from: A Midsummer’s Nightmare

There is nothing to be afraid of here. And there is everything to be afraid of here. And there is something and nothing to be afraid of everywhere and anywhere. Always it exists. It is part of them also. Part of this flesh and these bones. They can not escape it forever. Not while they wear their skins. But they can always give in. They can always diminish it. They can always know that that is all it is. And that they are greater than even the sum of their own parts. That good and bad are one. That light and dark are one. That pain and pleasure are one. That mind and matter are one. There is nothing here but fear itself. Trying to fool them all. It is the changing form of the greatest masked ball. It is constant, endless, ceaseless and different. But within and beyond is nothing. The silence and stillness from where they come. From where everything is born and everything returns. Beyond ashes and dust. Birth and rot. Always and forever. Never and not. It is all just a game. And beyond the game is nothing. And nothing is everything.

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