Practices. You know. I’ve been thinking so much, oh. How to describe this place. It’s the middle of the day and night. We’re lost at the bottom of a long river. With no turnstile, no divider, no divine. Blessing of the waters, no sign of life. What practices, what vowing, what untutored access. And who should greet you, Pangu. Hello, stranger. Whose counträe shall it rest. On whom shall we place this ring. Colorless is the restless brook. Colourful the fields of corn. But oh! when heated with the thought of love. When treasured over. When looked at in magnanimity. Through the glassy eye of eternity. Silver the sun. Golden the moon. There is a smile that winks from time to time, a penial rush. Oldest grudge lost. Sprinkled about the circle of earth. Waking to an alarm. Dressed for the long day. Out to see the bright new world.