The grinding bowl of time

LIKE A VAST MILL, grind, grind, grinding away inside the bowl of the world, turns the wheel of time. Its toothed blades grind out the oceans and the paths of rivers, as they grind down the stars and planets, and cut the leaves from the trees when their hour is come. Nothing is spared their ceaseless churning, as the fourth dimension grinds away at the other three. So many aeons has the mill of time been turning that the teeth of its outer blades are quite faded with age.

Remember, as you watch the blades of time turning for a while, that this effect of time is hypnotic. Unless we take a leap out of the bowl of time, a leap into the eternal, the endless here and now of the mystics, we remain afraid of those blades, when, in truth, they can never touch who we really are at all.