Creation

All was darkness.
There was darkness over all.
There was nothing that could be seen.
But in the darkness; in the nothing, there was something.
And the something was that which is just beyond.
And, the something sought comfort and moved mindlessly to break out of the cloaking darkness, as it sought to be.
It struggled with the nothing that pulled it down.
It struggled to be.
It broke through the darkness, and with it came the light.
And, this was comfortable, so it remained.
And the something spun on its axis.
As it spun, so too did the light spin.
And, it became the cosmic whirlwind, and it created matter from out of the light.
And it grew as it fed on the nothing that was never really nothing, but was always part of the something.
It fed on itself, that was not itself.
It threw out arms and they spun around and around.
More of the nothing was pulled into the growing maelstrom, and the nothing fed the something, and the nothing became the food for the light and for matter, as it passed through the light, and was transformed.

And this was the cornucopia and the cosmic womb of existence.
And, from it, all came forth, and to it, all returned, only to be transformed and to come forth once again.
This was the toilet of existence.
And, that which is behind the spinning light and which is of the spinning light but which is more, is the builder and the destroyer of all that is.
And it Was, and it Was not, and it Is and Is not, for all are the same to this that Is, but which is not.
And to think of these things and to try to make them make sense is to look upon the ways of God, and that way, lies madness.
And, it formed the thought, yet it did not form the thought: I am free.
Yet it was not free.
It wasn’t this, and it wasn’t that.
And it was both of these and neither of these at the same time.
It was the seer and the seen; the dreamer and the dream.

It was here, as it was there, yet it was always just behind.
It was as a Will ‘O the Wisp, and the ghost that is sensed but never seen directly.
For it cannot ever be seen directly, and if It is seen, It is not.
And it was the engine of creation and the furnace of destruction.
It was the great idiot shuffler of existence.
It took simple chemicals and forces and shuffled them.
It was as a child playing with blocks.
It built them this way, destroyed them, and did it again.
And again, and again, and again and again for all eternity.
And there was no reason either for the building or for the destroying.
It was neither good nor evil, for such things are human concepts, and have no relevance to It, for they are too small.
It built with no purpose, and it destroyed with no mercy.

From ‘The Outsider’ by H. Millard