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There's a liminal space inside your brain. Every so often it changes, and the evolution of the universe takes one or two bends in the road, then the nebulas, then the galaxies, then the systems, stars, moon's, and then the planets. What picture do they all make? What do you see when you look up into the night sky?

Today the populace leave the rambling mad ones to their own devices, trying to navigate an artificial psycho-prison that entangles those around it, a prison they can't see, feel, touch, taste or hear. Unless you can, and for absolutely no reason, you do with it what you will I suppose.

Yesterday they were put into practical working positions in spiritual branches of government, a congress that you can't see, feel, touch, taste, or hear. If you were asked if you believed in it, you would genuinely answer no.

But you know it's there, coming from the cracks in your brain where liminal space cascades into patterns and

divine geometry, given meaning

by the ingenuity of you and the worshiper's brain. The story entrances them so powerfully,

It becomes a part of them, and they're convinced the dreams of these stories were within them all along. When you awake, it's natural to innocently reach for the stories comfort. If you were asked if you believed in it, you would genuinely answer no…

But you know they're true.