The Chaos is infinite, it is also unbound

Stacked one on another the souls are all wound.

Each spirit howls with its own special sound

Some holler, some bellow, some bay like a hound.

Some cry, some scream, but they all resound

No rhyme nor reason will ever be found.

Nowhere is a sound which will expound.

They all vibrate, some shrill, some narrow,

Some are twisted, some bent, some an arrow.

High-pitched, low-pitched, but none will harrow.

Each bangs the other with rarely a farrow.

Peak bumps valley and hill rubs shallow

Each sound is unique, each spirit is callow.

The noise is thunderous down to the marrow.

The Chaos is infinite, no beginning, no end,

always was, always is, there is no mend.

There was no void from which to descend

No higher form, to praise or defend

There is nothing more to comprehend.

It has no time, and it has no trend,

Always was, always is, it needs no send.

An infinite orchestra with no first seat

No score, no conductor to keep the beat.

Each wave is a thought, each sound is discrete

Every thought is a spirit, every note a defeat.

They all clamor and clang, but without any sheet

it's a thunderous roar without any teat,

Each trapped in itself and never to meet.

It is the Chaos, which some call Hell.

In the midst of it all, one rang like a bell.

In the midst of the Chaos a dreamer did dwell.

One thought rang out and created a swell

Some stopped to listen and joined in the knell.

In the midst of the Chaos a bright glowing well

One song rang out and created a spell.

I come from the Chaos, come sing my song!

Come add your note, come add your prong

If we all sing together we all will be strong.

Come sing my song and you too will belong,

together as one, without any wrong.

Come share my thought, my dream, my long

I come from the Chaos come sing my song!

Out of the Chaos they came when he spoke

With each wave, each thought, he added a stroke.

They were singing his song but adding their note.

With every new spirit, he added a mote.

From a swell to a deluge came out of the coke

Ten billion and more he wrought and he wrote.

With another ten billion a ray would evoke.

Every wave is a thought, a spirit, a soul,

Alone in the Chaos it is only a coal.

But woven together they make a great toll

Each note is a string and a part of the whole

Every wave, every thought, plays its own role.

And the song they sang it opened the hole

From thought, to light, to substance its goal.

A rhythm, a harmony, a chorus, a round,

a melody, a chant all add to the sound.

Each must be conducted, woven and wound

Guided by thought of the first that were found.

They live in the dream and never are crowned

Only share in the song, the thought, the renowned

But not all are happy the way things are bound.

Every thought, every spirit, maintains its own voice

To sing the great song or not is its choice.

There are some in Chaos who never rejoice,

They envy the song and their wants try to foist.

They learned how to weave and make their own joist,

Now they call to the Chaos to give them a hoist.

The song that they sing is seductive and moist.

They enter the song and challenge the host

All follow the dreamer, but not of his boast.

They want their own way and not of the most,

The song that they sing is meant to impost.

They call to the spirits, and offer a toast

to change the dream; to change the ghost,

to be the dream weaver, to be the provost.

They envy the Dreamer, but think him a clown.

He seeks no reward, he seeks no renown.

His joy is in weaving and not wearing the gown

He only wants peace, he only wants lown,

but they thirst for homage, they seek a crown.

Any knowledge of him they wish to embrown

If they have their way, we all will bow down.

There are others in Chaos who sing their own tune

As different in timber as December from June.

All learned from the dreamer but croon their own croon.

The song that they sing does not add to our plume,

But makes its own swell we may never see soon.

From out of the Chaos they pick and they prune

To dream their own dream and write their own tome.

Every thought, every spirit, can join in or not

It can sing a great song and find its own slot,

or return to the Chaos if it doesn't know what.

To close in on itself and become a small dot,

The Chaos contains every song, every jot.

Nothing is new, there is nothing red-hot

All songs that are sung were there from first shot.

The songs that are sung and woven with care

Have always existed, have always been there,

But alone in the Chaos they never will glare.

The thought of the spirit must join in the flair

to add its own note, to add it's own share.

Every song that is sung has none to compare,

each changes the dream, each charges the air.

Life and the Universe are only a Thought,

A thought of the things that still can be wrought.

Every speck, every mote is a thought that was brought

by the song of a spirit, a soul that has caught.

Each song that is sung adds a note to the fraught.

Every Thought is a ripple, a wave, an onslaught,

A stir of the ether that exists in the naught.

Both zero and infinity are one and the same

It is our innocence that is really to blame,

for our seeing only what is hung on the frame.

No matter, no energy, is not the same dame

as a void without nothing, nothing to claim.

A Thought has no matter but has it no name?

It exists as infinity and from zero it came.

And what is a Thought if not our own Id

It is the essence of man and deep it is hid.

I Think so I am is the gist of our grid,

It gives meaning to us and therefore our kid.

From our vision it seems to have recently slid,

But we are the Thought and Thought is our nib,

to write our own song and make our own bid.

We exist in the Nothingness and there we conceive,

our thoughts into what we wish to perceive.

What our senses obey and the commands they receive;

if we choose to rejoice or we choose to bereave.

Our life is our own to spin and to weave

and the song that we sing is what we believe.

It is our Free Will to leave or to cleave.

No one note can do us much good.

One Thought can sway, can say I could,

but it takes the most to say that it should.

Then what is done can change the wood,

and move us all from where we stood.

The way is then put under a hood,

and can only go back if re-understood.

So what is this way, the path that we hallow,

and why is our song a song full of callow?

