Her energy was coiled and taught as she jumped. Long arc, extended toes. The trouble was the landing.
‘That wasn’t bad,’ the star said hesitantly, ‘but you’re rushing it. Here, let me show you.’ He gathered his energy, then divested himself. Light exploded in all directions and meteors fell radiant to the earth.
She looked on, aghast. ‘But he… he just… he no longer…’
‘Yes,’ said the other stars. ‘Self-sacrifice is part of it.’
Sophia was humbled, and a little bit afraid. Again she summoned her strength and leapt, picturing the streams of light.
‘Better!’ the stars cried.
‘I still don’t know why you’re doing this,’ God said grumpily. ‘You know it’s not going to be like that. Not like that at all.’
‘I know, I know,’ she teased. ‘The girl, the stable. But you need to trust me on this. From the beginning I have given them words and shaped their imaginations. To make sense of the stable, they need the leap.’
‘All right, all right. I grant it was a nice turn of phrase you gave him:
… and then, down from the heavens, leapt the almighty Word.
‘You’re sure it isn’t just a bit… pompous, though?’
Sophia looked peeved. ‘Trust me, old man. Besides, I deserve a bit of glory, with all that I’ll have to endure in that stable.’
‘Fair enough.’ God conceded. ‘And you are right. They need both. We need both. You can have your grand jeté.’
He watched as she hopped from star to star. It felt strange, holding back from her like this; creating distance between them — but they had to practice. He was glad she was enjoying it for now.
Finally, she landed beside him and the emptiness ceased.
‘What will it feel like?’ she asked, suddenly showing her fear.
God was pensive: his love for her, sharp and sweet.
‘I don’t know,’ he said at last. ‘We will have to live with the unknowing; a leap in the dark.’
Sophia held his gaze, waiting for the words to sink in.
He looked perplexed, then laughed as he realised what he’d said.
‘Clever girl. Incarnate Word.’
She smiled and pirouetted, then leapt gracefully to the nearest star.