He felt the first instance of forgetfulness like a chipped tooth—emptiness marked by a jagged edge. Mother stood before him. Suddenly she knew something he did not.

My beloved son,
until the time comes
when you glorify our name
in resurrection, I will treasure
up your premortal glory.
Be valiant as you descend
into the floods of carnality.

Do you wonder why
I speak to you?

They had not spoken to each other since before the war. They had not needed to. All between them had been pure understanding. Speaking, questions—these were courtesies afforded to younger children and the devils lurking just beyond their glory. Now her words drifted out of his mind as quickly as they had entered. A shard of doubt pierced his belly.

A moment ago, he’d been standing on a transparent glass plain amid a cheering crowd of siblings. Now his heels sagged in empty space. Only the balls of his feet touched a cliff edge overlooking darkness. The veil descended in front of Mother, draping over her outstretched arm. In the cursed translucence, her figure blurred.

You shall not
cross this sea in light,
trailing clouds of glory,
but in a swift forgetting.
Marvel not how your limbs
begin to shrink, turn soft,
fingers and toes webbing
together. I now fit you
for a sister’s womb.
Marvel that today
you will emerge holy
from a temple prepared.

The veil fluttered, scratching his chest like an itchy apron. From inside, it had always seemed silken. Storm clouds billowed all around him. Or was it the veil shaking him out of heaven like a dust mote?

As Mother did with each spirit child, she beheld him weaken and shrink—watched his nature darken, taking upon it the potential for evil. She felt keenly how she would smite him if he ever threatened her other offspring. Pure white hair fell from his scalp, disappearing before it could touch the veil. From behind the blackened curtain, only her hand reached out—shimmering golden. In confusion, he wondered if it extended to push him away.

Because your knowledge grows
imperfect, you cannot be kept
within the veil.
Why wonder?
Do you suppose
you can be victor without
the chance for failure?

A new sensation, clammy flesh immersed his spirit. Struck by a sudden violent need to breathe, he opened his mouth. Ice-cold ether gushed down his throat, drowning his ability to cry out. Is this what happened to all the children when they descended? No. Lucifer had laughed all the way down to Earth.

Craving safety, longing to be held, he experienced one last coherent thought. Surely Mother would keep him if he sang for her. And what could be more impressive than singing a tune yet to be written? Struggling to prophesy, he coughed out, “Daisy, Daisy… I’m half…” Then Mother bound his tongue. Except for her hand slipping back inside the veil, all became dark.

Behold, I am she who bore you
before the world’s foundation,
even in perfection. Behold, I am
Eve Allegra. I am the Mother
and the Daughter. In me
you have eternal promise.
For now I do confound you,
for how else could you
truly descend below all?

The blackness of space constricted around him, pushing him downward. One final time, he thought of Mother—fearing her power, dreading her disappointment. For whether he succeeded or failed, he surely would see her at least one more time. In the next instant, he forgot all he had ever known except for cold, hunger, and Father.

Poet’s Note:

For another creative piece exploring the place of Heavenly Mother in Mormon theology, I invite you to read Please Only be Stars.

The featured image is a combination of two separate images. First: Bubble Nebula NGC 7635 by NASA, ESA, and the Hubble Heritage Team (STScI/AURA). And second: the human hand by geralt at Pixabay.com.