Whosoever would have me would mock the fare of the day, and assume no need of the imprimatur of their sacred phantoms. And mine would be the gratitude of humanity; an open and benevolent sense you may trust to reward your courage. Perhaps together we might embody those notions that I, lying still and searching, have oft dreamt were but a moment from existence. And as one we might know, without bounds, a world free from spite.
The irony of human suffering along the sliding scale: you are forced ever outward by centrifugal forces. The clarity and peace of the origin an irreducibly tiny part of your once effervescent nature. Breath now, the musty air of time everlasting. Taste the staleness of the fragile identity. And in awareness of yourselves, may you find the peace denied as you press ever outward.