The Storm (v. 0.1)
In the beginning, one must assume that there was nothing — no matter, no energy, no time — Tohu v’Bohu. Formless. And Void. But there was an Egg. An Egg of Infinite (Nearly) Potential. And the Egg’s name was named Ananke. And then — let us suppose — there was something — Genesis describes it as the spirit of God, moving across the Deep — modern science might designate it as random repeating pseudoquantum fluctuations — some sort of bubbling — a frothiness — and in the strange nonlight of the Egg, within its structure, where all things are possible and time was without meaning, the most unlikely of events become possible through the calculating potential of an Unlimited and Unlimiting Present.
And thus the world was born — with Egg and the Spirit mingling and tearing itself apart — like a wound in God’s side. One imagines that some part of this diety is deeply disturbed by this wound, and wishes nothing more than for it to close. Is there another part that keeps the wound open? Like mighty hands pushing aside the waters of a fiercely flowing river to uncover a bed of dry land? This river — raging on either side of this fragile temperate voidspace is the Storm.