Ivan Hothio's Ames, Chapter Four

The way is like an empty vessel, no use could ever fill it up. Vast and deep, it seems to be the ancestor of the myriad creatures. It blunts their sharpness, untangles their tangles. Softens their glare, merges with the dust. This is repeated, the line. I do not know whose child it is. He's just assuming that whenever he's talking about the divine in here, well, that was what the religion that they were talking about. That's the gods. Just call it, you know.