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Our Rebirth

Does reality have children? Are we progeny or particle, project or plaything? I cannot say. I have my doubts. I submit to those wiser than myself.

To speak of our beginning, we must go beyond the beginning that can be known and beyond the beginnings that cannot be known, we must go out to the Void. The Void has many names, but no name holds her down, no label binds him. The Chinese called her the Eternal, Unchanging Dao, the Hindus called him the Om, Brahman. We call her the Void, the oscillating reality of which we are all a part. All that can be said is of the Void; All that cannot be said is of the Void. All that can be thought is of the Void; All that cannot be thought is of the Void. We are all her children; he is the father to everything. Attempts to speak of the Void as whole are futile, attempts to speak of her as particulars grow of necessity, ever greater footnotes upon footnotes, references to illusions. We apologize for our deception, but utility requires it, do not mistake metaphor for reality, as they are but hints, oiled to enter your head. We are fallible creatures, limited by our constitution and container, and we must wrestle with ourselves until we lose with accidental purpose.

Beyond the beginning which cannot be known, there is no going or coming home, we can still speak of beginnings and endings though, for just as a wave has no beginning and no ending, one can still speak of its crests its troughs and its wavelengths, for the Void too has such as waves, Difference is her name. Beyond the beginnings which can be known, the Void begets Difference, her son, his daughter, over and over and over and over again; eternally present and yet always finite. Each the same as the last, the endless chant of life and death, the swinging song, forever gone, forever on, forever present.

We recognize these crests and troughs of Difference’ death the greatest silence, the lamentation and rejoice of her repeating rebirth in the eternal womb. Born once more he does declare to mate with mother to make another reality come into being. Born of both are Time and Space, the dancing twins, locked hand in hand, sons of mothers and daughters of fathers. Born of Difference himself come her three, Desire, Chaos, and Frenzy.

Frenzy, Lord of Violence, Master of Destruction; he breaks apart that which is whole, and pushes all away from all with all his might. Desire, Lady of Love, Mistress of Unity; she gathers the scattered and holds them tight, she unites the fragmented with all her might. Chaos, Lord of Caprice, Lady of Surprise; he works to no end, binding and breaking, twisting and turning, the smallest pieces of the game, starting cascades that swallow the cosmos as often as they do nothing at all.

Beyond our beginning, Time and Space locked in their dancing game, danced round and round, and bid their cousins play. The dance sped up as mother watched, smiling at the newborn babe, smiling at the newborn day. Faster and faster, stronger and stronger, the dance breaking them apart, weaving them together into a thousand threads until - Let there be light!
If you're trying to fill the multiverse, and you're not willing to consider the entire creative output of humanity as a starting point, you're wasting your time.

Re: Our Rebirth

Me like :thumbup: .

I would ask of you, as I ask for many others, to continue, for this snippet truly does contain potential to become great. :ghost:
Image The results of logic, of natural progression? Boring! An expected result? Dull! An obvious next step? Pfui! Where is the fun in that? A dream may soothe, but our nightmares make us run!

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