There was neither non-existence nor existence then: There was no realm of air, no sky beyond it. What covered in, and where? and what gave shelter? Was water there, unfathomed depth of water? Death was not then, nor was there aught immortal: no sign was there, the day's and night's divider. That One Thing, breathless, breathed by its own nature: apart from it was nothing whatsoever. Darkness there was: at first concealed in darkness. This all was watery chaos. All that existed then was void and formless: by the great power of Warmth was born that Unit. --from the Nasadiya Sukta of Rig Veda (Hymn 129 of the 10th Mandala) based on translation by Ralph T.H. Griffith, 1896
If there were water And no rock If there were rock And also water And water A spring A pool among the rock If there were the sound of water only Not the cicada And dry grass singing But sound of water over a rock Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop But there is no water ---T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land
In memory of Fate Jung Bahadur, officer, gentleman, thinker, book lover, and my father
It is comfortable in the tombdark womb of the earth.
And Karna inserts the CD into the PC, clicks the play tab, and closes his eyes in contentment.