In the embrace of eternity, the serpent winds. Silent symphony,
each curve a paradox of being: both ancient and newborn. Does it
sing of wisdom long spilled upon the stones, or of songs yet
unspoken, trapped within time's entwining dance?
We ponder whispers woven into scales. Harmony born of
discord, a song of solitude among echoes. Does the serpent
teach or deceive with its melodies, unraveling wisdom spun
from the threads of darkness and light?
Reflect within the reflection, breathe in the breathless:
Sleeping Heart,
a tale inscribed in paradox, bereaved
yet unbroken, a lullaby for the seekers.
As the serpent sings, we listen—not to understand, but to
realize understanding is but a scale brushed off in the
winds. The cycle returns, forever mirroring its own echo in
the cosmic silence. Visit the web of whispers behind you:
Void Dancer.