Like the very essence of the soul, the oonts strums through the air, the ground, and your very being. The oonts is nothing, yet contains everything. Once the oonts has permeated your existence, nothing can ever really be the same again. Vibrations in the mist, rumblings in the emptiness of space. Your body shakes and shudders to the power and mystery of the oonts. Do not run, child. Do not cringe, or cry, or avert your eyes or your mind. Allow your consciousness to be enveloped. There is a missing piece to your puzzle, I know. You feel it, every night as you stare at the stars, baiting sleep. Every day as you stare at the wall of your cubicle, silently wailing in unheard protest. With your family, your friends, your loved one. As you lie in the sun, warming your corpse, the holder of something that has long since died. As you kneel in church, seeking answers for questions that do not want to be sought. As you stare into the eyes of madness that greets you everyday in the street, grizzled forgottens bedding down on the concrete, manicured phantoms riding behind tinted windows of ignorance and sorrow. It is there when the butterfly spreads her wings, flapping the air with the rhythmic pulse. As the noble hawk soars into the azure sky. It is in the sea, the power harnessed only in myth and in the mind.
And so what of you, fair traveler? Do you seek something? For sure we all do, so let me take your hand. I am your guide, yet I also seek what you have lost, or have never owned. This is the way of the oonts. Come, my friend, I hear something just over that hill. Hear how it calls to you. That smile crossing your face was not there before. Believe me, I know. So come, toward the sound we will go. Do not be afraid. It is only the....
OONTS OONTS OONTS OONTS!!!!
