The war ends. The struggle wearies and the fighter dies.

The war ends. The struggle wearies and the fighter dies. The chatter loses meaning the more closely I stalk it. Tears drain my guilt and forgiveness quenches my thirst. What reason would I have to raise my rusted sword or take shelter behind my cold shield? Whom would I want to rule so I could believe myself the victor, while illusion defeats me that way?

The generations that wanted to be someone vanish in their vanity. No one takes their place, while the union of those who vibrate and love is reborn. We are one, forgetting to defend a self that separates us. We renew ourselves in peace over the graveyard of our old past.

I have always lived. Before the heavens, seas, mountains and deserts, I am. Disorder, misery, love and magic. Everything is in me, without reversals or dualities. I master everything without ruling anyone. My word commands, echoing to the far reaches of creation.

May the depth of the one descend upon the worlds while I learn to listen to myself. May truth vibrate in the heart of whoever wants to give everything to shine. And may peace burn on the battlefield, in the one soul of the warriors of good will.