praise to the emptiness that blanks out existence. existence:
this place made from our love for that emptiness!
yet somehow comes emptiness,
this existence goes.
praise to that happening, over and over!
for years I pulled my own existence out of emptiness.
then one swoop, one swing of the arm,
that work is over.
free of who I was, free of presence, free of dangerous fear, hope,
free of mountainous wanting.
the here-and-now mountain is a tiny piece of a piece of straw
blown off into emptiness.
these words I'm saying so much begin to lose meaning:
existence, emptiness, mountain, straw:
words and what they try to say swept
out the window, down the slant of the roof.
'this world which is made of our love for emptiness' by rumi
