Oh, to be the first to scrape the clouds
To breath the air of God
This was the dream
To be above any rain and any wave
To finally be safe from a flood
This was the hope of Babel
The great hunter – whose aging infamy spread to every land he knew –
Decided to immortalize his name in stone if not in body.
His people sought this, too.
Why build an ark when they could build a tower?
Why trust a rainbow when they could trust an emperor?
To be of one mind, one tongue, one name, one city – this would be the first cry of empire.
So, the Children of the Flood stole the valley of Shinar.
They buried its name under a city of bricks and called it “Babel”.
They broke the backs of the people already living there,
forcing them to quarry stone from the sacred hills
And form bricks by the river of seasons.
Years passed, and the ugly stump of a tower
Stood incomplete over the valley,
Its roots clawed down into the earth
Merely to support an empty crown.
Empire, in its infancy, lay in a stolen cradle.
The LORD watched but held back Their hand –
The fate of Babel was already unfolding.
And soon, the cradle would fall.
The great hunter’s dream was stalling.
The hills held less stone than his people had guessed,
And the brick held less weight than they had demanded.
The architects argued.
The stonemasons quarreled.
The overseers lashed out.
Compromise died to conflict.
Innovation died to ego.
Empire had gorged too long on ambition
And was turning belly-up in the waters of reality.
The Great-Grandparent Winds rose up
And blew far warmer air than Babel had ever seen.
The hill snow melted and cascaded into the valley,
And the river of seasons swelled into a torrent –
later to be named the Whip of Shinar.
The river broke the levees and escaped the canals.
It lashed open the gates of Babel
And stormed into the tower itself.
The bricks, now freed of their bonds,
Cast themselves back into their mother waters.
The stones shuttered loose, and down Babel fell.
Confusion
Silence
Incoherent speech
What more could the Children of the Flood have to say?
They turned each to their own way and left the valley.
They took nothing that was not already theirs,
For the river had rent away all else.
All left – all, save the Shinar.
The sun set and the sun rose,
And both the land and the people
Finally started to breathe again.
