After 10 million years in the realm of the gods, reclining in majesty, dressed in royal golden armor, and delighting in the scent of a celestial rose that never fades, I grew restless. I whispered to the gandharva who played the same sweet song, every note a thousand years, "Is there nothing more?"
The music stopped. A voice said, "Ah, you have asked The Question." Then the voice told me of a place where one tastes birth and death, moments of intensity instantly dissolved, the bittersweet scent of eternity grown fragile and passing away, each Now a treasury of loss, of mingled pain and pleasure, longing and union, the rose, the thorn, your eyes, my tears, the salt wind, and so by a circle of opposites expanding the dream until it is unendurable to sleep, and one awakens, never to be held again by any form...
"Are you ready?" the voice said.
"I am afraid," I murmured.
"Then you are ready, child, you are ready."
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