We are souls trapped in flesh, made to experience the universe of matter. I think. My eyes are open— of that, I am quite sure. They ache and string tremendously but I cannot bring myself to close them, lest the world of touch and sight and density escape me. Only the Making awaits me in the world without sight and I fear even in this realm that I might catch Its attention.

My fear is without reason, however; I am but a number in numbers and beneath the notice of that great machine which hums and whirrs at the heart of creation. An anomaly in the stream, to be sure, but no more significant an error than a breeze gone astray. I do wonder, though, if my awareness of this place is not the inevitable result of some distant equation. Was I made to know this place, or have I come upon it by free will?

A fine question, that, with a fine answer: yes.