S
he did not sleep, nor wake—but drifted in the hush between. Where thought dissolved, and self unraveled, the veil grew thin. In that realm where cherry boughs wept crimson over shadowed roots, and time curled like mist in a sacred bowl, she remembered—not a life, but a knowing. The breath of the world. The hum beneath names. The shape of silence. She had asked nothing, and still, something within her answered.
