Look at it: nothing to see. Call it colorless. Listen to it: nothing to hear. Call it soundless. Reach for it: nothing to hold. Call it intangible.

Triply undifferentiated, it merges into oneness, not bright above, not dark below.

Never, oh! never can it be named. It reverts, it returns to unbeing. Call it the form of the unformed, the image of no image.

Call it unthinkable thought. Face it: no face. Follow it: no end.

Holding fast to the old Way, we can live in the present. Mindful of the ancient beginnings, we hold the thread of the Tao.