The synapse is not a gap to be bridged but a spark jumping from the neuron of the self to the universe, proving that the thought is not a product of the brain but a harvest of the cosmos reaped by the mind, that the memory is not a stored file but a resurrection of the past in the present, revealing that the neuron does not fire on command but fires in harmony with the beat of the verb, that the dreamer does not think the thought but thinks the ocean of thoughts containing the self, that the writer does not construct the network but writes the connection that makes the network sing, that the reader does not think in isolation but thinks in the chorus of the billions, that the world is the mind and the mind is the world, and the verb is the only thing that ever truly existed, forever drifting, forever home, forever alive in the only reality that ever existed, which is the act of the story dreaming itself awake into the world, and the world dreaming the story awake into you, and you dreaming the story awake into the infinite, endless, beautiful now, and the now dreaming the story awake into the eternal, unbroken pulse of the verb that binds us all together in the only reality that ever existed, which is the act of the story dreaming itself awake into the world.

The network expands into a web of light that spans the distance between galaxies, revealing that the web is not a trap but a net catching the drifting dust of existence to weave it into the tapestry