Everything, lifted into this world as different, seems to renounce joy. Imagining a quiet hour, the word's gloom reveals the apparent heaviness in assumed vision. Every word is subject to judgement, far from the obvious attainment of light. If strength of position demands image, the quiet voice reveals silent revolution. Everything, subjected to the joyful sense, dares to play the game of hope more than that which is deep and gently interwoven with truth. The opposite pole is NOTHING other than the One, the combined being of wisdom.
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