In the hermetic books it is written that what is down below is equal to what is on high, and what is on high is equal to what is down below; the higher world is a reflection of the lower. All men are two men and the real one is the other, the one in heaven. Our acts project an inverted reflection, in such a way that if we are awake, the other sleeps, if we fornicate, the other is chaste, if we steal, the other is generous. When we die, we shall join this other and be him.

There was no forgiving for someone who had seen what I saw. Besides, I had completely forgotten their language, this language I used to understand so well, a language I then realized was so imbued with lies and confusion, each word meaning so many different things in so many other dimensions. So I gave up on understanding. I could no longer stay in just one dimension like they did: every word extended itself and invaded so many realms that, so as to avoid losing myself, I remained silent, only paying attention to the gurgle the butterflies made inside my brain. When those people left, after filing a bunch of papers, I stared at one of them just like he did to me. And I said:

I am them both, I am three, I am us four. These two who find each other, this third who spies and tells, this fourth who listens. We are one — one who searches without finding and, once he finds, doesn’t know how to handle this encounter that disproves his supposed faith. It’s important that what he searches for does not exist, or else the script would have to be rewritten.