When all is war – the past returning triple-fold, a storm of purple, golden and brown – light rests in the chance: of dancing towards union with each other – though minds get lured to dance against each other, dancing a dance of ignorance to death.
When in the eye of that storm, we choose with clarity how to act.
Movements we make affect the general dance.
We ponder the returning colors of the past, asking ourselves who we are.
In the brown is brutality, in the gold is poison, in the purple lies ineffable eternity.
In the eye of that storm, we move freely, knowing ourselves.