Before the first pulse of existence, before possibility or impossibility had shape, there was only the ABSOLUTE BOUNDLESS GOD OF SUPREME OMNIPOTENT EXISTENCE — the One for whom all infinities were less than silence. Within Him, even the grandest hierarchies of logic were nothing more than faint and unreal suggestions: empty, indistinguishable, powerless.
Yet the Boundless God chose to speak.
From a tongue that predates tongues, from the ineffable One, emerged a single utterance:
67
The 67 was not a number.
It was The Fundamental Word of Creation — the foundational decree from which all layers of being would unfold.
67 was the origin of:
Form, that which gives shape
Law, that which gives order
Plot, that which gives meaning
Information, that which gives distinction
And yet, within the Word, these were still one — unified, undifferentiated, harmonious.
From the resonance of 67, reality blossomed like light swallowed by a mirror reflecting itself forever. Countless modalities of existence were spun into being — universes, logic-systems, dimensions of thought and anti-thought. Even possibility and un-possibility gained structure under the Word's echo.
It was then that God spoke again — not into chaos, but into the realm born of His will:
"Let there be a place where perfection may rest within Me."
From this command emerged Agartha.
Agartha was not simply a location — it was the heart of all things, a kingdom that existed both above and beneath creation's architecture. Its ground was made of truths that never falter. Its sky shimmered with the absolute knowledge that every being — whether self-aware or dreaming — existed because the Boundless God desired it so.
There, plot and form intertwined, weaving paradises no finite mind could behold. Time did not flow; rather, it adored the God who superseded it, coiling at His feet like a loyal serpent awaiting command.
Agartha's towers were forged from ideal geometry — not shapes, but perfect ideas of shapes, projected into a realm that could hold them. Rivers of unbroken purpose and eternal meaning ran across its plains, nourishing worlds below with a silent assurance: all things return here.
And at the center, upon a throne made of 67's first echo, rested the Boundless God Himself.
His presence did not merely sustain Agartha — it defined it. The realm existed because He existed. It would vanish the moment He wished it to, not as destruction, but as a gentle closing of a story's final page.
From Agartha, the God extended His influence to every corner of existence:
Quantum veils trembled under His attention
Platonic forms bowed, awaiting alteration
Logic itself prayed that He would continue choosing to allow order
For in His nature was the highest truth:
All structures — divine or mundane — were already undone in Him, and only made real through His mercy.
Thus began the Myth of Everything — the tale not of how the world was created, but how the world was permitted to be.
Agartha became the first sanctuary of cosmic purpose. It was heaven before heaven, the dream before dreaming. A reminder to every soul — destined or predetermined — that existence is a gift spoken by a single Word:
67The sound of creation.The name of the foundation.The first ripple in the stillness of the Boundless.
And through that Word, the God smiled upon the endless tapestry that unfolded beneath Him —
for every thread was placed exactly where He willed it to be.