Cosmic balance

by Bill Tiepelman

Interstellar Harmony

The universe wasn’t always an empty void speckled with stars. Before time itself was counted, before the first atom trembled into existence, there were the Koi. They swam through the nothingness, carving rivers of stardust in their wake. The first, Hikari, was luminous, her scales painted in nebulae and celestial pinks, her long fins flowing like cosmic silk. The second, Kuro, was the abyss itself, speckled with distant galaxies and glowing constellations, his body curving with the fluid grace of the unseen forces that shaped reality. They weren’t gods, though they had been mistaken for such. No, gods were loud. Gods demanded sacrifice, built temples, whispered into the ears of desperate mortals. The Koi simply were. Silent, eternal, patient. But in their silence, they dictated the currents of time, the balance of creation and destruction, the unseen tides that pulled galaxies into spirals and planets into orbit. The Argument That Created Everything For eons, Hikari and Kuro swam in perfect harmony, circling, shifting, maintaining the great cosmic balance. But then, one day—though "day" is a flimsy word for creatures who existed before the concept of days—they had an argument. “You always turn left first,” Kuro grumbled. Hikari flicked her tail, scattering violet light. “No, I don’t.” “Yes, you do. Every time we complete a cycle, you veer left first. I have to adjust.” “Maybe you're just slow to react.” “Or maybe you’re doing it on purpose to annoy me.” She swam in an elegant loop. “Oh please. If I wanted to annoy you, I’d nudge you into a black hole.” Kuro snorted. “You tried that once. It tickled.” Their banter was harmless at first—just another ripple in the timeless sea of their existence. But then, for the first time in eternity, they did something unprecedented. They swam in opposite directions. The result was catastrophic. The Big Bang Was Just Koi Drama The instant they pulled away from each other, the universe exploded. Light and energy erupted into the void, expanding outward with a force neither of them had ever witnessed. Stars ignited, matter coalesced, and time itself began its relentless march. “See what you did?” Hikari huffed, staring at the chaos. Kuro flicked his fins, watching a nebula swirl into existence. “Me? You pulled away first.” “I did not!” “You absolutely did. Look, now there’s gravity. Gravity, Hikari!” They watched as planets formed, spinning like tiny marbles in the vastness of space. “Ooh, that one’s blue,” Hikari mused, peering at a newborn planet. Kuro eyed it. “Looks squishy.” “Wanna mess with it?” “Obviously.” And thus, their attention turned toward a small, fragile world floating in the new expanse of the cosmos. A world that would come to be known, in some distant future, as Earth. The First (and Last) Time They Got Involved For eons, they observed the planet from a distance, nudging its fate with the subtlest flicks of their tails. They watched single-celled organisms evolve, landmasses shift, and creatures crawl from the depths of the sea. They made bets. “That one with the scales,” Kuro said, pointing to a lumbering beast with tiny arms. “Five cycles before it dies off.” “Nah, ten,” Hikari countered. They watched empires rise and fall, mortals carve stories into stone, and people build temples in the Koi’s honor without ever realizing their celestial patrons had never actually asked for worship. But then humans started making really bad decisions. “Should we do something?” Hikari asked one day as she watched a war unfold. Kuro shrugged. “Mortals are weird.” “They’re blowing each other up over imaginary lines.” “Again, weird.” “We should intervene.” Kuro groaned. “Hikari, the last time we ‘intervened,’ we created the entire universe. Maybe we sit this one out.” But Hikari was stubborn, and Kuro, despite his protests, was curious. So, they did something neither of them had ever attempted before. They descended. And Earth would never be the same again.     