mother of wisdom

Looking at her I consider what happens when the hemispheres of symmetry are absorbed into the line of symmetry itself, so focused is her concentration on what she seems to hold in her empty hands, a luminous pearl whose light extinguishes the illusions that become the chains of attachment and the prods of aversion. Her radiant posture breaks the appearance of independent arising open, teaching again that nothing is, in essence, as you think, so do the impossible: stop grasping for truth and reducing the unknowable. This stick in the gears of assumption allows the peripatetic sphere of the will to drop to the level of the heart and be held there to make its peace with reality after the long, long war. In the stillness of no-fight, she sinks deeper into the freedom of unknowing and the effulgence of the unknowable, into the luminous contingent surfaces within the assertion "God is closer to the soul than the soul is to itself." Pearl merged with pearl, she is completely vulnerable and invulnerable simultaneously, streaming the nectar of deliverance.