My mind is not my own, so I learn to die again and again to that great unknown.
The I that sees has dreamed every star perceived, including the soul that you seem to be. As every mind that has blossomed like a flower, on countless worlds you have come again to remember. On endless stories you have rode the winds of awakening. Nowhere is there not You, you who dreamed the all of the stars, too. Some where, in between the pulse of pulsars and the in-and-out breath, there again we find the Mind that had tucked itself in every place of hiding — and in joy, again and again bursts forth with reminding!