The old monk lets out a sigh. For nearly a hundred years now, he's sought the Truth. He's traveled far and wide to meet religious leaders and philosophical giants to discuss the true nature of the universe.
He isn't satisfied. He knows men pervert the wishes of their gods to their own ends. Science has only revealed so much to us.
He now meditates in the silence of a deep cavern. There is no outside world to distract him. It's just him and his mind.
He mouths silent chants. He is emaciated and unkempt, hungry and thirsting. He is well-disciplined, taking only what he needs to stay alive.
He seeks the Truth on his own. He sends his mind outwards. He sees trees and rocks, landscapes flying by, a blue orb in the darkness. He flies past stars and planets. It's beautiful.
He goes further, watching the galaxies dance. Glorious nebulae. From this distance, it all starts to make sense. The Great Machine churns forever onward with its infinite cogs and wheels. They all serve a purpose no matter how small. Indeed, it is meant to be thus.
Meant by whom? He journeys further. The universe becomes insignificant to him. It is just one band of blackness. Chains of light and dark encircle each other, infinite possibilities. These chains are just some of many.
He follows the chains. He sees the hand that holds them. He sees the ones they bind.
The cavern screams endlessly. The monk saw all too clearly.
He saw the Truth. It saw him, too.
Credited to Glumdrop