snatches of dim phrases appear sometimes like voices at 
big distance, when their chorus is united, like light and 
shadow. in a damp, misty darkness the round dances of 
smouldering lights are whirling and time is twisting 
endless spirals. stars are trembling in the eye's flame, 
in the prototype of their essence, and red whirlwinds in 
a smouldering sky will embellish the crown of the worlds. 
behind the black gates the horizons full of unprecedented 
strength, like the deepness of magic mirrors, which the 
monks hold in front of themselves.