There is a primordial field of reeds, in an endless expanse of unforgiving desert and dust. In this field lies everything that was, and is to be. It isn’t alive, yet it isn’t dead, resembling more of a celestial object in the distance.

Still, the field swirls and rotates endlessly, pooling all of the existence trapped inside. It provides a basin from which everything eternally springs and terminates… a home beyond a home, in a way.

The field transcends morality, exchange, and even chaos and order themselves, since it is beyond time, where nothing ever happens yet everything always is. Our existence beyond life is like so, frozen into seeming lifelessness, yet with every volume of us persisting at once.