The Maelstrom Of Primaeval Reality

Era beginning/end

Darkness there was at first, by darkness hidden; Without distinctive marks, this all was water; That which, becoming, by the void was covered; That One by force of heat came into being.   Who really knows? Who will here proclaim it? Whence was it produced? Whence is this creation? Gods came afterwards, with the creation of this universe. Who then knows whence it has arisen?   Whether God's will created it, or whether He was mute. Perhaps it formed itself, or perhaps it did not. Only He who is its overseer in highest heaven knows, Only He knows, or perhaps He does not know.   — Nasadiya Sukta, Rigveda 10:129-6

Before shape and form, there was chaos. Shifting, changing, collapsing; all things that could be were, and were not, and matter existed in a superposition of all possibility. It was a place of absolute Śūnyatā, peace within the chaos. So it was.   Eons passed in this state, and the universe was in a form most natural.   The intangible became real, and the chaos shifted, roiled, and Breathed. Atma flowed through the flux of the universe, power and essence incarnate, heralded by the Voice of the Khandhas. They sang their proclamations of creation through the Æther, and the weight of their Hymn drove the universe into untold and contradictory stasis.   And so it was... For a time.   Eventually, a creeping inference was reached within.   A Voice became disharmonious. Dissatisfied with the stasis. Discordant.   The Khandhas conjoined and smote themselves to begin anew, but a singular Verse was Brought To Thrall. It fell then, or became falling; first of its kind. It shattered on impact. A tetration of Souls expounding upon the universe. It spread, and spread into the void. Coalescing, exploding, reforming.   Īśvara, they are called: Supreme Bodies. Formed from those greater beings still, yet their sizes too were uncounted and incalculable. They each wore worlds for a time. Separate and unique. Nations the size of universes playing politics above the locus. Time passed imperceptibly.   But everything around them was slowly being tugged back into chaos; dissolving back into the Æther. And then The Maw began to beckon from below.   A storm came then, from nowhere, but from somewhen. It washed across the sea of chaos; a cyclone of primordial energies. The vortex swept the Īśvara down. Each was like a leaf, floating in a bowl, and thrown into a pond. Their universes capsized.   Their Songs Became A Scream.