"Death, it seemed to me, was no escape at all, nor even the entry point into oblivion, but rather was the very process through which the whole cosmic drama could continue. The unrelenting, unboundaried Wonder and Horror and Mystery of it all - peering through me at me from all angles - made me tremble and want to totally disappear. It was so fucking inconceivably real, and I (and everything else) seemd so blatently dreamlike, so conspicuously unreal - had I ever really existed? Had anything? And if manifest existence was but the Absolute "making an appearance" then what exactly was I? I did not dare pursue such question too closely - and yet I could find no significant distance from them - for I felt incapable of bearing their answer."