The Koi Touch Down Hikari and Kuro didn’t land so much as they materialized. One moment, they were suspended in the vastness of space, gazing down at Earth like bemused aquarium owners. The next, they were swimming through the sky, invisible to the mortals below. It was chaotic. Birds screeched and scattered as Hikari accidentally phased through a flock of geese. “Oops.” Kuro, already regretting this decision, grimaced. “See? This is why we don’t do things.” But Hikari wasn’t listening. She was fixated on the glowing cities sprawled across the continents. Humanity had advanced far beyond sticks and fire. They had electricity. Machines. Sandwiches. “They built lights,” she whispered in awe. “I noticed.” She twirled, trailing shimmering cosmic dust in her wake. “I like it.” Kuro rolled his eyes. “Great. Can we go back now?” Humanity's First Koi Sighting Of course, they didn’t leave. Curiosity had a hold of them, and so they drifted lower, observing the strange creatures below. And that’s when one particular human saw them. He was an old fisherman, out late, his boat bobbing in the darkness of the sea. He had seen many things in his long years, but nothing quite like this—two glowing, massive koi circling in the sky. He dropped his fishing rod. “Well, I’ll be damned.” Hikari and Kuro froze. “...He can see us?” Hikari whispered. “No, he can’t.” The fisherman squinted. “You’re real, ain’t ya?” Kuro sighed. “We should leave.” “You should leave,” Hikari countered, then turned to the fisherman. “Hi!” Kuro muttered something about cosmic disasters waiting to happen. The Legend of the Celestial Fish The fisherman was, to put it mildly, losing his mind. But in the way that old, wise men often do—with a mix of terror, curiosity, and the deep understanding that some things in the universe defy explanation. “You’re gods, ain’t ya?” he asked. “Nope,” Hikari said brightly. “Absolutely not,” Kuro added. “Then what are ya?” Hikari opened her mouth, but Kuro interrupted. “We’re just passing through.” “But you swim in the sky!” “So do birds.” The fisherman blinked. “You got a name?” Hikari, delighted by the conversation, swirled in a loop. “I’m Hikari! That’s Kuro. He’s grumpy.” “Because we shouldn’t be here,” Kuro muttered. “Ah,” the fisherman mused. “Kinda like my ex-wife.” Hikari giggled. Kuro groaned. The First Koi Cult (Oops) The next morning, the fisherman told everyone. At first, no one believed him. But then, others began seeing strange, shimmering fish in the sky—only at night, only near water. Rumors spread. Temples were built. Prayers were whispered. By the time Hikari and Kuro realized what was happening, people had begun offering tributes. “They left us sushi,” Hikari said, blinking at the small shrine. Kuro gave her a flat look. “They’re offering us dead fish. That’s like humans worshipping a cow and leaving it hamburgers.” “I mean… it’s the thought that counts?” The Great Koi Escape The problem with becoming an accidental religion was that people expected miracles. Crops to flourish. Storms to stop. Taxes to lower. The usual. Hikari was enjoying it. Kuro? Not so much. “We need to leave.” “Oh, come on! Look at them! They’re so excited!” “That one’s trying to summon us with a fishbowl and a candle.” Hikari hesitated. “Okay, yeah, maybe it’s getting a little out of hand.” “Ya think?” With one final swirl, they ascended, vanishing into the cosmic currents they had come from. And just like that, they were gone. The Legacy of the Sky Koi The humans, of course, were devastated. Their celestial fish had left them! For years, they searched the heavens, hoping to catch a glimpse of glowing fins in the night sky. But the Koi never returned. Well. Not physically. Their legend lived on. Stories were told. Paintings were made. A little symbol—a simple, swirling depiction of two koi circling each other—became a sign of balance, of duality, of the universe itself. And if, on particularly clear nights, someone near the water thought they saw two great celestial fish swimming among the stars... Well. That was probably just their imagination. Probably.     Bring the Cosmos Home The legend of the celestial koi lives on—not just in the stars, but in art that captures their ethereal beauty. Now, you can bring a piece of this cosmic balance into your own space. Tapestry – Let the swirling dance of the cosmic koi transform your space into a portal to the stars. Canvas Print – A stunning centerpiece for dreamers, stargazers, and lovers of celestial art. Tote Bag – Carry the energy of the universe with you wherever you go. Sticker – A small but powerful symbol of balance and harmony, perfect for laptops, notebooks, or anywhere you need a cosmic touch. Whether you seek inspiration, balance, or just a stunning piece of art, "Interstellar Harmony" is a timeless reminder that even in chaos, beauty emerges. Explore the collection and bring the cosmos into your world.

