Dream's Covenant[]
A kind of dream, a kind of howl, a kind of hopelessness. Full of unresolved grievances of an ancient time, as well as bizarre anxieties about the future... But what truly makes everything dull and meaningless, is that this book is nothing more than an inferior imitation. Despite our most earnest efforts to understand, nothing can come close to truly describe that great, ancient, and dormant Truth.
...Is that so?
Introduction[]
Seemingly everywhere, it exists;
The pain, it swells in an instant.
And everywhere, it should exist.
The flowers, they bloom in a sea of their own blood.
Volume II: The Sea of Flowers[]
The Truth is all around us: in every rushing river, on every grassy plain, in the darkened skies, and in the endless nights.
On the buds and branches of every tree, and in every seed, flower, and fruit. On every muddy path, and beside every dried waterfall.
It is in the air and before our eyes, around our skin and beneath our feet. It is in every breath that enters our lungs, and every sunbeam that enters our retinas. It walks behind us at all times, brushing lightly against our bodies.
It is on our lips, our teeth, our mouths, our throats, and our stomachs. It is digested, absorbed into our bodies, and passes into our blood.
It is transmitted along our nerves to every corner of our bodies: to the liver, the gallbladder, the small and large intestine, the pancreas, the spleen, and the kidneys. It passes through our bones: the femur, the tibia and fibula, the ankle, and the toes.
The pain is like stubbing a toe on the leg of a table.
It is transmitted along the nerves to the center of our bodies: to the heart, the trachea, the base of the tongue, the nasal cavity, the optic nerves, the brainstem, and the brain. From the skull, it passes through the spine, to the shoulder blades, the elbows, the wrists, and the fingers.
The pain is like having a fingernail ripped out.
It is transmitted through the nerves to the deepest recesses of our bodies: to the bone marrow, the umbilical cord, the abdominal cavity, and into the skull of the unborn child. A seedling grows in the baby's mind, nourished by its thoughts, and blooms into a beautiful flower, its petals dripping with divine color.
Thoughts of the divine shatter into countless pieces, and the baby enters the world drenched in divinity. The world it encounters is a vast, desolate wasteland. Every cry it makes produces a new flower bud, and every tear it sheds colors the world around it with its divinity. As the child continues to cry, the skies shed tears of divinity, as well. Flowers bloom around the child's body, and the wasteland becomes a sacred sea of flowers.
The Truth is all around us.