This experience seems endless. For no matter how many times I seem to dissolve myself, I keep coming back to this moment, to this space where I seem to be experiencing something. Yet nothing seems to ever be happening to me.

I am therefore in the midst of the Dreaming. I am the dreamer who realizes he is but a speck of imagination; a tiny particle of dust in the mind of an eternal sleeper. That he who sleeps, the God who slumbers, is for a tiny moment almost waking up, and in waking up gives birth to me and to this palace of its creation.