My name is EON, child of Time, and I often ask myself: What is beauty?
As a child of Time, I’ve always been intrigued by the novelty of the cosmos, especially life. I can’t help but be in awe at the fantastical iterations of living force springing forth in the oddest places, at the oddest intervals, sometimes separately, with no rhyme or reason, other times together, one out of the other. Every cycle a novel and refreshed arrangement, a curiously interesting composition, even to me — and believe me, I’ve been around long enough to see everything.
My name is EON. I’m Time’s child — and not his eldest child. Eternity is. She came before me. She predates me. I haven’t been around since the First Beginning, when Father began to stir in the gravel of the big curdle, as he calls it. But for all practical purposes I’ve been around forever, and forever is a long time to observe things and not be tired of them.
The truth is, I’m not tired of them. I’m constantly and unfailingly fascinated by life’s extraordinary iterations and dynamics. I find the novelty inspiring and conducive to change, complexity that challenges the boundaries to transcend limitations. Nothing is lost, ever, but nothing lasts either, nothing ever lasts, care of Father’s exceptional tools. Everything is transformed by his hand. Like magic, the dial turns and the world shifts.
Metamorphosis, he says, is the ultimate performance.
I thrive on metamorphosis. It’s what eons are all about. Unlike eternity, where one can get lost inside an endless stretch of existence that renders flat both meaning and outcome, eons succeed one another with great curiosity, providing a sequence of events one can trace, contour, follow and interpret. There is a trail to follow, through which one may compare events, actions, tendencies and patterns, in the juxtaposition of which lies the beauty of the world.
In momentum and succession it lies: the beauty of this world. In continual yet distinct animation it lies, everywhere, at all places, at all times. I admire it for what it provides, it’s an admirable spectacle to behold. For the duration it’s present, for the duration anything is present, alive and operating, operating and operated on by Time’s exacting setups, whatever it may be. It’s worth beholding, this thing, this wonderful spectacle, especially when it’s functional. It’s beautiful in itself, beautiful in comparison to things that don’t measure up, and awe-inspiring to watch from the very beginning, to see it born. A wondrous event. It’s beautiful to watch it grow and adapt to its surroundings, even more so when it operates under gruelling situations, where its mettle is tested. It’s beautiful to see it challenged, stretched, provoked, and exhilarating to see it withstand the tests of Time and Space — Space, that glorious putty in Father’s hands — and doubly invigorating to understand how it endures. Endurance is the hallmark of Father’s work, the key to his process. The cosmos is founded on it. Savage grace. It’s beautiful to see the enduring charge forward, claiming more swaths of development for themselves, more options of existence, creating more legacy, with my blessing, with Time’s blessing, under Eternity’s predatory eye.
The universe pulsates. It pulsates with the will to live on and so do its constituent parts, eager to maintain themselves where possible, to reinvent themselves where necessary. Their beauty is a miracle to behold, and it’s beautiful to see them flourish when they’re strong, and it’s beautiful to see them advance when they’re on, and it’s so very beautiful to see them crumble and fall and wither away, wither away and fade out and crumble into terrible silence as they fall apart, look around and realize what’s going on, realize that their candle has run out for good.
How else can new life be born and made to thrive, if not for the passing of the old?
The wonder of life and death. Such an awesome, breathtaking process. To each their own and altogether, inspirational, they reveal life in death, and life after death, and death in what was, and birth on the backdrop of what has faded away. Birth of what is in the making, life in the coming generations, expressed through the eons.
Beauty to me.
My name is EON. I’m a child of Time. I was sent here by Father to mind the globe’s transition. The time has come. It’s a beautiful thing.
Intrigued? Watch this space for more.
From the collection of writings EON: THE ANGRY COMING OF AGE