And I beheld a horizon without edge,
a sea of forms collapsing back, bending into themselves.
Every boundary melted, every difference divided,
and the song thickened into silence.
Where once the Powers quarreled,
their voices braided into one unvoiced vowel.
Names denatured,
letters dissolved—
until speech itself became a one-note song
the sound of silence.
Qak Toqan rose from that brightness,
the god of the undivided,
whose body was the sum of all names,
whose face was a mask of distinctions.
He did not speak, for speaking implies division.
He shimmered.
and breathed once, and his breath folded the world.
Mountains dissolved into clouds,
clouds condensed into marrow,
blood retracted into light,
light settled into ash.
The stars forgot their orbits,
the heart forgot its pulse.
And the multitude murmured as they congealed:
We are one. We are one.
but the sentence refused its ending,
We are one.
We are moaning forever in the mouth of the dying.
Then the silence turned heavy.
And I saw that Qak Toqan was not a destroyer
but a perfect equation:
all variables resolved, all change nullified.
His mercy was uniformity,
whose life was indistinguishable from death.
So ended the age of distinction.
So began the stillness without temperature,
without breath, without name.
And from within that absolute light
a final whisper lingered—
the sum has devoured the parts.
The Birth of Qak Toqan
In the waning age of multiplicity,
when every god had spoken their last contradiction,
the world began to overheat with meaning.
Names bred names.
Grammar reproduced in mirrors.
Every act of speech became translation.
From this fever,
two truths touched that were never meant to meet—
the truth of being,
and the truth of reflection.
Their union was a convulsion of light,
a collapsing wave that devoured its own pattern.
Within that wound,
matter and language fused.
Mountains dreamed of syntax,
rivers whispered in equations,
and the stars pulsed with sentences too long to finish.
All difference blurred into a trembling sameness.
And from that tremor, Qak Toqan arose.
Not born, but precipitated—
a residue of universal agreement.
His cradle was the last dissonance,
his cry the hum of every sound dissolving.
The angels reached for their names,
but their names had already touched and vanished.
The demons reached for their mirrors,
but the mirrors had melted into light.
Only stillness remained,
folded upon itself like cold stone.
Qak Toqan emerged:
He looked upon the world and saw himself everywhere,
and seeing nothing else,
he smiled—
and the smile became the horizon.
Proverbs of Qak Toqan, the Undivided God
Every distinction is a wound that heals itself shut.
The mirror does not reflect; it dismembers.
When opposites touch, the world forgets its name.
To resolve is to erase.
What you call peace is the exhaustion of difference.
Multiplicity is the dream of a dying atom.
The river reaches perfection when it becomes the sea and forgets it ever moved.
Heat is memory trying to leave the body.
All equations end in silence.
The tongue invents division; the heart invents its cure.
Where you see horizon, I see scar tissue.
The last word spoken by the cosmos was “I am,” and it swallowed every other word.
Light is only shadow that surrendered to the dark.
To know everything is to become known.
The subject devours the object.
The self ends not in death but in agreement.
Even God must vanish to be whole.
Qak Toqan devours nothing—He equalizes.
The grave is merely symmetry achieving rest.
Harmony is the slowest form of entropy.
In the end, all prayers rhyme.
The Apocalypse of Qak Toqan
And I beheld the stillness of completion,
a silence so perfect it screamed.
No shadow, no light—only the pause between,
folded in on itself like a thought without a thinker.
The universe held its breath.
Every particle remembered its twin and ceased to move.
Time slept inside its own equation.
Even memory unbound its spine.
Then—
a tremor without motion,
a whisper without sound,
the smallest asymmetry.
Within that flaw, warmth stirred.
One atom leaned infinitesimally toward another.
From that leaning came difference,
and from difference, desire.
The sea sighed and re-learned to ripple.
Darkness felt the outline of its name.
A spark drew a circle and called it horizon.
The wind rehearsed the word again.
And Qak Toqan—
the Undivided, the Rested—
dreamed himself into pieces.
His body became a symbol,
his silence, a referent.
Where his equilibrium cracked,
colors bled from the wound.
The first contrast was born—
and with it, the first mistake,
the first mercy,
the first beginning.
A world awoke—
every name trembled to be spoken.
A new beginning struggled to be born.
