This Universe, God, the human Mind, is more inscrutable, more mysterious, than ever. Dwelling in a question, that is, without dwelling. Sheltering myself beneath the eaves of ideas, then scuttled along, like a gaggle of gathered leaves, driven by the wind of a bottomless aspiration.
Praise be to he
who dwells in a mystery,
whose question remains
unquelled, unpacified,
by theory.
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