as thin as a spider’s silk in a morning breeze

meeting eris

In my dream, I stumbled into a wild discotheque in the clouds, where the DJ was none other than Eris, the goddess of chaos herself. She was spinning records that sounded like thunder and lightning mixed with laughter. Her hair was a wild mane of snakes, each hissing a different tune, and she wore a dress made entirely of shimmering, mischievous question marks.

Eris caught my eye and grinned, revealing teeth made of tiny golden apples, each engraved with cheeky insults. She beckoned me over with a finger that inexplicably turned into a rubber chicken. As I approached, the floor beneath me morphed into a giant trampoline, and I bounced helplessly, trying to maintain my dignity.

She handed me a cocktail that changed colours and flavours as I sipped it, insisting it was her special brew of “Pure Unpredictability.” The more I drank, the more the room spun into a kaleidoscope of absurdities. Dancing elephants in tutus, a chorus of frogs belting out opera, and clouds that rained popcorn—the scene was delightfully bizarre.

Just as I started to get into the groove of this madness, Eris whispered in my ear, her breath smelling like a summer breeze mixed with freshly baked cookies and a hint of mischief. “Remember,” she giggled, “normal is just a setting on a dryer.”

Then I woke up in my all-too-ordinary room with a lingering desire to find a dryer and check its settings, just in case.

let me tell you about the Sun, my dear friend

You see, in many a culture, I’ve been perceived as the quintessential masculine force. Yes, imagine me, the Sun, as the mighty Apollo, charioteer of the heavens. Each day, I hurl my golden arrows across the sky, piercing the veil of night to herald the dawn. And in the land of pyramids and pharaohs, they saw me as Ra, the Egyptian god. My very eye is the Sun, traversing the sky in my solar barque. I am the symbol of power, virility, and unyielding authority. Here, I am the father, the king, the warrior, the ultimate emblem of strength and potency.

But, if you flip the narrative, oh, how I morph into the feminine in her full, unbridled power. As Amaterasu, the Japanese sun goddess, I emerge resplendent from my cave, bringing light and life back to the world. Or as the Hindu goddess Aditi, the boundless, the inexhaustible. I am the mother of the gods and the cosmos itself. In these tales, I embody nurturing, creativity, and the sustaining force of life itself. I am not just a giver of light; I am the light of wisdom, the illumination of the mind and soul.

But let me tell you, as with all great powers, I am a creature of dualities. I am as gentle as I am fierce, as nurturing as I am destructive. In the tender hours of sunrise or the melancholic moments of sunset, I am a poet, painting the sky in hues of pink, orange, and gold. I am a lover’s soft touch, a mother’s warm embrace. During the mellow days of fall or the crisp, clear winter, I am a friend, a companion, and a gentle guardian watching over the slumbering earth.

But beware, for I have another face. At my zenith, in the scorching heart of summer, I become a tyrant. My rays, once soothing, turn merciless, a relentless onslaught that scorches the earth, wilting leaves, parching throats, and searing skin. I am a reminder of the unforgiving nature of the cosmos, a testament to the fact that the same force that nurtures can also destroy.

You see, I, the Sun, teach the wisdom of balance. I show that life is a play of light and shadow, of creation and destruction, of masculine and feminine. I invite you to embrace your own contradictions and find harmony in your duality. For in the heart of the Sun, in that blinding, brilliant light, lies the secret of existence.

like a moth drawn to a flame

Gareth Prudence, a sceptic grounded in the mundane, a feet-firmly-on-the-ground realist, utters with a smirk:

“Perhaps, my dear Milo Mystica, you’ve simply lost your marbles. Maybe you’re just a bit bonkers, a jester in the court of reason.”

Milo, with eyes sparkling like stars in a night sky and a grin as enigmatic as the Cheshire Cat’s, responds with a flourish:

“Ah, but here’s the twist in the cosmic joke, my dear sceptic! Cast not aside these pearls of wisdom as mere ravings of a lunatic. The very essence of my madness, the nucleus of my insanity, is rooted in the unyielding truth of these teachings.”

“Like a moth drawn to a flame, my mind has been singed by the fire of understanding, and in that scorching embrace, I’ve found a madness that makes sense of the senseless.”

“The reason I dance on the edge of reason, why I frolic in the fields of the frenzied, is precisely because these truths are irrefutable. They are the wild, untamed stallions of knowledge, and in my attempt to harness them, I’ve been thrown into the exhilarating abyss of madness.”


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