How to call It?

He – That?

The Supreme walks on His way.

Are His hands free?

Does He hold the scepter of the emperor of the worlds, the stick of the old and lame, the staff of the beggar?

Reclining, motionless, on the flank of the rock, is He asleep?

He goes on His way.

His silhouette is barely outlined.

At times, in instants almost as brief as lightning, His feet appear entirely: they are strong and finely wrought, filled with calm vigor and perfectly proportioned; above the ankles tinkle tiny bells hanging from gold woven strings.

Firmly they move onward; their presence is such that eternity alone can contain it.

Then all vanishes and only remains the impress of a form.

Yet from this form such a density emanates that no dimensions can ever situate or sustain it.

***

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