Something began to glimmer and pulsate and this something was one. it trembled and glimmered, but it was one. I do not differentiate multiplicity. This one was all with nothing in opposition to it. It was everything. I am everything. It had the possibility of anything, and it was not yet chaos (the threshold of conciousness). All History and all future are eternally in it. All elements are mixed, but all that can be is there. It exudes colors, feelings, and dreams. I wish. I create. I differentiate. I distinguish unclearly. Nothing is dilineated. I know nothing, but all seems foreboding and i remember. Instants of the past and future come together. Confused presentiments and recollections, frights and joys.
1905, Scriabin’s notes