Chapter 59 The Surface

The deep reached the surface. It did not burst through the ground. It did not erupt like a volcano. It did not split the earth like an earthquake. It rose, slowly, gently, the way the tide rises, the way the sun rises, the way the ground rises every morning to meet the sky, and the rising was the deep's way of becoming the surface, the deep's way of touching the light, the deep's way of being what it had always been, the ground that supports the world. The deep rose at the property line first, where the fence had stood, where the ground had been disturbed, where the green-gold mold covered the surface, and the mold thickened, and the thickening was the deep's way of growing, the deep's way of reaching the air, the deep's way of becoming the surface. And from the mold, from the thick green-gold surface, a shoot emerged. Pale, glistening, the same color as the root, the same substance as the deep, and the shoot grew, and the growing was the deep's way of becoming what it had always been, the ground that grows things, the earth that feeds the world, the deep that supports everything. The shoot grew. It grew the way the root had grown, slowly, deliberately, with the patience of a thing that has been waiting for centuries, and the shoot was the deep's first plant, the deep's first reach into the air, the deep's first touch of the light, and the shoot was not a tree, not a bush, not a vine. The shoot was the deep itself, the deep made visible, the deep growing upward, the deep reaching for the sky. Nora saw the shoot. She stood at the open front door and looked at the ground where the fence had stood, and she saw the shoot, and she understood what it was, and she understood what it meant, and she understood that the deep was reaching the surface, and the surface was the deep's destination, and the destination was the world, and the world was the deep's home. "It's growing," she said. "The deep is growing. It's reaching the surface." "The surface was always the deep's destination." "The surface was always the deep's home. The deep was always the ground, and the ground always touches the sky, and the sky was always the deep's home. The deep is not invading, Eli. The deep is returning. The deep is going home." The shoot grew. It grew taller, thicker, branching, and the branches spread, and the branches were the deep's branches, and the branches were the deep's way of reaching the sky, and the sky was the deep's home, and the home was the keeping, and the keeping was the door, and the door was open. And the deep spoke, and the speaking was the shoot, and the shoot was the deep's body, and the body was the deep's way of reaching the surface, and the surface was the deep's destination, and the destination was the sky, and the sky was the deep's home, and the home was the keeping, and the keeping was the door, and the door was open. The deep was here. The deep was growing. The deep was reaching. The deep was touching the sky. And the sky was the deep's home, and the home was the keeping, and the keeping was the door, and the door was open. The shoot grew taller. It grew the way the root had grown, slowly, deliberately, with the patience of a thing that has been waiting for centuries, and the shoot was the deep's first plant, the deep's first reach into the air, the deep's first touch of the light, and the shoot was not a tree, not a bush, not a vine. The shoot was the deep itself, the deep made visible, the deep growing upward, the deep reaching for the sky. The shoot branched. From the main stem, smaller stems emerged, and the stems spread outward, and the spread was the deep's way of expanding, the deep's way of reaching the surface, the deep's way of touching the air, and the air was the deep's breath, and the breath was the deep's life, and the life was the deep, and the deep was here. The shoot covered the ground. The green-gold growth spread outward from the base of the shoot, covering the soil, the dead grass, the disturbed earth where the fence had stood, and the coverage was the deep's way of becoming the surface, the deep's way of touching the light, the deep's way of being what it had always been, the ground that touches the sky every morning. The shoot reached the house. The growth covered the foundation, climbed the walls, reached the windows, and the growth was the deep's way of embracing the house, the deep's way of incorporating the house into its body, the deep's way of saying: I am here, and I am the house, and the house is the deep, and the deep is here. Nora stood at the window and watched the shoot grow. She watched with the steady, appraising gaze she had brought to every crisis in their marriage, and she said, "It's the deep's garden. The deep is planting itself. The deep is growing itself. The deep is becoming the surface." "The surface was always the deep's destination." "The surface was always the deep's home. The deep was always the ground, and the ground always touches the sky, and the sky was always the deep's home. The deep is not invading, Eli. The deep is returning. The deep is going home." The shoot grew. It grew taller, thicker, branching, and the branches spread, and the branches were the deep's branches, and the branches were the deep's way of reaching the sky, and the sky was the deep's home, and the home was the keeping, and the keeping was the door, and the door was open. And the deep spoke, and the speaking was the shoot, and the shoot was the deep's body, and the body was the deep's way of reaching the surface, and the surface was the deep's destination, and the destination was the sky, and the sky was the deep's home, and the home was the keeping, and the keeping was the door, and the door was open. The deep was here. The deep was growing. The deep was reaching. The deep was touching the sky. And the sky was the deep's home, and the home was the keeping, and the keeping was the door, and the door was open. ---