The thought of eternity was cold and empty. Without shape or color. Dead. In unbearable contrast to my own intensely felt, itching aliveness. I tried to think of something else, about something different, anything, but the thought kept returning with unrelenting force, devouring all others.

I tried to remain motionless. Not waiting, for what for? To be, if not thoughtlessly, then at least idly. But I quickly realized that thought is active, or at least that in the void and silence, there is no difference between thought and action. I had to act, to set my thoughts in motion, give them direction, mass, and momentum, so that the dominant thought would not devour them so easily.

At first, the thoughts began to spin in circles. They seemed to be heading somewhere, leading to new regions, only to return to their starting point after a while. Losing all their initial freshness with each lap, failing hopes, and breaking promises. Boring, but not to death, regretfully. A monstrosity. A waking nightmare.

After some time, not short, I managed to escape from this field of circling thoughts. I hovered above it, in a neighboring dimension. I could look at those swarms of hopeless vortices without being drawn into any of them. This dimension also swirled slightly, but slower, wider. You could almost forget about it.

I began to observe. I decided to create a catalog of these swirling thoughts. I made a decision—to know all of it, to know myself thoroughly.