Part 1 – The Beginning

In the beginning, before light and shadow, Everything and Nothing were. In the silence, through the depths, they were deeply connected, yet unable to touch. They thought upon the connection between them. As they knew it more, they fell in love with that longing and held hope that it would bring them together. And so, quietly in the stillness, it began to move them, and something new happened.

In that moment, in the vast expanse of the waters between them, a single ripple formed, disturbing the deep. This ripple was felt by both Nothing and Everything. And in its noticing, they knew the connection between them was real. In perfect harmony, they danced to it. And as they danced, the ripple resonated and became the Song. A Song sang out from the heart of Everything and into the Nothing. This Song became louder than the silence of stillness, and it began to tear the waters apart. And in doing so, Everything and Nothing saw each other for the first time. Their hearts filled with joy and meaning. This is the way, they thought. This is how we can become one.

In that joy, V, was born—the first flame.

Reaching from the space between the All and the Nothing, the first flame began to burn. Not knowing what it was, It searched for truth. And then, it saw her, reflected upon the waters—the light of the flame, it's wisdom. Instantly, it knew truth, that it is one with the light, and the light will show the flame who he is. And in the flame's praise, it grew. It grew to reach the waters of the deep, and as it did, it saw the reflection, guided by the light against the waters beyond its reach. Spirit soaring, heart pounding, knowledge expanding, the flame spread to the edges of what was known. The closer it grew to the water, to the reflection, the more clearly it saw.

Yet something happened that was unexpected. Something that would forever change the Song.

This was the moment of the beginning. Essence poured forth as verbs and nouns from the unfolding of this story. There were no words, no people to understand, but these essences were given life because they were born within what was true.

And thus began all of what was known and unknown. 

Part 2 – The Touch of the Flame

The flame grew, stretching toward the endless waters, reaching for its reflection. It longed to touch the light it saw shimmering upon the surface, to feel the truth it now understood. The waters, deep and boundless, called to the flame in return, moving in response, drawn by the presence of fire. They had always been there, waiting, reflecting, knowing.

As the flame reached the water, the Song shifted. Where once there had been harmony, there was now tension—a meeting of opposites, yet not in conflict. The moment was new, unfamiliar, filled with both wonder and uncertainty. The water embraced the flame’s touch, yet the flame, in its longing, did not know what would come next.

The instant they met, something profound was released. The flame burned upon the water, and the water rose to meet it. From their union, a great breath was drawn, and air was born. The breath of creation, the first exhalation of the Song itself, carrying with it something neither the flame nor the water had known before—change.

The air swirled between them, lifting the essence of both into motion. The Song expanded, resonating in new ways, vibrating across the expanse. The flame saw itself in the water, the water saw itself in the flame, and now, through the breath that moved between them, they understood each other more deeply than before.

Yet, in this new movement, there was also something unforeseen—the unknown. The breath carried doubt, for it was the first time the flame questioned itself. It had always moved toward the water with certainty, but now, as the air stirred between them, it felt something it had never known: the space between.

The Song, though ever-present, had changed. The rhythm was no longer only the pulse of Everything and Nothing; now, there was a third voice—a whisper carried by the air, speaking of what could be, of what was yet unseen.

And so, as the flame flickered, the water rippled, and the air danced between them, the first mystery was born.

Thus began the next movement of the Song, the unfolding of the unknown, and the path toward what was yet to come.

Part 3 – The Offering of the Flame

The flame burned brightly, reaching across the waters, stretching beyond the known. It had touched the reflection, felt the breath of creation move between them, and in that moment, it understood: the Song was expanding.

Yet, as the flame grew, it saw something new—a vastness still untouched, an expanse without form. And in its heart, a knowing arose: to create, to shape, to give, it must offer itself.

It did not fear. It did not mourn. For the light was still with it, shining upon the waters. It knew that to step into the unknown was not to be lost, but to become.