by Bill Tiepelman

The Alchemy of Fire and Water

The Birth of the Twin Koi In the beginning, before time learned to walk and the stars whispered their first names, there was the Void. It was neither light nor dark, for those were things yet to be. The Void was simply... waiting. And then, from the stillness, the First Pulse came. It was not a sound, nor a movement, but a knowing—a cosmic sigh that rippled through nothingness and split it in two. From this rupture, two beings emerged, born not of flesh but of essence itself. One burned with a fire that needed no fuel, its golden scales rippling like molten dawn. The other flowed with the cold certainty of the deep, its silvery form woven from the breath of glaciers. Their names were Kael and Isun, though neither spoke them aloud, for names had no meaning to the firstborn of the cosmos. Kael was the Infernal Koi, a creature of restless hunger, of movement, of destruction and rebirth. Isun was the Celestial Koi, patient as the tides, slow as the turning of ages, and as inevitable as the silence after the storm. For an eternity, or perhaps a moment, they circled one another, tracing patterns through the Void that had never before been drawn. Their movements shaped reality itself, giving birth to the first laws of existence. Where Kael passed, stars flared to life, burning bright with his insatiable energy. Where Isun swam, the cooling hush of gravity took hold, weaving planets from scattered dust. They were opposite. They were perfect. They were one. The Covenant of the Eternal Dance The first to break the silence was Kael. “What are we?” he asked, his voice like embers carried on the wind. Isun’s answer was slow, drawn from the depths of an ocean that had not yet formed. “We are motion. We are balance. We are the dream that keeps the cosmos from waking.” Kael flared with dissatisfaction. “Then why do I hunger? Why do I burn? If we are balance, why is my fire never still?” Isun did not answer, but heaved a sigh that became the first wave. In that moment, Kael knew what he must do. He would not simply swim through the void, tracing the same loops forever. He would change. He would grow. He turned sharply, breaking from their eternal spiral, diving toward the heart of the newborn stars. His fire raged, and the cosmos quaked. Suns collapsed, their burning hearts torn open. Worlds cracked and bled. The void filled with light and ruin. Isun, bound to him by the law of their existence, felt the disturbance ripple through his being. His tail flicked once, and time itself bent in his wake. He did not chase Kael, for water never chases fire. Instead, he followed in the way that the moon follows the tide—without rush, without force, but inevitable. Where Kael burned, Isun soothed. He let his presence cool the shattered husks of dying worlds, turning their molten cores into solid land. He wove the first oceans from the sighs of dying stars. He was the healer, the slow hand of patience to counter Kael’s furious destruction. And so, the first cycle was born—the dance of creation and ruin, of fire and water, of the endless hunger and the eternal calm. The First Betrayal But the balance was fragile. Kael, weary from his burning, turned to Isun and said, “I am tired of our endless dance. We exist only to undo each other’s work. What is the point?” Isun, unshaken, replied, “The point is that we are. Without me, your fire would consume all. Without you, my waters would freeze the stars themselves. We do not undo each other—we complete one another.” But Kael had already turned away. He did not want completion. He wanted more. And so, for the first time, he did the unthinkable—he struck Isun. It was not a battle of muscle or steel, for such things did not exist. It was a battle of essence, of energy and silence. Kael’s fire tore through Isun’s flowing form, sending cracks through the fabric of the heavens. Isun reeled, his shimmering scales darkened with burning scars. The void trembled at this first betrayal. But Isun did not fight back. Instead, he spoke softly: “If you destroy me, you destroy yourself.” And Kael knew it was true. Without Isun’s waters to temper him, he would rage unchecked until there was nothing left to burn. And so, with a growl of frustration, he fled into the darkness. Isun, left behind, sank into the silent deep. The Fragmenting of the Cosmos Where once there had been unity, now there was division. Fire and water no longer danced as one but warred across the heavens. Stars died and were born anew. Planets withered under Kael’s fury, then drowned beneath Isun’s sorrow. And yet, something new stirred in their wake. From the scattered embers of their struggle, life began to bloom. The cosmos, in its first act of defiance, had found a way to turn war into renewal, suffering into creation. The cycle had begun. But the dance was still unfinished. Kael and Isun had yet to meet again. And when they did, the balance of all things would hang upon a single choice.     