The Universe is a rythme and an arithme. An arithme, as the expression of the mathematical equation relating all to nothing. A rythme, as it is not still nor inert, but lives and breathes and pulses, as all living things - it pulses and senses everything that dwells inside it. Because everything that dwells inside it pulses and lives and makes the Universe grieve and rejoice, stretch and shrink, remember and forget, erase and rewrite its own story.

The Universe has no age; better: Time and the Universe are coetaneous.

In a certain instance, the Lord felt the desire to see his own face. He thought what he had in his head all at once: and the Cosmos was created. For it was not created ex nihilo, as some fondly think - unless the Lord is himself this nihility.

The Lord thus thought, and his mind burnt, and all he had in his head become One.
And thus the Cosmos was created, that is, order emerged from chaos, and the Lord laced infinity with the gems of creation. An infinite Master, with infinite wisdom, he measured the unmeasured, counted the uncounted, and built his children: the earth, the sky, the sun. More children: clouds and stars in the sky, lands and seas on the earth. Beasts and fish and trees and plants, and many a wonder, more than a thousand. And all this with a few grains of a sole substance; for he wants us to remember that any two is one, and that all is One altogether, One Cosmos, as One is its Arche.

And he who will fondly utter

let him pass over in silence and seek a better world in his own head.