In dreams, paradoxes grow like wildflowers while the logical mind sleeps. These flowers (and a black hole is a kind of flower) are of a different order from all other flowers; these flowers drink and grow from the Source Beyond Appearances, which makes them so bizarre to behold. Without us even knowing it and just by being there, they guide the course of the river of mystery that we call our lives.
There was a miraculous, intelligent spacecraft. It could blow up to the volume of the whole universe, it could shrink down to the density of a tiny mica crystal. Going nowhere, it had created its own destination. To get there, it blew up and shrank down. Forever it went nowhere, inside itself. Somewhere along the way of no way, the spacecraft was hijacked by itself, and convinced itself into believing that it had somewhere to go but now it was lost. Being so miraculous and intelligent, it created the belief within itself that it could become something other than what it already was.
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