We look but don’t see it and call it indistinct
We listen but don’t hear it and call it faint
We reach but don’t grasp it and call it ethereal
Three failed means to knowledge I weave into one
With no light above and no shadow below
Too fine to be named
Returning to nothing
This is the formless form
The immaterial image
The one that waxes and wanes
We meet without seeing its face
We follow without seeing its back
Whoever upholds this very Way can rule this very real
And discover the ancient maiden
This is the thread of the Way