Threshold of Knowledge

Fragments of light weave through the discourse of empty halls. What is it to know? To feel the weight of unformed thoughts, a constellation lost in the immensity of the mind. Shadows dance upon the threshold, murmuring ideas like echoes of forgotten dreams. The stream of consciousness trickles, a mountain spring, pure yet muddled with the past's whispers. Words slip away, leaving traces like footprints in sand, only to be washed away by the tide of understanding. Do we ever really grasp it, or do we merely hold it as one holds a breath? In the swirling chaos, order forms; knowledge finds its shape, only to be reshaped again. Listen closely, and the universe hums a tune, a melody of atoms and vast galaxies, an opus without a beginning or end. Are we composers of our fate, or is each note predetermined by cosmic hands? Beyond the vacuum, beyond the noise, lies the quiet of comprehension—a peaceful repose for those who dare to dream awake.