A line, perfectly still.
Eons pass by until a slight vibration
disturbs the null-state and
entropy ensues in pandemonium -
yet everything continues.

Between the shadows of unknown dimensions
we behave like particles and gather mass.
The pulsating motion of the cosmos
is constant, perpetual.
All patterns alter, they never remain the same,
they decay in time and they decay in shape.
A perfect balance of creation and existence
simultaneously.

Infinitely complex scale invariance.
Seems Indra is smiling in each pearl.

Beauty of chaos within.
Fathom the depths
of actual reality.
Symbolic death.

All patterns alter, the never remain the same.
They decay in time and they decay in shape.
A perfect balance of creation and existence
simultaneously.

Infinitely complex scale invariance.
Seems Indra is smiling in each jewel.

Beauty of chaos within.
Fathom the depths
of actual reality.
Symbolic death.

Given enough distance nothing is separate.
The line's still static.
Fuzzy, incomprehensible static.
Static.

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