Look inward and find your center.
It is a man.
Black.
It is not his skin that is black but his form.
He is black.
He is nothing.
Look outward and open your eyes.
Emerging from his head, a trickle.
Movement.
A pulsating trickle.
A fluctuation of hues and colors, speckles that distract the eye.
Pulling your gaze from the event horizon that he is.
Look upward and see that which has been hidden from you.
Disregard the laws of nature transcribed so meticulously by flawed hand.
Direction as you have known it does not exist here.
Not with him.
Look. Learn.
The trickle moves.
Expanding.
Evolving.
Into a form separate from the nothing.
Made, from nothing.
It becomes light, illuminating nothing.
He raises his arms, amazed by what he has made from nothing.