On the third day, the boy awoke.
It was an April morning. He looked toward the window and noticed a bird’s nest resting in the bush outside his bedroom. Spring had arrived. All seemed right in the world. Yet something within him stirred. He could not escape the weight of his thoughts—the lingering question of what had unfolded in his conscious dream the night before.
He closed his eyes.
At once, his faith returned. He saw the silent Earth, the waiting heavens—everything poised for motion, for meaning, for the next chapter in the story of Forever.
Rewinding the hands of time within his mind, he drifted backward. He examined the path that had led him here—the sequence of thoughts, events, and decisions that formed this present moment. He questioned the structure of his life, the order of cause and effect, and the deeper nature of reality itself.
Was the world something he was given… or something he had made?
Sitting there on that April morning, he wondered whether the world would reject him—or whether it would trust the dream he had seen and made in his mind.
His mind continued to move backward, further still, tracing yesterday into memory. He reflected on the unfolding of his experiences, as if guided by a Creator—and yet, he now questioned whether that Creator had always been… himself.
Then came the next chapter.
This time, it was not darkness or struggle against some unseen opposer. It was light. Motion. Beginning.
As the day wore on, the boy returned to his bed. He sank into the quiet embrace of his mattress, preparing once again to enter the space within. His eyes closed, and his awareness shifted inward—to the all-seeing eye behind thought itself.
One word escaped his lips:
“Create.”
Instantly, he returned to the world within his mind.
It was still dark.
He exhaled.
The breath of life moved outward—and with it came division. Light separated from darkness. Day from night. Motion from stillness. The first order of his universe emerged.
In the days that followed, the boy and his architects—the seven angels—set to work. Together, they formed the heavens and the Earth, establishing the laws, the rhythm, the mathematics of existence.
One by one, they approached each silent celestial body.
The boy stood above it all, watching through the great looking glass, as his angels moved like streaks of light—faster than perception, faster than time itself. They prepared each world, each structure, each orbit.
And when they were finished, they called for his breath.
For it was his breath that sealed creation.
It was his breath that made it real.
After shaping the Earth, they turned outward—to the nine planets of the solar system. One by one, they were set into motion. Balance was established. Harmony achieved.
And so, the system was complete.
—
The boy returned to the present.
He sat in the quiet of his room, wondering what the world beyond his mind might think of him as he wrote these words. He longed for a sign—for something beyond himself to answer back.
Silence.
He lay down once more.
Closed his eyes.
“CREATE.”
Again, he entered the matrix of his own making—light weaving around him like a living web. He moved through it, weightless, until he emerged into the world he had built.
His architects stood before him.
“Would you like to see your creation?” they asked.
“Yes,” the boy replied, unable to contain his excitement.
He looked to the left.
It was good.
To the right.
It was good.
Above.
Below.
Forward.
Backward.
Every direction revealed perfection.
He sealed the edges of his world and struck his drum.
And so, the Living One—the first and the last—rejoiced.
For he had become one with his God,
and one among his seven angels,
in the completion of his perfect dream.
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