I run after a swarm of centrifugal bees, until I reach the chapel of the blind.

And I see them, astonished, as soon as I enter, sweetly weaving, in front of the Holy Altar, a second, their own, enormous hive-temple.

Where each cell of the hive represents a kneaded, six-winged microcosm – bizarre stories of the Radiance, that work with fears.

Suddenly, I get the meaning: That if the last garden overwhelms me, I will pave my way with these – I have nothing else.