Thoughts on Khaos

August 17, 2009

She is nothing. She does not have bones and skin and teeth to separate her from her kosmos: she is the kosmos. She is instinct; she is the mist that spreads through cold night air, she is the baby that cries when it breathes, and she is the thoughts that stir the minds of man and god alike. She is energy. She is life, and she is death. She does not stir herself to pay attention to the barely-there mortals; she does not even see her kin, pulsing with her energy.

She is not night: she is beyond night. She is the air and the earth, and she is the twinkling light of the sun and the stars. She cannot be brought to lightness – she is shadow. She is featureless mist, spreading out into eternity. She wraps her mists around those who would challenge her, and knows that it would take but a thought for them to end. (Not to die, but to end: to exist-no-more.)

She is everything. She is the vibrations of an insect’s heart – beating, trapped – and she is the ground and the sea and infinite space. She is the yawning abyss, the chasm of life and death. She does not heed the word of any; for how can you seek to control that which does not truly exist? And yet she does exist: for nothing can exist without her seeping shadows.

She is precious and finite; and, paradoxically, she is common to all and utterly infinite. She is beyond comprehension, beyond word, and yet she can be captured by any who would dare. She is courage, she is cowardice. She is physical and abstract; she is solid and fluid; she is uncatchable and untouchable, but undeniably there – pulsing with her own energy, her own heat, her own self.

She does not follow moral rules or codes of honour: she is transcendent, beyond such mortal conceptions. She is the nature of the beast. She is claws and teeth, curved and waiting to pounce and kill. She is blood – oozing red-red shadows that seep over skin. She is the stirring of newly-conceived life; she is the force that binds mortals to their mortality, and keeps them separate from her kin. She is artificial and natural—beyond natural; beyond the human scope—and yet she is none of these things. She is the first of the gods – or, perhaps, she isn’t a god at all. Perhaps she is nothing: perhaps she is everything. She is gloomy fate, unavoidable, indestructible: she birthed the world and everything in it. And, yet, she is oddly removed from everything. She is knowledge and the yearning for such; she is the infinite chasm and she is mortal life; she is the air we breathe and the ground that we walk on, and she is everything in-between.

She is life, she is death; she is heaven, she is earth; she is instinct, she is emotion; she is destiny. She cannot be stopped, cannot be influenced, cannot be touched. She is smoke and mirrors, blood and bone, hearts and mind. She is infinity: she is space. She is – Khaos.


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