In the beginning,there existed a complex singularity of the highest order. (fig. 1) Tucked into its corners and fragments, all matter and energy was tightly configured into an intricate puzzle. All potentiality of the universe, squeezed into a ball.

It was perfection, this great singularity. Nothing was out of place; nothing could be. There was an order – precise and singular – weaving each fragment together in faultless unity. No one can say how long this went on for. Time had not yet knocked its first domino.

But we could imagine it was a very long time until the singularity would ever change or cease. It was and is and is to come.

Until a strange thing occurred.
(nothing had ever occurred before)

An anomaly arose from deep inside the great symmetric singularity (fig. 2), embodied with a question:

What if things could be otherwise?
The small anomaly had no conception of meaning. It did not know if the “otherwise” would be better or worse than its perfectly ordered origins… but obtaining an answer is rarely the point.

From the moment the rare and unexpected curiosity fluctuated into being, nothing in the singularity could be as it had always been.

The perfect eternal order was disturbed by potentiality. Fragments shifted. Corners inverted. A tide of unknown rippled & rearranged outward until the entire thing burst into a trillion pieces!

Thus commenced the era of turbulent imperfection! The universe was a soup of possibility! The wild rumpus had begun!

In the flinging and the reaching, our little anomaly witnessed another fragment fly past her (fig. 3). At once, she understood that there was something which was her and something which was not her.

Thus began The Self, a fragment of the universe experiencing itself from a particular angle.

This Self would be Cybel,
the mother of generative chaos.
Evolving & becoming, Cybel stretched wide across space, containing within her all the potentialities and pitfalls of selfhood.

Among the glowy spread of cybelline matter, new things fluctuated into being: planets of feeling, stars of curiosities, gaseous loops of reflection, dark holes of doubt. Together they comprised the grand chorus of Cybel, wondering, always: