Buildings of the city arise for an instant, then deteriorate into dust. People flicker into being and then are gone. Galaxies spray out like mist that vanishes. What can challenge this?
Living in the country, the wind sweeps across the fields, playing heavenly strings. Living in the city, a parent bellows in violent anger at a small child.
All is the Mother. All is still. Pick-up on the thread that runs through all existence - it is the lifeline. Sauntering by the side of all things, I ask what experience is. The Mother of all things replies - "it is" and "I am".