a clump in the center as they always did. He blew on the bubbles until they reluctantly released their surface tension and floated across the golden liquid, seeking the edges of the cup. It reminded him suddenly of one of his exploits in the preservation of the current incarnation, when he had pulled apart the great continents of Pangea and Gondwana, exploiting their fault lines and putting oceans between the land masses.
What was it Brahma had said to him about why this was necessary for creation? Something about landscapes…?
No, it was horizons. That was it. Brahma had lectured on the necessity of distance, difference and horizon as the secret cause of history. It had been inspiring actually – one of Brahma’s better stories – and had put him, Vishnu, at the center of attention, as the one who made these things possible.
Vishnu smiled at the memory, then frowned. Was Brahma just playing with him? Exploiting his need for recognition the same way Vishnu exploited the fault lines of earth for the preservation of godly play? Then he smiled again – even he had emotional fault lines and his pride was one of them. Brahma had the admiration and praise of being the creator, Shiva the awe and respect of the destroyer, but where was the glory in being the middle god? The one who merely preserved?
The humans were shallow thinkers, most of them, unable to fathom the might and majesty of his genius: Vishnu ~ Exploiter of Fault Lines, Master of Revisions and Renewals. Ha! What did they know!
Vishnu swirled the soma again and took a great draught of it to ease his annoyance. The bubbles tickled his throat and he thought again of the continents he’d separated and imagined how, in another 250 million years, they’d all have floated back together again like bubbles in a cup. He sighed. How complacent creation was. How willing to cluster together, seeking sameness and safety, when it was in difference and apparent danger that longevity resided. But you had to have the perspective of gods to appreciate this.
The stagnation of the pre-Cambrian period was the early warning that intervention was needed and the explosion of creativity following his splitting of the super continent Rodinia was proof to the gods that they were on the right track, hence his ongoing exploitation of fault lines. Regular as clockwork, every hundred million years or so he had to tear continents apart, and every few days, it seemed, he had to nudge tectonic plates somewhere on the planet.
Distance, difference and horizon…. The soma was warming and the bubbles had exploded in a myriad of delightful fragrances, intoxicating his thoughts. He tried to put himself into the form of a mortal and see through eyes that could not apprehend eternity and the great rounds of creation and destruction that were the sport of the gods. For a moment he felt something stir in his gut, some vague sense of the surge of adventure that must accompany the animal’s recognition of “otherness” and the potential danger and discovery of that.
Vishnu leaned back and let the soma stream through his dissipating consciousness, riding the dream of mortality. He saw, as if from the standpoint of a human being, the terrifying and exhilarating lure of the horizon – the great sea stretching out as both barrier and bridge, beckoning. He imagined the shock and pleasure of species meeting each other again after millions of years, each changed almost, but not quite, beyond recognition; learning from one another and marveling at the different adaptations to weather and terrain, opportunity and crisis.
“Tear them apart, the poor darlings,” he murmured to himself as sleep overcame him. “Give them space enough and time and the fault lines in their own minds and they will eventually grow back into gods.”
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A short story by Rebecca Armstrong, 2013. Inspired by a line from “God’s Back” a short story by James Hauck: “People knew not to live on fault lines, either those of the earth itself, or those lying exposed in other people…” and a conversation with landscape artist, Louise LeBourgeois, about horizons.
