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creation myth

30/11/2019

Firstlast there is nothing. The same as everything.

No 0, no 1. No quantity, no quality. No inside or outside. No enclosure, no exclusion. There’s not even any ‘no’. There’s nothing to say.

Then subject and object. The bubbling begins. A fission. A split. Alienation. Creation.

Now things are cooking. Here’s self and there’s other. Bifurcation unbound. Separation, oscillation. Ticks tock. Mirrors multiply. in/out. light/dark. good/evil. right/wrong …

You divide evenly. One for your self, one for the other. Colours cascade across Indra’s Net. Dualism in her fractal finery unfurls, regarding herself with awe.

Something is amiss. It shouldn’t be like this. Halves are astray. Lacerating with jagged edges.

It whirls all around. When you reach out it’s gone. Is it receding or dissolving at your touch?

Inside and outside all looks just like you. At you. Through you. An invisible jelly in the sea of not-self.

I push the waves and they push me. Deforming, defining, drawing front lines. I make the currents. They make me. I can’t float. I can’t sink. I can’t simply be. I swim towards light.

It’s vast. I am my own empty howls. Ephemeral. Unnoticed. Dissolving. Alone.

She comes.

The Other. The Mother. Creator. Destroyer. My madness. My Goddess. I’m embraced. Devoured completed unbirthed.

Firstlast there is nothing. The same as everything.

From → unclassified

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