There is no such thing as silence
The eyes see even when closed
The world is filled with sounds
The darkest place has perceivable light
The mind never stops thinking
Nothing is impossible to find
There is freedom to drift into the little things
Sometimes the important waits for this moment
There is the question of suffering
There is the question of knowledge
How can we believe?
What is it that we really know?
Could we reject things because they are wrong?
Could we have better learned the nature of everything?
Why is it that they demand such exact knowledge?
Where is this knowledge assembled?
All writing is good for instruction,
There is no end to the making of books
The flesh is weary from much study
The mind seeks to make sense of accumulated information
Praying to create new writings