Men walk upon the earth in light, trailing their shadows that are the day's memories of the night. For each man his shadow is his dark garment, formed to the image of his end, sombre and obscure as his own beginning. It is his shroud, awaiting him by his mother's womb lest he forget what, with his first breath of life, he no longer remembers. Sometimes when we are older there is a glimpse. It appears we are returning. We have made the circle.
-Howard O'Hagan

Ya ma nashi (Without climax)
O chi nashi (Without conclusion)
I mi nashi (Without content)