నిశ్శబ్దంగా మరియు భయంతో సింబల్ యొక్క ఖాళీ రింగింగ్

When the Cymbal Rang I spoke with reason, not with love— a cold intention dressed as light. The cymbal rang, hollow and proud, and the silence that followed was louder than sound. I stood beneath an open sky, but the sky fell dark. Not in fear— in awe. The trees stood still, and even the wind held its breath as the veil between worlds unfolded. I was not lost. I was unmade. Emptied of striving, stripped of solving, standing at the edge of vastness that needed no fixing. And there— in the great nothing, I saw Everything. No voice. No light. Only glory, infinite and quiet, pressed into the fabric of the void. I had tried to be good. To be right. To choose what made sense. But grace is not earned by clean intentions. It simply comes— when heaven decides it is time. And I— the clanging cymbal— was silenced by the soundless song of God.