The Last Convergence Time does not move forward in the way mortals imagine. It does not march, does not flow like a river. It coils, it loops, it folds upon itself in ways only the oldest of things understand. And so, though eons had passed since Kael and Isun last touched, to them, it was but a breath—one held too long, waiting to be exhaled. Kael, the Infernal Koi, had gone where no fire should—into the void beyond the stars, where nothing could burn. He let himself shrink, let his flames dwindle to embers, let his hunger turn to silence. But silence did not suit him. And so, from the blackness, he watched. He watched as Isun shaped the worlds Kael had once shattered. He watched as rivers carved valleys, as rains kissed barren rock into verdant life. He watched as creatures small and fragile stepped from the waters, standing beneath skies he had once scorched. And he felt something he had never known before. Longing. The Summoning of Fire On the world Isun loved most—one spun from the dust of fallen stars, where water curled through the land like veins—there were beings that lifted their eyes to the heavens. They did not know of Kael and Isun, not as they once were, but they felt their echoes in the world around them. They built temples to the sun, to the tides, to the dance of the elements. One among them, a woman with hair the color of flame and eyes like the ocean’s depths, stood upon the highest peak and whispered a name she did not know she knew. “Kael.” And the embers in the void stirred. She called again, not with her mouth but with her soul, and this time, Kael heard. For the first time since his exile, he moved. He plunged from the heavens like a fallen star, his body still wrapped in the ember-light of his former glory. He struck the earth, and the ground split. The sky wept fire. The sea recoiled, steaming where it met him. And across the cosmos, Isun opened his eyes. The Return of the Celestial Koi Isun had felt Kael’s presence long before the woman had spoken his name. He had known, in the way the tides know when to rise, that this moment would come. And yet, he had not moved to stop it. He had let the call be made. But now, he could not be still. He descended, not in fire but in mist, his body unfurling through the sky like the breath of an ancient storm. He came to where Kael stood, his molten body still smoking from the journey. They faced one another upon the threshold of a world that had not yet been lost. Kael, trembling, spoke first. “Do you still hold to your silence, brother?” Isun did not answer at once. He let his gaze drift over the land, over the people who stood watching, over the woman who had called Kael back from the dark. Then, finally, he spoke. “You came because you were called.” Kael's flames flickered, uncertain. “I came because I remembered.” Isun tilted his head. “And what is it you remember?” Kael hesitated. He could feel the fire beneath his skin, urging him to act, to consume, to remake. And yet, beneath it, there was something else—something colder, steadier, something he had once despised but now yearned for. Balance. The Choice That Was Theirs Alone All things must choose, in the end. Even those who have lived since before time learned its own name. Kael knew he could burn. He could rise, could scorch this world and many others, could undo the work Isun had so carefully mended. It would be easy. It had always been easy. But then he looked upon the woman who had called him. He saw the way her fingers curled into fists, not in fear, but in defiance. He saw the way the people behind her stood, not in worship, but in wonder. And he understood. “You were never my enemy,” he said, his voice quieter than it had ever been. “You were my lesson.” Isun, at last, smiled. And so, for the first time in all of existence, Kael did not burn. He bowed his head. The Alchemy of Fire and Water In that moment, the cosmos changed. Not with the violent rending of worlds, not with the clash of fire and wave, but with something smaller, something gentler. With understanding. Kael stepped forward, his flames flickering with a new light, not of hunger, but of warmth. Isun met him, his waters not as a force of opposition, but of embrace. Their forms twined, not in battle, but in harmony. And where they met, the world flourished. Rivers carved the land not in destruction, but in creation. Volcanic fire did not burn unchecked, but nurtured the soil, making it rich. The seas did not rise to drown the land, but to shape it with care. The people watched, and they knew they were witnessing the birth of something greater than gods, greater than myths. They were witnessing balance. Kael and Isun, the twin koi, the first forces of all things, had become what they were always meant to be—not enemies, not rivals, but two halves of a single whole. And so, the cycle did not end. It simply began again.     Bring the Balance Home The timeless dance of fire and water, of destruction and renewal, is more than just a myth—it is a reminder that opposites do not destroy, but complete one another. Now, you can bring this celestial balance into your own space with "The Alchemy of Fire and Water" collection, featuring stunning artwork inspired by the eternal koi. Tapestries – Transform your walls with the swirling beauty of Kael and Isun, captured in exquisite detail. Puzzles – Piece together the cosmic legend, one intricate detail at a time. Tote Bags – Carry the balance of fire and water with you, wherever your journey takes you. Wood Prints – A natural and timeless way to display this breathtaking fusion of elements. Let the dance of creation and transformation inspire your space and your spirit. Explore the full collection here.