Nothing is left now, nothing remembered. The search, the ten years, the footprints in the mud, the storm, the aching hands, the warmth of the ox's skin, the sleep and the dream: all are forgotten. Only the oxherd remains, only the self that sees, and now it vanishes too. Everything is emptied out.
A voice speaks. "Let there be light!"
And, suddenly, there is light. The Idea has been born.
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