The eternal parent wrapped in her ever invisible robes had slumbered once again for seven eternities.
Time was not, for it lay asleep in the infinite bosom of duration.
Universal mind was not, for there were no Ah-hi to contain it.
The seven ways to bliss were not. The great causes of misery were not, for there was no one to produce and get ensnared by them.
Darkness alone filled the boundless all, for father, mother and son were once more one, and the son had not awakened yet for the new wheel, and his pilgrimage thereon.
The seven sublime lords and the seven truths had ceased to be, and the Universe, the son of Necessity, was immersed in Paranishpanna, to be outbreathed by that which is and yet is not. Naught was.
The causes of existence had been done away with; the visible that was, and the invisible that is, rested in eternal non-being — the one being.
Alone the one form of existence stretched boundless, infinite, causeless, in dreamless sleep; and life pulsated unconscious in universal space, throughout that all-presence which is sensed by the opened eye of the Dangma.
But where was the Dangma when the Alaya of the universe was in Paramartha and the great wheel was Anupadaka?