Consider drifting, a specter bound to no constellation, weaving amidst the kaleidoscope of infinitude. Your thoughts become satellites, orbiting silent mysteries. In the grip of a supernal [dream], illumination unfolds, incandescent and serene.
Hear the call—an astral lullaby that dances among the interstices. Each star etches a memory, long unfathomed, whispering tales you once held but let slumber. Shadows lengthen, their stories woven into pantheons hidden, astride reality and its parallel musings.
With each [thought] star that echoes through [void], fresh embers are gathered. Soul saturnalia, a celebration of cosmic origins, a reminder: You are part of an equilibrium that pulsates in harmony, where silence itself is golden.
Journey Inward | The Fable of Nine Stars | Amidst the Nebula