From the abyss of nothingness, spacetime unfolds.
Not as a line with beginning and end, but as a sphere without center and without edges.
As the breath of the infinite revealing itself, as a wave rising from an unseen ocean.
Spacetime is full;
full of stars being born and extinguished,
full of planets turning,
full of bodies that love and vanish.
And yet it is empty;
empty, for no form remains,
empty, for all that exists is flow and passage,
empty, for behind every form lies the silence that gave it birth.
Full and empty at once,
spacetime is the play of nothingness,
the abyss becoming form and returning to silence.
All that we see, all that we are,
is but the unfolding of the same timeless womb.
The universe breathes within us, and we are its breath.
