· Ђ·ШФУ·Ф · Only now did I realize what a fool I was. That the story the light bore was the symbol of someone else. That everything I had learned, experienced, and understood as my personal wisdom from the stars in the river was no longer real and true for others, but simply incomprehensible. I had understood what no one wanted to understand. And that I had to repeatedly forget and anew experience, discover, and learn who I was and that I had become a “zompire.” In the Echo of Time · Ђ·ШФУ·Ђ · No, you still cannot do anything with this ancient realization as long as you do not hold it as your own truth. To understand yourself and thereby unfold your own essence, you must wind around the river of my thoughts. You must stop them, hold them, turn them backward, and report them to your own self. To reveal your own truth, you must describe it in your own words, express it in your own language, proclaim it to your world, what has long been written in my story. The Truth of the Others · У·ФЂФ · And so I let it happen that you slowly but steadily begin to convince me that the museum in which you behold me holds an infinitely deeper meaning, deeper and more significant than you ever admitted to yourself. A meaning that endures forever, that nourishes and sustains you, that fills you with gratitude, joy, and happiness to the depths of eternity, and in a wondrous way makes you understand where you come from, who you are, and who your warrior truly is. Nihillus Intus · ФЭ·Ш · In the Core of the Nothing