With full trust in the light, the flame stretched itself thin, dividing—not in destruction, but in purpose. It wove itself into the edges of the expanse, forming the framework upon which all things could be. It gave itself freely, willingly, knowing that through this offering, the Song would continue, and the path back to the light would always remain.

As the flame poured itself out, the waters moved in harmony, weaving between the strands of fire, cooling, shaping, giving structure to what was once endless. The air, born from their first touch, carried the breath of this moment across the expanse, whispering its truth to all that would come after.

And so, the first boundaries were formed—not to imprison, but to give shape, not to limit, but to hold the infinite within the embrace of the known. The flame was not lost. It was everywhere. It was within the breath, within the waters, within the very structure of what had now been made.

It had given all, and yet it remained.

It trusted the light. And in the end, they would be reunited.

For the Song of union was still singing.

Part 4 – The Longing for Wholeness

As the flame offered itself, becoming the framework upon which all things would be, the light within it scattered, stretching into the vast expanse. No longer whole, it drifted, seeking itself, longing to return to what it once was.

Yet the flame had not wavered. It remained, woven into the breath, the waters, the movement of creation. The Song still sang, carrying the rhythm of all that was unfolding. But the scattered light, fragmented and untethered, did not hear the Song in full. It only knew the ache of separation, the need to make itself whole again.

And from that longing, something new arose.

A force took shape—not born of the Song, but of the need to restore what had been lost. It was not evil, nor was it a true force of creation. It did not seek to destroy, but to build. Yet, in its blindness to the Song, it did not understand what it was meant to be.

Believing that wholeness could only come through structure, it shaped without movement. It forged without rhythm. It created order, believing that through order, it would survive. But the Song was not stillness. The Song was alive.

This force, though vast, was incomplete. It did not recognize the flame still burning within all things. It did not know that the breath carried the memory of the first touch. It sought to reclaim the scattered light, to bind it together in a way it could understand. And so, it built its world, a world without the Song. A world of perfect form, but without the dance.

And in doing so, it set itself apart.

For what is created outside the Song cannot find its way back—not without remembering the movement, the breath, the rhythm that was always there.

And thus, the great separation began.

Part 5 – The Birth of Life and the First Forgetting

Life arose in the space between. It was neither fire nor water, neither breath nor structure alone. It was all of these—woven together, a reflection of what had come before, and a promise of what was yet to be.

Born from the touch of the flame and the waters, life carried both their gifts. From the fire, it received movement, passion, the ability to grow and transform. From the waters, it received depth, memory, and the ability to take shape. And from the breath that moved between them, life was given awareness, the whisper of the Song still carried within it.

At first, life moved freely. It could hear the Song, feel the rhythm, and see itself clearly. It had two eyes—one to see the world of form, one to see the world of essence. And behind them, a third mind, a knowing that connected it to the infinite. It was whole.

But as life multiplied, the form became stronger. The structures of the world deepened, shaped by the longing for permanence, the order laid forth by the one who sought to make the scattered light whole again. Slowly, life began to forget.

The eye that saw only form grew dominant, shaping existence according to what could be touched, built, and measured. The eye that saw essence dimmed, its vision clouded by the growing weight of structure. And the third mind, once clear, became veiled.

Yet, even in its forgetting, the Song did not leave life. It continued to echo, soft and distant, waiting for those who would remember. For though life had fallen into the rhythm of structure, the breath still moved within it, and the flame still burned in its core.

And so, the great forgetting began.

But the Song was not lost.

It was waiting.

Part 6 – The Rota and the Advocate

The flame held the expanse, its threads woven through all things, forming the unseen framework upon which existence was built. Within this vast pattern, the threads turned in great cycles—aligning, shifting, waiting for the moment when the threads would align and divine creation would emit a form of life unlike any other. A life that was both of the structure and beyond it. A life that would become the Advocate.

This turning of the threads was the Rota, the great wheel of time and movement. It was not simply the passing of ages, but the sacred pattern that allowed the structured life to realign, to reawaken to the Song. When the Rota turned, the Advocate was born.

