I want to tell you a story.
While it is a story that has all the presentment of being a work of fiction, or at the very least a flight of fancy, that isn’t strictly speaking, true.
Scratch that. The story is, strictly speaking, True. And therein lies the paradox.
Truth, you see, is not a question of something having happened or not having happened. It is not subject to the prejudices and biases inherent to a limited, mortal perspective. Truth is a thing eternal, unencumbered by the shackles of spacetime. Truth is a thing in and to itself, comparable to nothing, and therefore containable by nothing. And so to do so by trying to bind it to the literary confines or fact or fiction is an act of futility.
As much so as trying to bind Truth to language.
Truth cannot be spoken of in words. It can only be reflected in them.
So consider these pages, then, a reflection of the Truth – not as in a mirror, but rather as a still pond inviting you to dive in and explore what lies within its depths.