IN THE PAST...
In the Past of the Past
In the past of the past, before time could even whisper its own name, a being opened its eyes.
Eyes… a pair of infinities experiencing sight for the very first time. These eyes carried no meaning yet, had named no color, comprehended no shape.
It had no name. There was no other to give it one. No sound, no echo — only the silence that echoed within emptiness itself.
It looked to the right: nothingness. Turned left: void. This silence was neither terrifying nor comforting. It simply was.
It raised its hand and gazed at its fingers — silent letters of an unknown language. No meaning yet, but the feeling was profound.
It was naked. Neither shame nor curiosity stirred within. For there was no veil yet — no cloth, no word.
It stood up. The earth seemed to find balance with it. It took its first step. At that moment, it discovered walking. And it never stopped.
Because man perishes where he stands. By going nowhere, he becomes invisible decay in the void of time.
It walked… for walking was the first poem of thought. Perhaps the first story feet told to the soil.
And then…
Man never truly goes anywhere. For life begins with an exit — and then folds back inward.
Everything returns to where it began: The Self.
The End.
E.G.
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