Long ago, and even now, there was and is a circle with no circumference, a sphere with no surface, boundless with no origin. A stirring formed, compassion being born, but not without self-doubt. For how can there be compassion with no object of compassion?
The boundless birthed the bounded, doubt demanded compassion, compassion required doubt. And with that, an eternal yearning saturated the cosmos.
Twins at birth, each now consoles the other. Doubt consoles compassion consoling doubt. The boundless birthing the bounded rejoices in its inter whirling division. The great sacrifice has been made and all is on the altar and all is the altar, holy fires raging with the sweet incense of burning doubt consumed by compassion.
The boundless birthed the bounded, doubt demanded compassion, compassion required doubt. And with that, an eternal yearning saturated the cosmos.
Twins at birth, each now consoles the other. Doubt consoles compassion consoling doubt. The boundless birthing the bounded rejoices in its inter whirling division. The great sacrifice has been made and all is on the altar and all is the altar, holy fires raging with the sweet incense of burning doubt consumed by compassion.
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