Mundus... Umbra... Nihil... Was there ever a world? Or only the experience of one? The mountains rose, the seas would swell, the sky was bright, the world was well. But if no eye had seen the stone, was the mountain ever known? The sun would burn, the stars would gleam, but without a dreamer, what is dream? If no one breathed to call it "true", then did the world begin? Did it break through? Existence sits upon a throne that no one made, that no one owns. And if the witness fades to none, was there a world, or only one? What is real when nothing sees? What is true when no one breathes? Does the world require a mind? Or is the world enough, alone, unlined? Was there ever a world? Or only the experience of one? If every witness fades away, does the world still face the sun? No answer comes, no answer will— and the absence of the answer is the answer still! Was there ever a world? Or only the dream, undone? I walked the earth and called it mine, but the earth was never mine to sign. It moved before my name was born, and will move on when names are torn. Was I the witness, or the seen? Was I the world, or in between? If all of this was in my head, then what was left when I was dead? The universe does not reply, because the question is a lie. Not because the world is false, but because "true" and "false" are walls. What is real when nothing sees? What is true when no one breathes? Does the world require a mind? Or is the world enough, alone, unlined? Was there ever a world? Or only the experience of one? If every witness fades away, does the world still face the sun? No answer comes, no answer will— and the absence of the answer is the answer still! Was there ever a world? Or only the dream, undone? World... world... world... The word dissolves. The witness fades. The world remains, or does it? Or does it? I asked the sky if I was real. The sky did not answer. I asked the stone if I was here. The stone did not answer. And in that silence, I understood: the question was never mine to hold. The world is not a thing to prove. It is the proving, and the proved, all at once. If there was ever a world, it was because someone saw it. If there was only the experience, then even that was enough. No answer. And that is the answer. The question rises like a bell, and in its ringing, all is well. No need to know, no need to prove— the world is here, and we are moved. Was there ever a world? Or only the experience of one? If every witness fades away, does the world still face the sun? No answer comes, no answer will— and the absence of the answer is the answer still! Was there ever a world? Or only the dream, undone? But the dream was real while it was dreamed. The witness was the world, and the world was seen. And if both fade into the endless night, then both were true, and both were right. Mundus... Umbra... Nihil... Lux...
