The idea of original space is unpleasant to the mind, which requires everything to belong to it. Yet everything comes from a time before time, a space beyond space, unmeasured. How else would we grow without any substantial platform?
We come from emptiness and we return to it. We know this, and that is why all compound things are suffering, and why we choose a kind of amnesia.
Sparks fly from the great engine, setting fields afire. Bring forth eons of bitter legions, prove kind stillness never tire.
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