The One Who Was Shown Was Me

  The One Who Was Shown Was Me

A dream about time, paradox, and the mirror of my own becoming

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A few nights ago, I had a dream.

Not the kind that slips away in fragments,

but one that stayed, like a whisper waiting to be remembered.

I was floating — not in emptiness, but in the quiet space between stars,

a vast universe that held both something and nothing.

There was no ground.

There was no fear.

There was only a point —

a single, glowing awareness suspended in a cosmic stillness.

And then... came a knowing.

Not in words.

Not in voices.

Just… a feeling so clear it woke me up:

> Time is not outside creation.

Time is woven into it —

a basic ingredient, like breath to life,

like light to vision.

I didn’t hear this truth.

I felt it — like a chord being plucked inside me.

And for a brief moment, I asked:

“Who is telling me all this?”

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At first, it felt like the universe was teaching me.

But then, as I remembered…

I saw:

> It was me.

I was the one trying to understand.

I was the one who was being shown.

And I was also the one doing the showing.

Not in ego.

Not in confusion.

But in that dreamlike clarity where the seeker and the source become one.

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🌀 What Did I See?

That paradox births space.

That time is the force that holds a paradox long enough to become creation.

That consciousness is not traveling through time — it activates time by existing.

Every “moment” is already held —

not passed through, but entered,

as if we walk across the stretch between contradictory truths

and call that stretch: a lifetime.

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🌿 Why It Matters

This dream wasn’t a lesson.

It was a mirror.

A soft reminder that when we seek truth,

we’re not looking outward.

> We’re remembering the part of us

that already holds it.

And when we say “I don’t understand” —

some deeper part of us might gently reply:

“You do. Let me show you.”

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💫 Closing Thought

I woke up knowing something sacred:

> The one who was shown… was me.

And maybe, the one who showed it… was also me.

And I think that’s what time really is:

a womb holding enough stillness

for consciousness to rediscover its own voice.

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🌙 My Views, Truly Yours

— Sweety Shah