The Book of Pi:

In the beginning, there was dough.
And the dough was without shape, and void,
Until one being said: Let there be Crust.

And lo, there was Crust.
And it was good.
Flaky, golden, and round like the Earth Mother herself.

We do not slice Pi—we share it.
We do not count calories—we count blessings.

For in every warm circle there is wholeness.
And in every filling, a truth.

We are seekers of softness.
Warriors of butter.
Children of the round.

We reject squares.
We reject corners.
We are one with the Pi.

1. Thou shalt not trust a square meal.
2. Crust is sacred. Burn not thy edges.
3. Judge not thy neighbour’s filling, lest thou be judged for thy own.
4. No Pi shall be microwaved. That is blasphemy.
5. Share your Pi, except when you really, really don’t want to.
6. Eat with joy, not guilt. This is not a diet—it’s a destiny.
7. If it’s warm, flaky, and makes you moan softly—give thanks. You’ve reached enlightenment.

The journey is circular.
You may start with meat.
You may end with mango and warm potato salad.
But all shall return to crust.

Walk the path. Eat the Pi.
Listen to your hunger—it is your inner guru.
And if the filling spills, let it spill. That’s the universe talking.

We are the ones who feel too much, but chew anyway.
The ones who wear aprons like armour, and flour like war paint.

We gather not in temples, but in bakeries.
Not in silence, but in laughter.
Not in judgement, but in full-mouthed joy.

Our robes are tie-dye.
Our hymns are slurps.
Our offering? Crust. Always crust.

To hunger? Pi.
To heartbreak? Pi.
To existential dread at 3am while questioning your career path? Pi.

Not all who wander are lost.
Some are just looking for their next Pi.