It was in the mind of the Creator before worlds came into being, and it was written into the very fabric of Creation. For the dance was of Himself. And He, Himself, had danced in His triune glory before there were any others to witness, and now he was calling them, not merely to witness, but to join with Him in its rhythm of beauty and learn His steps, for the name of the dance was Love. And the morning stars sang together to rejoice in what He had done.
He made the visible world in all its loveliness, and then He made the Man and the Woman, marrying together earth and spirit in their making. And He called them into His dance, and they moved their tentative, new-made feet to learn. But there was one who refused to dance, who preferred to slither into chaos and darkness, and he, the Serpent, taught his terrible discords to the woman and the man, so that their ears were no longer tuned to the melody of heaven. Their feet learned to kick, and to stumble; and their eyes learned how to cry. There was blood and there was pain; and into sorrow and dreadful labour they brought forth their children. They no longer moved with the loveliness of the breaking dawn or the reaching trees, and, struggling and awkward, polluters of all they touched, they wrestled their way down into the long defeat of death.
And the centuries passed, and their steps grew more evil. And the Creator called out a people to Himself, and some were faithful, and tried to move their gravity-bound flesh to the choreography of His passion, though their steps were feeble and inconstant; but others turned aside, preferring the indulgent discords of the serpent. They claimed that the music of heaven hurt their ears, and they devised formalised, disciplined styles instead, where their feet never needed to leave the ground. And the world wept, and Death was its master.
Then there came a new movement in the dance, for the Creator Himself entered Creation, and God became Man. Totally in tune with the Father, He demonstrated how mortal flesh could move in the eternal dance, and every step was total Love. In the Serpent’s world these steps led Him to the cross, and, moving slowly to the music of unbearable sorrow, He danced forward into death, changing it forever, and weaving its jagged and terrible movements into a new choreography of triumph. For death did not stop Him or contain Him, He moved through it and transformed it so that it became, not dark finality, the shattering discord at the end of things, but the passage back to unending resolution.