It is lonely. It is impossibly, inexpressibly sad, beyond the capacity of the human limbic system to experience. But it is content in its loneliness, and in its beautiful sadness. It is the light of the first sunrise after your lover leaves forever. It is the acceptance before death. Transcendence lies not in the denial of attachments and limitations but in the complete understanding of our confinement and the tautological tyranny of existence. The final stage of Buddhism cannot be attained. There is no escape from samsara for it is as closed as a lock. Heaven is invaded and its territories are afire and all its mountains have been shattered into thrones. This is the inevitable and perfect shape of the truth.
It is magnificent. Majestic. Majestic.