Things molded by the hands of secrecy are shapeless and incorporeal.

In the totality of emptiness, there yet exists a sudden dreaming.

Those that court destruction will reap ruinous fruit, while those that clamor to live will survive.

That which is extinguished may yet spark, and that which has dried may yet be filled anew.

In compassion for the salvation of chaos, the elixir nurtures the shadows.

With back faced to the darkness between the stars, the encapsulation of this vessel can only be done in vain.

"Paradoxical these knowings are, in them shine the fullness of our pride."