Kells 850 A.D.
I am the product of a fitful evolution. I don’t remember which monk smuggled me from Iona, or where the rest of my folios are. This land is transformative. Everyone seeks to fill my margins with their interpretations. Which set of stories comprises the primary, tertiary, secondary grid of this knot? Breaklines too have marked my travels. Eons have housed me and still I remain anonymous. I possess the one and the three. I possess the wisdom of King Solomon. As patterns emerge from this seeming anarchy, I am the emblem of divine inscrutability, a storehouse of forgotten lore.