Is the world as we know it, only an illusion of our own minds?
It always plays this game and fools and tricks us endlessly. Is everything we call separate in truth all one? And good and bad are not divided at all?
Because everything moves in a circle. A circle that seems to be infinite, in which we move safely all the time. A play of light and shadow.
What about time, which sometimes runs out and sometimes stops? Sometimes calls and sometimes hurts?
Is it perhaps waiting for us?
And the rhythm of day and night only exists so that our being can find its route on this earthly journey. The continuous circle of space and time moves within ourselves. and the inner mirrors the outer. Like in a dream that never seems to end.
Are we all asleep or awake?
Suddenly images of reality become blurred and what we call real is only an illusion of our own spirit.
So the mystery remains who are we now? Who looks at our hand and blinks through our robe? Who walks the path step by step? And suddenly the realization remains that our most precious possession is the magic of the moment for now and for all time.