In the beginning there was no awareness. No straight lines, no sequential patterns, or anything called a moment. There was no past, no future, merely now. Illusions of hierarchy and placement dissolved into boiling puddles of a perpetual present. There was only Gaia. She was blossoming, melting into herself, basking in the disorderly flow of chaos. She was the paragon of beauty manifest. Smoothly coated like the horizon of a perfect sphere. Fluid in her endless stream of being. Glowing embers shined her primordial light from the core. All things danced together, playing hand in hand, circulating in the womb of her consuming rhythmical beat. The continuum of her being breathed life into existence, a life that was liberated from the form and free. Free from misleading fragmented perceptions- free from the mask of inflicted consciousness- free from the perversions of the examined life. There was only Gaia.
Gaia flourished in her inherent unity. Each fundamental ingredient merging itself into the whole, fading the boundaries between liquid and gas, nourishment and hunger, order and confusion, birth and death. She whispered softly the most phenomenal of poetic melodies. Each note heard distinctly yet only truly ingested within the intrinsic flow of the full symphony. She was the collective archetype of life, the divine essence of the cosmos, the organic core of the universe. Continuously creating, infinitely destroying, always surviving. She was Gaia. Vacant of thought, manifesting the majestic motions of the pure knowledge. She knew not of tree, animal, land, water, or depravity- fire, peace, thought, death, or gravity. The embodied breath of existence; inhaling living forms through her permeable soul. Exhaling the celestial vitality of animated spectrums and cycles. The metabolism of being pumped through her roots and veins. The ultimate organism encompassing life in its virgin form. She was alive and dead, everywhere and nowhere, infinitely complex and vastly simple. She was Gaia.
In a divergent and chance eruption of emergence, Gaia felt the overwhelming ripple of consciousness infest the inner recesses of her primal being. Her lightness was plagued by the reflexive weight of the self- her ears echoed the sounds of an innately burgeoning discord- her nose swallowed the foreign mist of tainted understanding- her tongue licked the foul taste of divisible entities- her eyes saw the fluid harmony fade into distinct notes. Humanity had arrived. Gaia felt the alien element of awareness fester within like a rusty hook entangled in her soul, biting, ripping, tearing her into submission. She was swarmed in swirling waves of technology, wounded by gashes of deeply severed borders, and vulnerable to conflicting realities of consciousness. Understanding was lost. Gaia was forced to abandon the beating pulse of her embedded purpose. This sudden mutation of awareness grew and germinated within her womb like a viral cancerous growth, unchecked by the complementary cycles of her being. Even her novel grasp of consciousness could not comprehend why she began to distinguish herself into components and disrupt the succession of he primal being.
Gaia was lost. Lost within the over whelming rush of a once inconceivable existence. An existence distorted by emotion. Loving • Hoping • Wanting. An existence mired in system. Timing • Learning • Controlling. An existence ruled by instinct. Fucking • Hating • Fighting. Flickering glimpses of art and war, good and bad, free and destined, this and that. Gaia felt herself weakening, slowly unraveling the intricately knit fabric of her existence. Her consciousness proliferated without predators, sprouting into a full-grown bastard child. Praying • Laughing • Hiding. She found herself splitting pieces, privileging portions, and losing her once inherent sense of totality. Gaia was lost.
As suddenly as it arrived, it had vanished. The once powerful force that invaded her most sacred and hallowed nucleus had dissipated back into the very life that had conceived it. Gaia experienced the consciousness of humanity as merely a glimmer in the sequential notion of time, the fleeting burn of indigestion, an outdated mutation sprouted in a metaphysical conflict with her eternal cycle of being. Awareness was forgotten like the abandoned revelations of dream, a shriveled appendage of extinction. There was only Gaia. Shining • Breathing • Dancing.