The spark's providence is revealed in the dark. That glow unrecognised in the light, it denies the view of all that surrounds it. That place, whose concession free of the care of one away from all, draws the trace of the eternally connected. Every turning away mocks the having at the end of the darkness before the being of the fog. No one's vision thwarts that ornament, the unbearable glow of one's own melancholy. Harring, life winds past reactions whose depths are rarely seen. Only the all-some of wisdom's gaze is revealed in the one seed.
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