She who brings us each to birth and feeds us each on one another's flesh and so devours us all;

She whose flesh our flesh must therefore surely be;

She from whom our yearnings have all sprung;

She whom each of us must therefore either vainly seek to flee by some false magic trick of not thinking or else acknowledge as the inmost holy ground of being;

She whose waking was the tumult of the universe, whose glance ignited stars, whose hand outflung the teaming galaxies which in each trembling particle yet sing her song;

She whose thoughts we think, whose way of seeing fills our eyes, whose beauty is all beauty and all fear;

She who frames all hope and destiny;

She is reality.