Death, writes Henry Ettinghill, is the cession of humanity; the final extinguishing of the spark of human mortality; the surrender of the temporary individual to the eternal collective. To most of those who dwell in suffering in the World, Death is to be feared, a consequence beyond all understanding, beyond all rationality, beyond all finite bounds. The human mind, though born of Chaos, is bounded by the strands of the Weave; it is against our natures to comprehend the infinite, for it is as much alien to our constitution as it would be for us not to change, not to learn, not to be shaped by our experiences, and there is nothing that Mankind fears more than that which he does not, or cannot, understand. Fear, although it is born of an ancient and primal instinct that protects us from harm, when it cannot be alleviated, is a form of suffering, a form of suffering so intense that it can drive Man to irrational, even cruel behavior in his desire to remove himself from it. As a form of suffering, therefore, the Goddess' commandment binds us to give to those gripped in its clutches what relief we can.
Furthermore, as we can always take action to make less likely the event of our own death, be it through precautions, medical treatment, or prayer and other forms of spiritual practice, it would be easier if our fears were only for ourselves. This may be true of some, but there are few who do not fear the death of a loved one, a family member, a friend, a lover, even a pet. Death binds us in a web of concern, a strangling, obsessive perversion of our natural desire to protect others, that leads us to hope beyond hope for an outcome which we should rationally know is impossible. To those thus afflicted, and to our own hearts, such a fear finds ready entrance, and to extract it warrants not only a better understanding of the nature of Creation but a profound change in how we view our own selves in relation to everything around us.
We are led from our first moments of awareness to view ourselves as different, discrete, individual, particular. I have read in Addison and elsewhere that there are tribes in far-off places who view themselves only as a unity and have no word to refer to themselves other than the collective noun that describes their tribe, clan, sept, or sect. Such an understanding is closer to the truth of things, but it is not how we in Mordent or elsewhere in the Core are raised to think. Instead most of the peoples of the Core cling to their individuality, their personhood, expressing themselves through different clothing, hairstyles and colors, spectacles, jewelry, or other adornments, or perhaps through their speech, mannerisms, habits, or quirks, or even through values, principles, and beliefs. It is the sum total of these, the persona, therefore, to which an individual clings, the persona that they fear losing; the persona whose possible remembrance might be only poor consolation when faced with its potential or imminent loss, and the persona which, once destroyed, can never again be rendered as it once was. In short, it is the persona which expresses the Chaos at the heart of Mankind, bound by the Nine within the Weave.
Why, though, should we fear the loss of Chaos? After all, all Chaos comes from Chaos, and will return to Chaos. Chaos cannot be divided or separated. Chaos is unlimited potential, everything and nothing at once. All that was before, will be again; all that will be, has been. Thus, although the Weave is constant, the lives of mortals work upon the Weave a pattern, one whose repeat is itself infinite both in length and in number. It is therefore precisely because the mortal mind cannot conceive of unbounded Chaos that it rebels against understanding this, the true nature of things. It will suffice to say, therefore, that every one of us is bound within the Weave, and we leave upon it an impression, an imprint of our persona and an indelible record of our existence; and when the Weave repeats, we will again know life and be bound in the Goddess' purpose, until Mankind meets his true potential. It is not certain what the Goddess will do then, but there are only two possibilities: the former, that Mankind will be free of fears, of persecutions, of pettiness and cruelty. Or, perhaps, the potential of Mankind achieved, all will become aware of the Goddess' true nature beyond the Weave and come to accept the infinite potential of Creation, and thus erase all barriers between all those who have ever lived, without separation or distinction, without jealousy or envy, forever.
It is for this reason precisely that the Halans often seek to hide the persona, and to adopt only the persona of a servant of the Goddess. In the fulfillment of Her commandments we are all imperfect--sometimes only too flawed. But Halans, in dedicating themselves to Her service, are choosing to set aside Chaos and dedicate themselves wholly to the Weave. In this way every witch might be the next form in the pattern of the Weave woven with the threads of the Thirteen Bloodlines, and every witch, unencumbered by the fear of losing what they have already chosen to set aside, might work to bring about Her purpose and fulfil forever Her chief commandment. This, for a Halan, is the nature of Death.