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.
