Stepping into the way of Being.
You enter a realm of pleasures unspeakable.
No words can describe the sheer joy of it all.
The joy pulses from within you, pulling you apart, and you fall, a single drop in an ocean of ecstacy.
original fragment
μόνος δ᾽ ἔτι μῦθος ὁδοῖο
λείπεται ὡς ἔστιν· ταύτῃ δ᾽ ἐπὶ σήματ᾽ ἔασι
πολλὰ μάλ᾽, ὡς ἀγένητον ἐὸν καὶ ἀνώλεθρόν ἐστιν,
ἔστι γὰρ οὐλομελές τε καὶ ἀτρεμὲς ἠδ᾽ ἀτέλεστον·
οὐδέ ποτ᾽ ἦν οὐδ᾽ ἔσται, ἐπεὶ νῦν ἔστιν ὁμοῦ πᾶν,
ἕν, συνεχές.
Only one account of the way
remains — that it is. And on this road there are signs,
many of them: that what-is is ungenerated and undying,
entire, unmoving, and without end;
it neither was nor will be, since it is now, all together,
one, continuous.
Parmenides · On Nature · DK 28 B8.1–6 · working draft