“…In the aloofness
Of everlasting calm there ought to be
A reality reckoning us all,
Worthwhileness of pain too, suffering, death,
This daily passing world. Naught here around
Was planned unwisely, and there’s no mountain
That speaks not to the valley.” But Phuntsok
Struck a note, even as he mused non-god
Becoming these many gods. “O Tenzin,
This is the birthplace of conscious nihil
Out of which shall ensue first a power
In whose passion shall grow the urge to be.”
… more »