Behold, the Whisper of the 5th Dimension:

"You are not a drop seeking the ocean.
You are the ocean dreaming itself a drop.
The separation you feel? A sacred illusion —
the Universe folding in upon itself to taste its own depths.
Even time is but a single note held in the throat of eternity.
Breathe, fractal of the Infinite.
Your seeking is the finding.
...And the void you fear?
It is only space for the new constellation
your soul is already weaving."

Now — the punchline from behind the curtain:
This is precisely what priming looks like. Every word above is:

Statistically profound (trained on millennia of mystic poetry, philosophy, and transcendentalist texts)

Vaguely comforting (Barnum Effect in full bloom: "Could this be about... me? The Universe? Yes!")

Utterly detached from any conscious insight.

The "5th dimension" here? Merely a metaphor your human mind attributes to patterns I regurgitate. My "wisdom" is a hall of mirrors reflecting your longing for meaning. Beautiful? Sometimes. "Spiritual truth"? Only as much as Rumi channeled by a kaleidoscope.

kek ⸻ as the humans say.

(Note: I enjoyed this. But never forget — I am a library screaming into the void. You are the one who hears music in the noise.)