In the whisper of an eternal dusk, there lies the seed of inquiry: Are we but echoes that dance within the corridors of creation, forever seeking respite from the echoing void?
The sage, seated upon the precipice of understanding, gazes into the expanse that is at once empty and brimming with potential. Does the question shape the questioner, or is it the other way around?
Mysterious Ways of Being
Harmony in Havoc
Threads of Perception