The black birds turn silent around the axis of the moon. There is a place in the depth of the heart darker than the depth of deep space. The void itself. An infinite possibility not yet defined. A yearning towards. Creation evolves from the purity of the clean slate to the infinitesimal encompassment of the Divine. A paradox. Both are true at once. A reminder to embody the shadow depth of the emptiness we are moving away from… and always toward. Ravens circling in the night.
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