Procession of the Pale Sphere in the Doctrine of the Red Path

The stair of cinnabar leads inward, where the Hesychasts once whispered the Prayer of the Uncreated Light.

A moon without lineage hovers in the throat of the arch, pulsing like the hidden sun of the Cathars.

Trees blush and blanch as if remembering two opposing worlds:

the garden before form, and the wasteland after it.

Walk gently. Every step is a vow, and every vow is a blade.

At the end, the orb waits to name you in a language older than breath.