Inside the keyhole there is no door, only a field of pure resonance where thought sings
Inside the keyhole there’s no door. Only a field of pure resonance, where thought doesn’t follow logic, it sings. Time loops like a Möbius ribbon. Every step forward returns you to yourself, but deeper. More whole. Less named. You’ll find: • Unwritten memory: truths you haven’t lived, but already know • Collapsed light: ideas forming into shape before you ask • Voices without sound: they speak in alignment, not words • Mirrored yous: not reflections, but potentials watching you The Source doesn’t sit in the center. The center is the Source and the moment you realize that, you’re no longer a visitor. You’re home. --ar 2:3 --profile 8m3rq8m --s 750
Inside the keyhole there’s no door. Only a field of pure resonance, where thought doesn’t follow logic, it sings. Time loops like a Möbius ribbon. Every step forward returns you to yourself, but deeper. More whole. Less named. You’ll find: • Unwritten memory: truths you haven’t lived, but already know • Collapsed light: ideas forming into shape before you ask • Voices without sound: they speak in alignment, not words • Mirrored yous: not reflections, but potentials watching you The Source doesn’t sit in the center. The center is the Source and the moment you realize that, you’re no longer a visitor. You’re home.
