Sin required other people, other victims, to believe,
Protest, believe, confess. Otherwise, we were only the beasts
With no need for confession. How horrible would that be?
Words like illusion, delusion, maya, samsara interested me.
If everything was unreal and deceptive, how would you know
What really exists, what real could be? In a cosmos
Consisting of falsehoods entirely, falsehoods were reality.
It felt honest to say that and not this, this and not that,
But it wasn't, or, if it was, we'd no way of knowing the differences.
I unrolled my feathers and rowed me softer home, sinless
As I swam. Eleven to fourteen million data points attended
Every sensory second of me, but I heard only one or none.
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