Sometimes, the source same as the sound:
A thousand wills; no will. The moment comes
When “one” confronts, attempts, and one
Recognizes illusion, the haze of all colors,
Shades of all shades, in stripes, spots, solids—No
Distinctions, no selves, so all paths broken
Are mended in the beams of a million
Eyes (Is), of these eyes (this I): Witness!
[We] are all here, and verily [I] am You.