Nothing is exceptionally fast. Something is vastly slow. From the very fast nothing which is (more than) everything we fall toward the pull of some universe, some galaxy, a specific star… and then toward the more gently pulling world, and then toward the pulsing pull of a specific mother. Paired with some father, these summoners of lives are required to engage in a form of physical agreement, most usually involving a dance of rhythmic, penetrative pulses. These pulses set up an inductive standing wave that folds the fluid that is what water is the physical metaphor of into a recursive turbulence with the capacity to persist, encapsulating and injecting turbulence into the slow-worlds of corporeal expression, where it emerges and proceeds in the form of a living being.

Like forward-blooming waves of turbulence in the bases of time, space, and consciousness, these lives. Drawing other living storms into birth as children. Shaping all the features and reflections of the ordered living chaos which calls to unborn children through relation, attracting them to a moment of rhythmic agreement from which shall issue a storm within a storm within a storm.

And the child is the forward-blossoming tree, a consciousness, a universe, which is the marriage of their own intrinsic character with that of both of their parents, and lineages and relations too myriad to fathom. A symphony of storms.

Unique expressions of relational co-emergence. Living streams of elaborate, progressively evolving turbulence in the timewater that has no spacial extent. Blossoming forward.

Calling the children. A time together. And fading. Trees of impossibly sophisticated flow wearing bodies and living lives together.

Holy.