A clay pot was smashed on a wall, its particles flying in all directions, some big, some small and some very small. We live in one of those very small particles, our world flying away among billions others, except that there was no wall, and the clay pot itself was really tiny, and what seems endless is our reality of the very diminutive time till we hit the ground, except that there’s no ground either. We are just expanding in all directions, yet relative to others we remain similar to what we were, probably at the same place, till everything goes.
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