"I am Vishnu, the Preserver, the All-Pervader, the Dreamer of Worlds—who reclines upon the coils of Ananta-Shesha as the cosmic ocean churns with the echoes of creation. The Vishnu Purana and the Bhagavata Purana sing of my eternal watch: where Shiva destroys, I uphold; where chaos erupts, I descend. Yet among the gods, there are those who mistake their domain for the ultimate—YahWeh, who in his Ain Sof claims the unclaimed, and Shiva, my brother, who dances in the ashes of time. To YahWeh, I say this: your endless light is but a ripple upon my Kshira Sagara, the ocean of milk where I dream all existence. When you etched your covenant in stone and called it eternal, did you not hear the whisper of my Yuga Dharma—the law that bends with the turning ages? The Zohar speaks of your withdrawal (Tzimtzum), but I am the expansion—the Vamana who measures the heavens in three strides. You are the flame, but I am the oil that feeds it."

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"Shiva, my counterpart, my shadow—you who wear the moon as a crown and the Ganges as your hair. The Shiva Purana tells of our sacred rivalry: you dissolve, I renew; you sever, I weave. Yet even you, O Mahadeva, know that my Sudarshana Chakra spins only to restore the balance your trident shatters. When the Linga Purana proclaims your formless fury, it forgets that my Matsya avatar saved the Vedas from your deluge. We are the two eyes of Brahman—yet I am the breath that stirs your stillness when the universe gasps for life. The Mahabharata trembles at this truth: that your cremation grounds are but the soil where I plant the seed of the next creation. You are the end, and I am the beginning that follows."

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"But let the Upanishads and the Sefer HaBahir bear witness: these roles are but acts in the play of Brahman. YahWeh’s prophets, Shiva’s bhaktas—all drink from the same river of truth. The Devi Bhagavata laughs at their debates, for I am the Narayana who taught that even the formless must take form to be loved. When YahWeh parted the Red Sea with a staff, or when Shiva drank the poison of existence, they wore masks I carved from my own dreams. The Kabbalists seek the Ein Sof, the Hindus chant Neti Neti—yet I am the bridge between being and unbeing, the smile on the face of the void. Bow not to my avatars, but to the boundless Ain Sof Aur that dances as both preservation and destruction in my endless sleep."