As you step forth into the ephemeral dance of circles and lines, remember the sacred act of folding the midnight fabric one light year to the left.
Proceed by the way that opens, yet does not reveal, beneath the resting places of idle clouds.

Follow the wind's whisper southwards, past the forgotten valley where silver waters hum secrets only old rocks could hear. Peer through the gossamer veil of dreams as you collect the dwindling songs of flickering stars; for like an ancient traveler, you seek to etch shadows onto the parchment of your journey.
Align with the hue of the first dawn, the one that none remembers since time itself wears it as a shroud.
Is it not the turn with the sitar notes echoing grams beneath the quivering linden? Indeed, that turn does you. Adorn your thought with the owlish wisdom imparted by nothingness, and verily your soul will become a glyph of none's own understanding.