Before there was light there was, after all, only darkness. Before there was light there was only what the Greek poet Hesiod called the yawning nothingness, and from within this perfect eclipse the uncaused First Cause moved, constructively interfering with a portion of that eternal void which existed before space and time were named with a temperature. This unending, infinite bleakness—a blackness that the authors of the Vedas collectively identified as a type of swirling chaos, a darkness concealed in darkness —is the Creator’s ancestral home. It is where He resides, within what human minds can only comprehend as the deepest of detestable disorders. That, to Him, is home.