I The Supreme - pg. 45

Follow the trail of the handwriting through the labyrinths of ... (torn).

... the filigreed fleuron in the vergered-perjured paper, the flagellated letters, now mark the unreality of the inexistent. In the forest of differences in which we lie, I too must guard against being deluded by the delirium of similarities. People all reassure themselves with the thought that they are a single individual. Difficult to be the same man constantly. What is the same is not always the same. I am not always I. The only one who doesn't change is HE. He maintains himself in the invariable. He is there, in the state of superlunary beings. If I close my eyes, I still see him, infinitely repeated in the rings of the concave mirror. (I must look for my notes on this subject of almastronomy.) It is not merely a question of eyelids. Sometimes HE looks at me, and then my bed rises and drifts at the mercy of whirlwinds, and I, lying in it, seeing everything from very high up or very deep down, till everything disappears in the point, in the place of absence. Only HE remains, not losing an iota of his form, of his dimension, but rather, growing, increasing by himself.