He proceeded to unmask his first face. A decrepit thing, with a long, hoary beard. He previously had been speaking of the crawling pace of time and its dominion. It was a cumbersome spectacle to watch, he said, even for one as patient as he. But to continue on his point, he removed his elderly face. The second was pitch black, dark as night. And glassy—much like obsidian. It was not much like a face, though; more like a streaming deep into the back-corners of empty spaces. There was a multitude of scintillating points all about this second face. They moved every so slowly—barely at all—but they were for sure shifting. He then started to muse on the impossibility of understanding matter. He was mighty smug when talking about this particular topic, like an older sibling showing off some paltry achievement to a younger sibling. The topic of matter being the extent of existence elicited a quite annoying chuckle from the deep nether of blackness. Making his point—whatever it may have been—he discarded his second face and allowed me to gaze upon his third and final face. This one was not a face per se, but more of a feeling, a sense—but still a "face". In lieu of eyes there were blinding sub- and super-thoughts. Existents and ideas that were a bit too overwhelming to perceive. Where would be a mouth, there were instead sounds of a million-million voices, or something akin to voices. Each emitting lifetimes of knowledge and memories. Perhaps it was the entirety of life (vastly compacted) attempting to make itself significant by signifying and recognising its own being. He attempted to explain that the beginning was in fact not a beginning at all, but one layer in the midst of an infinity of other layers. The best representation he could think of was an onion. But at this he just burst into raucous laughter and could not be made to continue his lecture. Not able to suffer him any more, I awoke.