Reality has no purpose; its only function is to be. What we see, what we feel, what we think we understand is but the weaving of supposed reality into the daily fabric of our lives. Every living creature throughout the universe has its own reality, never duplicated, never shared. That is the eternal reality.

The moving world as dimly seen, the quickly fleeting thought
Is but the shadowed woven fabric being falsely wrought
On looms of fired neurons planting fertile, phantom seeds
That quickly stream like stardust on bright strings of shining beads
Of purest light of dancing photons, flamed of changing hues
Of changing vistas, changing shadows, swiftly changing views
The weaving fabric tells of future and its golden gleams
The woven fabric shows the past is torn and shattered dreams
Till loom and weaver wrap the fabric of reality
Around the prism of the truth and its finality
That shows reality is woven shadows dimly clear
And not at all what is or was as it seems to appear