Because we are young and still full of marrow

We are searching our way and wading the shallow.

We are trying to create a place full of tallow,

A place where we can lay back and wallow,

or be one with the sun and plow what is fallow.

Our songs and our thoughts we weave into Light,

The Light is then added and twisted real tight.

What it becomes is still open to might,

It needs only our thoughts to say what to write.

It forms the Quintessence, which is out of our sight

and issues the energy as black as the night,

But it adds to the weight and keeps it all right.

Why we sing such a song is still a great wonder.

We tire of Chaos and are looking for plunder,

So we create or own treasure, and visit down under,

To ride the White Swan and tear it asunder.

But our spirits are young and still need to wander

So we create it again with just a slight cumber,

and hope that this time we will not have to slumber.

The creatures our spirits use to inhabit

are only a tool we use as a cabinet.

Their life is too short to be much of a habit,

and needs to be raised from an ape to an Abbot.

Its beastly behavior still keeps it a babbitt,

and once it is used and left to the maggot

the Spirit must leave and find a new fagot.

All over the world is one great aspire,

that we live forever and never retire.

It's our inner spirit that is the thoughts sire,

To travel the universe its fond desire,

So we look for a way to never expire.

We search for ways to raise ourselves higher,

To add to our days and extinguish our pyre.

The brain of the beast is dulled with its yearning

It can't hear the song or divine the great learning,

But our time in this place has just started burning.

We must abandon the beast and be more discerning.

What we see in the heavens is only first churning,

There's a long way to go before it starts turning.

Before it's all done our wings we'll be earning.

When we are done exploring this place,

we will tear it apart and return it to waste;

to sing a new song and make a new space.

Build it anew with a whole different race,

and never to settle or lessen the pace.

For that is our passion, that is our case,

forever exploring; forever the chase.

The worlds that we build and later destroy

Are here for our pleasure; here for our joy,

What we make of it all is ours to employ.

It is our thoughts that created this Troy,

it is ours to decide to be glad or annoy.

To sit by the wayside; let others enjoy,

or join in the song and join in the hoi.

The Universe is only just what we knit,

We all follow the paths that we see are fit.

All futures and pasts come in one kit.

Time is an illusion as we read what we writ.

It is only a vision as we sit a wee bit

To look at the images we have just lit,

And choose what is next; what new to submit.

We can sing the song and dream the dream,

but nothing is whatever it seem.

A reflection on glass caused by the beam

Our attention is focused at what's on the screen.

The image will change with whatever we deem,

But the song must focus on that single scene,

For the thought to become a part of the gleam.

No two truths are ever the same

It is our different Thoughts that are to blame.

When we search our Id from where it all came,

The Truths that we see are just where we aim.

There is no disgrace, there is nothing to shame

That difference is what burns in our flame.

The difference is what gives us our name.

The Universe is infinite but it is bound,

There is a limit to how it is wound

There is an outside but no center ground.

What we see with our eyes just may astound,

but there is much more then what we have found.

It's only our spirits that can see all around,

but out of the ether we see what has crowned.

The song that we sing is our greatest lust

It comes from the Id and renders the dust.

We add to the cumber, we had to the must,

To see if it shines or if it just rust.

We all add a note, we all add our thrust

Whether it's strong, or whether it's just,

We wait and we see if we boon or we bust.

When we join in the song our minds are entangled.

Everything we see is all a big jangle

All thoughts are added then mixed and mangled.

What finally comes out is shown in wide-angle.

A new thought or idea we can add to the tangle

in hopes that it will be the new spangle

and not be rejected, tramped on or strangled.

Every spirit is bound with that of the whole

it keeps us all seeing what's on the dole

but what we perceive can play a new role

and change what is spun and wound on the roll.

We all are reading from the same scroll

but what we perceive is our special soul

we add to the lot to seek our own goal.

We exist in the Chaos and link with a brain

to share in the vision and join the refrain

Whatever we add is mixed with the main

the universe is then reordered and strained

to reform itself as we so ordain.

Onward it rolls forever a train

to carry us onto our ultimate gain.

It's a finite infinity on a Mobious Strip

every twist and turn creates a new clip.

We all add to the mix our own little nip.

It's all held together and molded to scrip

by the thoughts of all who join in the trip.

Forever reforming as we get a grip

on whatever it is we bring to the kip

To subtract from our freedom is The Greatest Sin.

Be weary of those who distort just to win,

They will limit our freedom, limit our spin,

Don't listen to those who will keep us shut-in.

Their thought is self glory, and it's us their a-gin,

The greatest of Thought will add to our kin;

Will free us from anger and hate will unpin.

Every thought, every spirit has a free will;

To add a new cumber, to add a new pill,

Or to take it away and make it a thrill.

We must all understand that we are the mill,

We're all in it together for good or for ill.

If only we manage to shake off the shill

We can start the adventure and never will kill.

The Universe is infinite and nothing is new

All the songs that we sing are infinite too.

The paths that we follow can lead us askew,

Where they will lead us we haven't a clue,

But when added together they make a great stew.

Every thought adds a flavor, every song adds a hue

What a great wonder it will be when we're through!

All who read these words of my labor,

Will find it different than will their neighbor.

To all that we see, we add our own flavor.

If all thought the same, there is little to savor.

The difference is to cherish and not to belabor.

It is the Grand Song and what makes it waver.

It's not our great foe, but our infinite savior.