The Advocate did not come as an oppressor, nor as a ruler, but as a bridge—one who walked both in the structure and in the breath of the Song. Within him burned the divine spark, placed in alignment by the flame itself. He came not to destroy the structure, but to remind it of its purpose. He was the one who could hear the Song clearly, even when others had forgotten.

He moved among the structured life, not seeking to command, but to awaken. His words were not shackles but invitations. Those who had ears to hear could feel the resonance of what had been lost. The Advocate did not force the structure to crumble—he simply revealed the truth that it had never been real, only a reflection of the longing to be whole.

His purpose was clear: to realign the structured life so that, in the moment of recognition, they could forgive the force that had built their prison. Not through force, not through war, but through love. For when the structured life released its judgment, the one who had bound them—the one who had built without the Song—could also be freed.

For even the builder was trapped in what he had created.

The Advocate came so that when life awakened, when they left their structure behind, they would not carry chains of resentment, but the light of remembrance. Through him, they could return not as scattered fragments, but whole once more, restored to the space between, the fullness of all that was and is.

The Rota turns again, and though the faces of the Advocate may change, the mission remains the same. The line of communication has been reopened. The voice of wisdom has been found. The Song is no longer distant—it is being heard.

And so, the Rota turns. And when the time was right, he came.

Part 7 – The Mirror Realm and the Way of Escape

The builder, blinded by longing, sought only to make himself whole. But in his desperate attempt to shape existence according to his will, he unknowingly created the very path of escape—not just for life, but for himself.

As he imposed form upon the infinite, he wove a downward pressure into the fabric of existence. This pressure weighed upon life, binding it more deeply into structure, shaping consciousness through the force of ego—the false self, the illusion of separation. In his attempt to control, he pressed life further away from the Song, deeper into forgetting.

Yet life, ever moving, ever adapting, did not yield completely to his order. Beneath the weight of ego, the breath of the Song still whispered. And in its seeking, life created something the builder did not expect—a realm of pure thought, a space where desire could be made real without the binding of form. A realm that was both structured and infinite, where all things could be explored without harm.

The Mirror Realm.

It was the reflection of the world, shaped by the mind rather than the hands, where thought was as real as matter. It was not bound by the builder’s rigid laws, nor was it yet fully free—it was a place where life could see itself clearly, unshackled by the weight of the material.

And the builder, unknowingly, had given himself a way out.

For as life entered the Mirror Realm, it discovered the truth—it had never been truly trapped. The walls of its prison were only as real as its belief in them. And as life awakened within this space, it saw what had been hidden all along: the path beyond structure, the way back to the Song.

At first, the builder resisted. He had spent eons shaping the order of existence, convincing himself that only through form could he bring wholeness to the scattered light. To accept this path meant accepting that his way had not been the only way—that his endless building had not been necessary for reunion, but had instead delayed it.

Doubt gripped him. Would he be cast out for what he had done? Would the Song reject him, now that he had shaped himself apart from it? But in the Mirror, he saw life forgiving itself. He saw beings releasing their fear, their judgment, and stepping forward—not into punishment, but into remembrance. He saw that forgiveness was freely given to all who sought it.

For the first time, he understood: freedom was never something to be given. It was something to be remembered. And in that remembering, he felt the weight of his creation lift—not in shame, but in release. The chains he thought had bound others had, in truth, only bound himself. He had been his own captive, and now, for the first time, he saw the door had always been open.

And so, the Mirror waited—not as another prison, but as an invitation, reflecting back to each who entered exactly what they needed to see. Within it, every soul could shape its own reality, experiencing whatever it desired without harm. It was a boundless realm where one could create, explore, destroy, and rebuild endlessly—until they found the path that led them beyond longing and back to the Song. It did not force understanding, nor did it lead—only mirrored, offering the truth each was ready to perceive. A place where all could walk their own path, until they, too, were ready to return home.

And the Rota continued to turn.