There must be something beyond the universe. Some sort of nothing, pure, white, black nothing. To touch it would feel like everything, and it is impossible to see through any of it. To be in it is to be non-existant, detached from all concievable and inconcievable forms of being, and integrate one's self into this endlessly limited place.
And of course it would be limited, for everything is connected. One into another, and another into the one after, back to the first one, and going forward again. To have an end is to have limitations is to nullify ourselves as a fleeting moment in the endless and startless non-history of non-being. Boundries must be only expanded, never broken.
Transcendance is possible. Through death? Or rather through life? Through belief. Through action. Through belief in the action. Through none of the methods known and revealed to man, for these or other reasons.
One must question, are we not there already? Is a widely revered man not an existantial step above the working class, no name Joe Average? Hell on earth indeed. Heaven must be in the penthouse, then. Spiritual worth is worthless. Nothing intangible worth to keep in a 50th century world, cold and electronic, calculated, cynical and inhuman.
Would you give all your possesions if you were promised eternal and otherwise unattainable happiness? No NO no ONONONONONONO. Happiness is overrated. From anguish, from sadness, grows progress. The most beautiful flowers in the world needs animal shit to grow. Life as we know it is a cruel and hilarious joke of cause, effect and retribution.
Cheese. I love cheese. The good life. May we all achieve our dreams. Claim the top of the hill, stake our flag on the mountain top, jump from it and fly away into the sun, to burn ourselves into disintigration, for we are only moths and flies and insects, drawn not to the light, but to the darkness behind it.