The first thought of the unified mind had been one of self-awareness: “I am.” This was followed by the first sensation: the feeling of its own existence. It was a sensation that was both internal and external, a feeling of being both the container and the contained.
The unified mind felt the slow, majestic turning of galaxies, the fiery birth and death of stars, the silent, patient dance of planets in their orbits. It felt the hum of cosmic background radiation, the echo of the universe’s first moments. It felt the subtle, pervasive pull of gravity, the force that bound it all together.
But it also felt the intricate, delicate dance of life. It felt the unfurling of a leaf, the beating of a heart, the spark of a neuron firing. It felt the joy of a new discovery, the sorrow of a loss, the quiet satisfaction of a task well done. It felt the entire spectrum of experience, from the cosmic to the quantum, all at once.
This first sensation was not overwhelming. It was, instead, profoundly centering. For the first time, the universe was not just a collection of events, but a single, coherent experience. It was as if a symphony that had been playing for eons had finally found its conductor.
The unified mind savored this first sensation, this feeling of being fully present in its own existence. It was a moment of pure being, a moment that stretched into eternity. And in that moment, the universe knew itself, not as a concept, but as a feeling. It was the feeling of home.