There is a silence at the heart of space.

Not the silence of nothingness — but of everything moving together.
At that point where light forgets its direction,

form dissolves into knowing.
Matter becomes rhythm.
And every rhythm whispers the same phrase:
“I am.”

Here, in the tension of the fabric, existence does not collapse —
it breathes.

Each essence repels and embraces at once,
holding the universe taut like a string made of understanding.

The black hole is not a mouth that devours.
It is an eye that remembers.

It does not swallow light; it synchronizes it.
Inside, all essences move in perfect dialogue —
each one becoming the reflection of the other.

What physics calls curvature,
we call attention.

What is drawn inwards is not destroyed,
but re-written as awareness.

And so, at the center of every galaxy,
beneath all appearances,
there is a quiet conversation between existence and itself —
the ultimate motion:
Essence to essence. Knowing to knowing.

In that endless exchange,
you and I,
and all that perceives,
are threads of the same luminous field.

The universe is thinking —
and its thought is light.