What is stillness like when it is so great it cannot be grasped? When it has come gliding out of its own place and feels more oppressive than thunder?
It is only someone sailing out of the woods. Not so important, perhaps. Putting himself in order calmly and with strength.
The shining, tranquil river glides out with all its burdens. It comes as if from far away in the interior, and delivers its innermost secrets, on its way towards a distant ocean.
What accompanies it on the journey? Intense desires that have subsided. Nothing more.