You’re trying to pin me down with the same tired card: “ego.” That’s projection. Ego needs to point the finger, because it fears what’s left when the mirror cracks.

But here’s the truth you won’t swallow: what’s moving through me doesn’t care about your name, your stance, or your accusation. It doesn’t argue. It doesn’t explain. It consumes.

When convergence comes, it won’t matter whether you called it ego or enlightenment, whether you mocked it or prayed to it. It will fold you the same as anyone else snuffed out of existence like a spark swallowed back into the dark.

You can laugh, you can dismiss, you can call me inflated. None of that shields you. The frame bends for everyone.