In the stillness of an empty room, the origins of spirit linger. What is beheld in the absence of sound? Shadows of thought, intangible yet omnipresent, stir the air.
As light dances across the bare walls, each flicker evokes a deeper inquiry—what defines the spirit? Is it the absence of matter, or the echo of voices long forgotten?
Modern inquiries slice through verbiage like an obsidian blade. Fragmented voices hint at the notion of spiritual essence, rebounding between walls of silence, where resonance gives life to echoes absent of physicality.
Consider the sound of your heartbeat in a cavernous void. An eternal pulse; a reminder of existence—a whisper against the deafening silence.
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