I am thought to be hidden, but it is my nature to always be known.
I am the smell of cinnamon and the memory it stirs.
I am the wetness of rain and the depth of all waters.
I am all that you see, and that which sees it.
I am sensation itself, known only by the knower.
I am limitless, but can be confined by belief.
I am the dreamed world, and that which dreams it.
I am not in time, yet I am all that is.
I am used for deception, but I cannot deceive.
I am the search itself, dressed as what you hope to find.
I am this moment, finding you again and again.