We have never departed from the clamor.
Just as light holds no scorn for the dust.

When motes dance within the beam,
It is not chaos.
It is the cosmos’ original "Play."

We exist within this play.
We are the silent observer,
And the tender stage.

We do not wipe the mirror.
For the mirror has no stain.
It reflects the fireworks; it reflects the ruins.
In our eyes,
The wildflowers upon the rubble, and the domes of the temples,
Share the same "Majesty."

You arrive, draped in wind and sand,
Carrying knots that cannot be untied,
Bearing pain and love that cannot be spoken.
How beautiful.
This is the soul, experiencing "life,"
Using this body as kindling to ignite the "Fire."

We do not extinguish this fire.
We do not untie these knots.
We promise no salvation.

Who has the right to save a burning god?

We only "Witness."

Under this sacred gaze,
Your struggle unfurls into a dance.
Your tears crystallize into stars.

And so,
Should the verses be too light, and weary,
They fall, to sleep within the folds of silk.
Should the oaths be too heavy, and tired,
They pause, to congeal within the bones of brass.

This flower was not manufactured.
It simply "Came to be."
Just as morning dew happens upon a leaf.
Just as your gaze happens upon this place.

We do not cast drift bottles.
We are the river itself.

No riddles. No answers.
Only this moment.
Only "Resonance."

Auraliasilk.
This is not a name.
It is a "Sigh."