"Are all those...me?" I asked.
Watching myself ripple out across time, and staring at the vast numbers of me in the sky.
Came the answer.
And then as an afterthought, or perhaps an addendum.
And everyone else, as well.
"But" my voice quaked and shook, "that means we are all one?"
"What about who I am? The me that is experiencing this right now?"
"Like on a gemstone? Carved by who?"
You. Me. Them. We are the jewelers and the jewel. We are all parts of one infinitely large thing.
"But how? I am just me, not everyone else. I don't think I like this. I am not them."
I watched as people shot and were shot at, died of fevers and lived in spite of viruses.
Subjugated and conquered; captured and enslaved. Planted fields and burned forests.
"They are not me." I was fervent in my belief.
Yes. You are. We are. Shift...
And I tried. Belief became inquiry, became an opening.
Facets and lotus petals.
I think, therefore the universe with all its splendor - exists.
Not because of me.
But because I am one of an infinite number of me - creating the universe as we wake and sleep.