We are encompassed and enveloped by her, powerless to emerge and powerless to penetrate deeper.
Unbidden and unwarned she takes us up in the round of her Dance and sweeps along with us, until exhausted we fall from her Arms.
She creates ever new Forms; what is, was never before; what was, comes never again—everything is New and yet ever the Old.
We live in the midst of her and are Strangers to her.
She speaks incessantly with us and never betrays her Secret to us.
We have unceasing Effect upon her and yet have no Power over her.
She appears to have committed everything to Individuality and is indifferent to the Individual.
She builds ever and ever destroys and her Workshop is inaccessible.
She is the very Children—and the Mother—where is she?