Echoes of the Root
In the beginning, there was a root—no, a thought, branching, reaching, grasping for meaning amidst the soil of reality.
A whisper among the leaves: "What is the roar of silence if not a cascade of unspoken words, fractals of intention rippling through the ether?"
Downwards it goes, the thought, into the abyss of understanding, where roots intertwine with the echoes of forgotten knowledge.
Each whisper is a universe, each universe a whisper, reverberating through the trunk of existence.
Can one hear the roots roar? Perhaps not, for it is a sound felt, not heard, a sensation that courses through the veins of the earth.
When the roots breathe, do they inhale the past, exhale the future? A cycle unbroken by the linearity of time.
Consider this: a single drop in a vast ocean—does it remember the sky? The circle completes itself in a never-ending dance.
Sphere of Links