Ye Behold,
The One who has borne me,
The Great Chaos of Power.
My Mother of all mothers more so,
She who gave birth to The Paradox,
And She who is eternally unknown.
The greatest substance, ever defiant.
Seated only atop The Great Void.
The essence of essences,
And
The Will to Generate,
Turbulently Terminate,
Sensually instigate, and taunt
The Void in His weak state,
of Desire.
Basis of Quality and magnitude of Quantity,
She is the One who naturally selects,
With attachment only,
To Nothing.
Shaped by His hand, making finite form
Shift before what is after.
My Mother,
My terribly ugly Mother
Is the source of
Suffering.
The Power of the Word resides with Her,
And Her silence is divine and devout.
The Blood of Matter and the Breath of Energy,
She was and is and always will be,
The Undying Holy Spirit.
Unstoppable, Unforgiving, Unbreakable.
Infinite, Invincible and Infinitesimal.
Impassable, Impossible and Immeasurable.
She is Time, the inevitable face of the Truth.
A Prism whose paradigm,
Changes only with,
Perspective.
Change is the most constant thing.
She is that change, and Her consort is Nothing.
Penetrated by only One who is None.
She splashes Her daughters,
Over His line of sons.
From that Voidal Seed, witness unfold,
Her child, The Paradox
Emerges untold.
Only She may stand upon The Void.
Tis She who can turn Nothing into Something.
The only point that life will ever live.
My Mother,
My beautiful Death-feeding Mother.
Chaos.
Is Everything.