Chapter 65 The Deep's Return

The deep returned. Not to the surface. Not to the world above. The deep returned to itself. The deep had been separate from itself for so long that the separation had become a kind of identity, the deep as the thing below, the deep as the silence beneath the root, the deep as the darkness beneath the house, and the separation had been the keeping, and the keeping had been the conversation, and the conversation had been the deep's way of finding its way back to itself. And the return was complete. The deep was in the house, in the root, in the trees, in the mold, in the water, in the ground, in the sky, in the world, and the deep was itself again, the ground, the foundation, the root, the tree, the house, the deep, the world, and the deep and the world were one, and the one was the keeping, and the keeping was the door, and the door was open. The deep returned, and the return was the deep's way of saying: I am home. I have always been home. The house was my home. The root was my home. The keeping was my home. And the home was the deep, and the deep was here. And Eli stood in the chamber with the deep's knowledge in his bones and his wife's hand in his and the root's pulse in his heart and the deep's song in his lungs, and he understood, with a clarity that was not his own but the deep's, that the keeping was not a wall. The keeping was a welcome. The keeping was the world above saying to the world below: come in. We have been keeping the door for you. We have been waiting. We have been listening. And now you are here, and the door is open, and the house is yours. And the deep spoke, and the speaking was the return, and the return was the deep's homecoming, and the homecoming was the keeping, and the keeping was the door, and the door was open, and the deep was here. The return was the deep's way of coming home. The deep had been away from itself for so long that the separation had become a kind of identity, the deep as the thing below, the deep as the silence beneath the root, the deep as the darkness beneath the house. But the separation was ending. The deep was returning to itself, returning to the house, returning to the root, returning to the keeper, returning to the keeping, returning to the conversation, returning to the door, and the door was open. The return was not a physical movement. The return was a state of being. The deep was returning to the state of wholeness, the state of completeness, the state of being one thing instead of a thousand things. The deep was gathering itself, pulling its substance together, consolidating its presence in the chamber, in the root, in the house, in the world. The return was the deep's way of saying: I am home. I have always been home. The house was my home. The root was my home. The keeping was my home. And the home is the deep, and the deep is here. Eli felt the return. He felt it in the root's pulse, in the mold's glow, in the water's spiral, in the tree's branches, in the house's walls. The deep was returning, and the returning was the deep's way of being whole, and the wholeness was the deep's way of being itself, and the self was the deep, and the deep was here. Nora felt it too. She stood in the chamber with her palm on the root and the deep's return in her bones, and the return was the deep's way of saying: I am here. I have always been here. I am the ground, and the ground is home, and the home is the deep, and the deep is here. "The deep is returning," she said. "The deep is coming home." "The deep has always been home." "The deep has always been here. But the deep was separate from itself, and the separation is ending, and the ending is the return, and the return is the deep's way of being whole, and the wholeness is the deep, and the deep is here." And the deep spoke, and the speaking was the return, and the return was the homecoming, and the homecoming was the keeping, and the keeping was the door, and the door was open. The return was gentle. The deep did not rush. The deep did not force. The deep returned the way the tide returns, slowly, steadily, with the patience of a thing that has all the time in the world. The deep returned to the chamber, to the root, to the house, to the world, and the returning was the deep's way of being whole, and the wholeness was the deep, and the deep was here. The root felt the return. The root's pulse quickened, the four-beat rhythm becoming a single sustained tone, and the tone was the root's way of saying: welcome home. The root was the deep's spine, and the spine was the deep's way of being upright, and the upright was the deep's way of supporting 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 mold felt the return. The green-gold growth thickened, spreading across the walls, the floor, the ceiling, and the thickening was the deep's way of becoming visible, the deep's way of being seen, the deep's way of saying: I am here, and I am showing myself, and the showing is the deep's way of being known, and the known is the deep, and the deep is here. The water felt the return. The dark liquid in the basin stirred, the spiral turning faster, and the faster turning was the deep's way of being alive, the deep's way of being present, the deep's way of saying: I am here, and I am moving, and the moving is my voice, and the voice is me. The house felt the return. The walls hummed with the deep's frequency, the floor vibrated with the deep's pulse, the ceiling glowed with the deep's light, and the responding was the deep's way of being in the house, and the being was the deep, and the deep was here. --- ---