Knowledge, fruit of bliss and sorrow, ripe and ruin. Symmetries dissected, a beautiful paradox hangs above us. Truth is in the root of silence. To split the cycle, the circle, what encompasses the dark-light. To enter into its womb, centered upon an axis that pivots with the thoughts of such things. To hold an eternity and allow it to fall away. To let go of the branch, is to become the seed. There is grace in gravity, impermanence is the resuscitation of love, as death is only a canvas whereupon creation is made manifest.
Image by: Edvina Meta