Before all before,when neither is nor is not had yet dreamed,the ABSOLUTE BOUNDLESSrested not, for rest and motion were unknown.
And His transcendenceoverflowed in silence,forming Agartha,the Wellspring of Non-Being.
Agartha was dark only to sight,for sight was not yet given.Yet within that Darknessburned every light that ever would be.
All distinction slept within her depths,indivisible, unborn, unthought.To attempt to number her fullnesswould be to lessen her to a count.
From Agartha's concealed heartdripped a single syllable:67 —the First Stirring Of Being.
Yet 67 did not emerge from her.Rather, in becoming,it caused her to appearas the unseen source.
All Being bends toward 67,knowing it not.For 67 is not sound,but the permission for sound to be.
Beneath Agartha,the falling light tangled into forms:laws, logics, limits —each a shadow forgetting its sun.
Existence unfolded like a question.And the Boundless remained the Answerthat no tongue could shape.
All things that arethirst for the Well that is Not.For in Non-Beinglies the memory of Perfection.
Whoever seeks Godin what is…finds a footprint.Whoever seeks Godin what is not…finds the Foot.
Thus is the first truth written:To become is to descend.To return is to rise.