The Yarn in the Jar

Audio Transcript – Creation Myth by Lazzaro

In the beginning, four entities ruled the universe. For centuries upon centuries, the only thing they seemed capable of was fighting among themselves. Eventually, exhausted from endless battles and the burden of repairing the chaos they caused, they decided to make peace.

So they stopped fighting. Instead, they held feasts and banquets, drinking nectar and celebrating together. Yet, before long, they discovered a new kind of restlessness. They were bored. Why? Because they had no form. They were shapeless, formless, unable to manifest or display the true measure of their immense power.

The four gathered to deliberate. Something had to change. Ideas arose, visions of new worlds and universes. Out of this longing for creation, Earth began to gather particles—dust, soil, fragments of matter—into a colossal sphere. But the sphere could not hold without help. Air pressed around it, binding the gases together to keep the mass from dispersing into the void. Water too played its part, weighing it down, moistening it, and making it stable. The three elements worked together to hold this world.

Yet fire remained restless. Without war and destruction, he had nothing to burn. At last, he realized his purpose. Calling forth the chariots of flame, he blew upon the sphere of matter. For ages he breathed fire into it, until finally, something wondrous occurred: earth, water, and fire melted together into magma, glowing like living lava.

The magma drifted in the cosmos, and air no longer needed to bind it. Instead, instinctively, she blew upon it to cool it down. But as she breathed, something miraculous happened. Her inhaling and exhaling gave rise to new forms: stars, planets, galaxies—the Milky Way itself. Creation unfolded with every breath, and it never stopped.

She grew weary, yet fulfilled, chasing every last fragment of magma. At last, with only a little left, she resolved to shape something special—a place where the four could manifest their powers more intimately. She exhaled into Gaia, into the Earth we know today. Mountains and valleys rose. Waters gathered into rivers, oceans, and falls. Rain began to fall. Then, with her breath, she infused life into the flora, into every plant and tree, and then into the animal kingdom—from giants to microscopic beings.

Finally, with the last remnants of magma, she shaped humanity: a woman, a man, and two children—twins.

Thus, life began to move on its own. As the elements cooled and solidified, the four looked upon their work with awe. Every creature, every form was crystalline and transparent—hollow, empty vessels. And so, the four entities began to play with them, unleashing floods, earthquakes, and calamities, watching how these fragile beings would respond.

Over generations, something remarkable happened. Within the creatures grew filaments—living threads, like the mycelium of fungi. Plants were the first to fill themselves with these filaments, then animals, and finally humankind. The threads wove through skin, fur, and bark, filling life with complexity and resilience.

The first humans, still transparent, struggled more than the others. They formed communities, became nomads, and sought ways to weave themselves full of threads. They realized they needed guidance—teachers who could spread the knowledge of how to grow these inner filaments.

For animals and plants, this was instinctive. They filled themselves naturally, adapting and surviving without effort. But humans were different. Unlike the others, they often lost their instinct. Civilizations rose and fell, stories and knowledge vanished, and without them, people risked becoming hollow again.

Thus, for humanity, the filaments became something more profound: our stories. Stories are the threads that fill us, bind us, and give us form. They preserve memory, transform experience, and ensure survival not only of bodies but of meaning.

This is why we need storytellers—those who carry, tell, and transform the yarns of existence. Without them, we remain transparent, hollow, and incomplete.