In his trembling dirt-stained hand he held the first breath of the universe, the initial urge, the finite moment from which the shadow of the infinite had seeped forth.
Torrrential were his thoughts. And unable, was he, to quiet them. Was this that distant doorstep that he had stumbled across as a young boy so many years, or maybe lifetimes, ago? Had he finally after millions of incarnations surrendered all to awaken the divine spark? Was he here at long, long last? Had he crossed the threshold of the beyond beyond and walked into the eternal realization of all things?
He was untethering. Becoming an ourbeourus of thought, spinning widly and starting to bend on its axis. He had to quiet it all, breathe out the duality. And become realized for the divinity her carried inside, to achor himself in the infinite.
He reached for reality. For the the truth.
But what was real? What was true?