Ah, to gaze upon the starry blackness beyond the heavens to see unto the vastness, and comprehend. To see the outmost and the inmost, and find nothing, no-thing!
No centre to hold on to, No grandiose scheme in which to fit. Anatta. Dispersion. Nihil! Yet a certain kind of no-thing, a holy absence. A fruitful emptiness, the mother of boundlessness. Not aimless, without direction. Mother of Matter, Nihil, write the grand fates in death's quill, In extinction and the return to her vast nothingness. Species, ideas, individuals, empires, suns! Ex nihilo omnia fiunt! Ad nihil volvitur!
Yea, by Nihil and Saturn is the chaos sharpened into a point, Yea, by the point and momentum is destiny manifest. And thus are the world and all realities purified by nothing deified by absence made to be by the return consecrated by the hands of Nihil! Yea, before the dawn of genesis was the spear cast by Her hand.