I quietly approached the ajar door. The master decided how I looked at the world under the light through the gap. Whether he would let me assume a posture that I was ashamed to look at directly, whether this posture would protect me, who was so small, from touching the door. Then I saw the corner of the god's clothes, and began to yearn for him. I understand that I am still crazy and sober, and my obsession becomes clearer. I only know that I was born like this. I can't figure out his disorderly layout, but I still use my stiff hands to cover my crawling fate in their eyes, because they will not ask me why I am so stubborn and cautious, and will not break the dream of the creatures living here to live in peace.
Things have thousands of faces and reincarnations. In the end, I discovered that the gods under my wings were all fallen angels, and the main god of the fallen angels left me when they woke up from their dreams, just like prejudice left them. They were just the wings of obsession.
When I lose the order of the passing years, reincarnation is so easily dispersed outside this broken lens of life and death. Will the consciousness that will join in the future reincarnate endlessly with the whirlpool of disorder? And when he steps elsewhere, will the master say that he is dead, because the order around him escapes my glasses and goes to the back of my soul.
Wanxu is the scattered dream of all gods. The direction of the dream has countless opportunities. It is like duckweed and is messy in the wind.
Intention: Keep your original intention