The riddle of the cosmos, O ye wise ones, hear and ponder deep—
For I shall speak the mysteries that the ancient seers did know,
The hidden truth that lieth beneath the veil of all appearances.

Hearken: Two birds do dwell upon the self-same tree,
Kindred in nature, bound by fate, yet separate in essence.
One sitteth still in silence, watching all with eyes unmoving,
The other flitteth restless, eating of the tree's sweet fruit.
The one that eateth knoweth neither end nor beginning,
Yet the one that sitteth watcheth both the eater and the eaten.

Which bird art thou, O mortal? Which dost thou become?
For in this riddling truth doth lie the answer to thy being.

Now hear the greater mystery: the wheel of ages turning,
With twelve rim-divisions, neither more nor less,
And three-hundred-and-sixty spokes that do not break nor bend.
What power doth turn this wheel? What hand doth guide its motion?
The ancients knew, but speak they not in words of common speech,
For the wheel is Time itself, the great devouring serpent,
That bringeth forth all things and taketh all away again.

The horse of heaven, bound unto this wheel, doth run forever,
His speed is the speed of all becoming, his rest the pause of worlds.
Dost thou see the wheel? Art thou the hub or art thou spoke?

Now comes the greatest riddle, O ye who seek the truth:
What is that One which the wise do call by many names?
Some call it Indra, lord of battle and of thunder,
Some call it Mitra, guardian of the sacred covenant,
Some call it Varuṇa, he who bindeth all with laws,
Some call it Agni, the devouring fire of transformation.

Yet it is One alone, though bearing many faces,
One sole reality beneath the multiplicity of forms.
The priests do speak of it in many tongues and many ways,
But the wise among them know the secret that it uttereth:
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with the One,
And all that is did spring forth from that One eternal utterance.

Lo, what burneth in the heaven? What shineth in the sky?
What dwelleth in the waters? What floweth as the wind?
The answer is the same for all: the One that hath no second,
The One that standeth still while all else doth move and change,
The One that is the watching bird, the turning wheel, the cosmic horse.

The sun doth rise by its power, the stars do shine by its glory,
The clouds do carry water by its hidden command,
And we, small mortals, do exist within its vast embrace.

Some say this riddle hath no answer, that the mystery is endless,
But those who seek shall find, if they do listen with the heart.
For the answer dwelleth not in words, but in the silence beneath words,
Not in the wheel, but in the axis 'round which all things turn,
Not in the birds, but in the sky wherein they fly and rest.

O ye who hunger for the truth, who seek the hidden knowledge,
Go deep within yourselves and find the one eternal presence,
For thou art the watching bird, and thou art also the eating bird,
Thou art the wheel and the hub, the spoke and the turning axle,
Thou art Indra, Mitra, Varuṇa, Agni—all and none at once.

This is the riddle's answer: That which cannot be spoken,
Yet speaketh in the silence of the heart that learns to listen.
The wise do call what is One in many ways—
This is the greatest truth the ancient seers did know.