And he flew, and swam, and ran. There were bright, vivid colors, and shapes jumped to life in front of him. As the world spun and the stars shined, he twirled in the air and created splashes of vibrant sounds.
The scene was a cacophony of images and sounds, but in the chaos there was unity and pattern. Out of randomness, he seemed to sense something. He wondered and pondered, and called it God. He called it the Creator, the One.
And still he danced and flew and flowed. In the world there was nothing, yet there was everything. The shimmering glow of lights reflected off of emptiness, but the emptiness was kind and soft. Throughout the mix and blur of the world, the pulse of life raced on. There was nothing holding him back, so he soared and soared.
But then there was the crack.
With little flakes and wisps of the world twirling around him, he revolved slowly, watching the colors rotate and intermingle. He was confused.
And out of somewhere - nowhere - there was the shadow of a twinge of a doubt. And the doubt doubled, and tripled, and grew. The world began to separate, with tufts of perfection splitting away. As the world cracked through the middle, he began to panic; he clutched at the receding threads, the dulling colors. With anguished efforts, he grabbed at anything he could, but where he reached, the pieces shrank away as if repulsed.
After a final futile effort at recovering the beautiful, serene world, he lay quivering among the disintegrating nothingness.
And the colors faded to white which faded to black which faded to- what?
As he slowly stirred and opened his unfocused eyes to a white ceiling, he slid further and further from the blissful memory.
But yet-- the dazed dreamer still pondered, and he still wondered.
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