World

We exist within spheres, spheres of perfect orbit, perfect composition, and perfect craft. They spin above us, blue by day, black by night, with sections built from coloured gas, reflecting down on us. I lived beneath these spheres so long that I all but ignored their shape and style; I accepted their existence without question. Without a doubt they kept me alive, breathing the air that they held in by God’s will.

Earth lies as a globe within water, water within air, air within fire, fire within starlight.

The Three as One had designed a perfect world for us all. I saw that it was as the priests said and the cosmology of the ancients confirmed it beyond a doubt. Astrology does not provide truth, only measurements to follow the inside of the spheres across the sky.

Now, God lived beyond those turning wheels, watching over his creatures like a toymaker in his shop. He sat as the Father, watching satisfied with what He had crafted. He sat as the Son, watching joyful with what He had served. He sat as the Ghost, holding carefully what He had protected. He sat as One, watching but not touching, waiting to finish the Word.

And that is the world system, it is a spinning beauty held in the hands of the Three as One. Still, He rests still, the Seventh Day is not done after all. As he leans back His chair wobbles slightly, one leg shorter than the rest.

This is all as the priests have told me, in the chapels of long ago.