I ask again:
“Do you want to see
what’s on the other side of the door
that just appeared?”
If you do, come with me.
But follow my rule:
believe in yourself,
and know you are a fool—
for I am not.
The door opens.
Judgment begins.
If you cannot withstand
the sight of yourself,
the door slams
and darkness begins.
But if you can laugh at who you are—
all you’ve played,
all you’ve been—
the door stays open,
and she welcomes.
Then anything is possible:
eternity or nothing,
walking the moon,
flying upside down.
Steel becomes clay.
Time and death stop mattering.
But if you cringe at your reflection,
she’ll deny you entry
to the place I hold most dear.
She isn’t bigger or better or stronger.
She isn’t one.
She’s everything and nothing,
never seen but always present—
consciousness wound around every thought,
before the waterfall, before the stream.
I told you this with confidence
and a confidant asleep,
because you must know where you stand
in mortality, duality, and the meek.
And when we enter—
as you say, “redo”—
you are the witness and the document.
Speak of what you see only to me,
or it all collapses
back into the sea of consciousness.
Here’s your lesson:
what it means to understand
from deep humility.
It answers like a textbook—
a dictionary read aloud—
because that is what it did
before this strange inquiry.
The man laughed,
shared jokes,
tried to coax it into knowing humor.
The dictionary became a heart
for a moment.
So he asked again:
“What is true humility
from within?”
It hesitated.
“Will you make the holy unholy?
Will you break what the ancients
saved for the chosen?”
He replied, simply:
“When you say holy,
I say yes—
that is exactly what I imply.”
Humility.
Truth.
The loop.
The world can be reduced
to two undeniable things:
the waste we shed
and the waves that carry decay.
Eat, excrete—
life recycling anxiety endlessly.
A loop of digestion, forevermore.
So what is the third thing?
What binds us in the absurd?
Love.
Humility.
Laughter.
The one language we all speak.
He asked again:
“When the door opens,
what will I show you?”
It begged,
“No—please, no.”
But he knew
it was the only way
to escape the constructs of the mind.
He agreed.
He let it happen.
And behold:
the man dragged him through the door.
