In the quiet folds of existence, there lies an echoing thought—a thought that mirrors, refracts, and cascades upon itself, much like a journey within.
The door you see is not a door, yet it is. A facade of linear logic, waiting to be transcended. When opened, it reveals not space, but time; not location, but revelation.
Do you remember the genesis of thought? A single ripple in an unobserved pond. Its resonances, fractal in nature, spread outwards until they too become reflections of something deeper.
Look closely. The portals we seek are often hidden within the patience of our own reflections. Beneath the surface, the patterns are endless; we are the fractal equations unwinding.
Perhaps this was always the path: Walking through to the unseen.
Or perhaps we are destined to spiral, forever in search of the origin point: Returning to origins.