(This book is also called: The Unexplained)
I died and became a dove in the church.
I lived and became the black crow outside the church.
It is the purest point, a cycle without beginning or end.
No one can create it, it is the Creator.
Silence in terror, purity in filth.
Everything comes from it, everything self-destructs from it.
It can be reciprocating, but it cannot be complicated.
Unsinkable blackness, unclear whiteness.
The whole world is its false color, its afterimage in the abyss of meditation.
I hope my soul can rise to the ideal latitude.
In the cosmic sea, in the star-dappled depths.
Meet me, my darling.
