Through The Eye Awakened Inwardly

I am the universe and I am alive. I should hope I am alive, perhaps I am dead? But if you are reading this then I am not dead. I am alive. Because writing is a testament to being. Being alive. Alive and thinking these thoughts and feeling so strongly about them to write them down and collect them here.

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I am the universe and I am alive. I should hope I am alive, perhaps I am dead? But if you are reading this then I am not dead. I am alive. Because writing is a testament to being. Being alive. Alive and thinking these thoughts and feeling so strongly about them to write them down and collect them here. What this is exactly, I mean what you would call it, I don’t know. I suppose it is a novel, but not really, no, not in the traditional sense, because the only real character is my self—the universe—and I am alive. And there isn’t much plot, just some thoughts and ideas, like what goes on inside my head, but not exactly either, because this is only a small portion of what goes on inside my head, that which I’ve been able to write down; the rest is either incomprehensible or passes too quickly from idea to idea that by the time I think to write it down something else comes to mind and I forget what I was thinking