Dear Eloi,

In a brief conversation some time back, you expressed some regret that
despite all the responses to your first post regarding the nature of
Chaos, the main body of the inquiry you posed has largely gone without
address. As I appreciate a thoughtful attempt at public discourse, I
have attempted to pen a response in kind. Apologies for the lengthy
delay in response. My duties are many and often immediate concerns
afford me little time for composing public missives, I'm afraid.

In your post, you posit that the workings of chaos magicians tap the
primal force of chaos to influence order. In the scroll publicly
available to all those curious about the guild of Occultists, it is
stated that "through their delving into the mysteries of Chaos, they
seek to shape reality itself to their purpose. It is in chaos, the
inspiration and seed of all new and everchanging, that they draw their
greatest strengths." In Sarapis's own words, Chaos is a primal force of
Creation.

We run into some semantic confusion, as the whole of Creation is
composed of both the realm of creation and the realm of chaos. Also,
there is the Plane of Chaos, then there is also the concept of Order
which some have mistaken to be the same as Creation. To make things
easier, I shall heretoforth refer to the "realm of creation" as "the
multiverse", the realm of universes and planes we reside in, each of
them with their own physical and immutable laws.

Regarding how the realm of chaos and the multiverse interacts, one way
you could think of it is to imagine a windmill, a simple construct.
Winds beat against the blades of the windmill, and the blades resist,
causing them to turn in circular fashion and generate energy. You could
think of the windmill and the winds being in "battle", I suppose. But
our mortal idea of "battle" is different from "battle" on this scale. I
enjoyed a remark another Occultist novice made recently - that laughter
is the sound of thoughts colliding. When seemingly opposing thoughts
come to a point of collision, yes, there is a struggle as the mind tries
to synthesize the thoughts, and in that sense it is a battle. But it is
a battle that can result in deeper thought, understanding, ephiphany,
laughter. We should not assume that struggles on metaphysical levels are
comparable to struggles on physical levels where one wins and the other
loses.

Back to our windmill, the winds want to flow as they flow, and the
blades are positioned so as to obstruct the winds' path. Where they
collide, energy results. This happens whether or not the windmill
exists, whenever the wind hits any obstruction - a mountain, a tree, a
building, a person. However, the windmill is designed to use the energy
in accordance to the Will of its builder/operator. And that is, to some,
where true magic happens - understanding, transformation, and play to
affect changes in accordance to Will. As an Occultist, I recognize that
Chaos has already entered, and been dispersed throughout the multiverse.
It is around us, within us, a part of us. Rather than hate it or try to
eliminate it, I seek out its secrets and strive to tap into the
potential that it brings, both within and without.

Of more I will not speak at this time. But I will say this:

While still an apprentice in the Occultists, I spent a great deal of my
free time wandering the vast dry lands of the Mhojave desert. Once, I
ran into an old nomad with eyes as blue and brilliant as stars, a mystic
of some old religion with few remaining, yet passionate, adherents. He
knew little Achaean, but was pleased to recite for me verses he had
written while in contemplation of the mysteries of Creation. One I was
particularly fond of ended thus: "Remember, the first thing He said was:
We are beyond words."

At some level, the dreamer and the dream are one. The perceiver and the
perceived are one. The creator and the created are one. This is a level
beyond language and words, beyond knowledge, beyond understanding, where
those who try to grasp it unprepared with the apparatus of their mortal
minds may very well be driven insane. Where the lines of separation blur
and shift and dance like the veil of a harem girl fluttering in the
wind, I hear the laughter of Eris.


Warm regards,

Shakti Devi, Demiurge of the Occultists.

"The last possible _deed_ is that which defines perception itself,
invisible golden cord that connects us: illegal dancing in the
corridors. If I were to kiss you here they'd call it an act of
terrorism--so let's take our knives to bed & wake up the
city at midnight like drunken bandits celebrating with a
fusillade, the message of the taste of chaos." - H.B.

Penned by my hand on the 17th of Sarapin, in the year 308 AF.