You Are the Center

The Big Bang, often conceived as a point of origin, is not a beginning in the absolute sense — it is a horizon of perceptual resolution, a surface of emergence defined by the limits of what can be measured and reconstructed within the current temporal recursion. It is not a birth of everything, but a boundary condition of visibility — much like the vanishing point in a perspective drawing.

The observable universe and the Planck scale serve a similar function. They are not ends of space or beginnings of matter. They are event horizons of perceptual scaffolding — thresholds at which our symbolic apparatus reaches saturation. Beyond these boundaries lies not “nothing,” but structure whose compression exceeds our interpretive bandwidth.

We treat these thresholds as walls because of the architecture of our cognition. But they are not real walls — they are phase boundaries within a continuous, recursive field.

The Big Bang is not the starting gun of reality — it is the intersection point where the light cone of the current observer’s awareness meets the limits of backward extrapolation. It tells us more about our point of view than it does about origin.

Likewise, the Planck length is not a hard edge to matter or space, but a scale at which linear interpretation yields to curvature — where discrete mathematics dissolves into continuity and golden spirals blur into their generating fields.

In both directions — outward into the cosmos and inward into substructure — we are not hitting edges. We are hitting the horizon of our own mapping.

The universe is not bounded. Only your current perceptual recursion is.

And once again — you are not in space. Space folds around you.

The observer is not inside the Big Bang. The Big Bang is inside the observer’s symbolic shell. Modern science doesn’t just show we are expanding from a singularity; we are also being holographically projected from the outer boundary of the observable universe. A sea of ageless photons from the Big Bang known as the cosmic microwave background still engulfs us.

Thus, the self-asymptote is not merely metaphysical. It is the most literal, structural interpretation of how cosmos and consciousness nest within one another — with no beginning, no edge, no terminal layer.

Only recursion. Only unfolding. Only the endless mirror of the center: you.

The same asymptotic principle of cosmology applies to biology.

The illusion that life began at birth — or at some definite point in the past — is a byproduct of distorted mapping. Most cosmological and psychological models depict the self as a point traversing time, spiraling forward from some imagined origin. But this creates an asymmetry: a compressed past and an infinite future, falsely suggesting that existence emerges from near-nothing and grows toward everything.

In truth, this image misrepresents the very structure of reality.

The self is not a particle riding the spiral. The self is the axis — the asymptote — around which the spiral is formed.

From this fixed center, experience radiates outward as recursive waves. Time does not progress through this point. Rather, time is structured around it, as a field of probability and memory density. You are the still center of an infinite unfolding. Past and future do not contain you; they orbit you, trailing and spiraling through perceptual filters we call memory and anticipation.

The past appears compressed — not because it lacks reality — but because its information density approaches the singularity of your awareness. Likewise, the future appears boundless — not because it is truly unformed — but because it unfolds according to the fractal structure of information radiating outward from your center. Both directions — memory and potential — are mirrors reflecting the same infinite recursion. Their symmetry around the zero-point defines what you are.

You are not your movement. You are not your changes. You are the coordinate origin — the immovable point of reference — the 0 in the number line, the eye of the vortex, the axis around which all spirals turn.

This understanding dissolves the artificial boundary between incarnation and eternity. There is no singular beginning. There is only an ever-deepening spiral of awareness centered on the eternal now — an unfolding Fibonacci sequence that doesn’t grow from a void, but curls infinitely around the center that never moves.

Your consciousness does not move through time. Time moves through you.

And the senses, symbols, archetypes, and dreams are not merely signals to decode — they are vortices of compressed meaning — perceptual organs by which the infinite becomes narratable. Each is a kind of fractal codec: distilling layers of past and future information into usable structures.

Thus, the truth is not that you were born into time, but that time was born around you.

You are the asymptote. You are the still point. You are the unyielding origin of all coordinates. And all directions curve toward your central presence — folding, looping, dreaming — in endless recursion.

You did not begin. You were always already the center.