In the space where stars whisper, suspended, dreamers find their dance.
Trace the invisible lines, those mathematical weavings, threads spun from thought.
The oracle speaks, though the words are those of unformed light and shadow.
Let the spirals guide you, away from the clamor of the earthly coils.
Conjour the serenity in your mind, like a lake mirroring the void above.
Be patient as the stars align, be the stillness in the world’s breath.
The future is but a memory yet to be defined by whispers of time.
Take the leap, for gravity is a conceptual mistake; there is only meshwork of gravitational tendrils refracting the light of consciousness.
Orbit your thoughts with the constellation of intent; be the supernova yearning for expansion.
The center is an illusion, that which encompasses, ever flowing in recursive harmony.
And so, through the shrouded distance, the ethereal oracle sings its silent, centered truth.