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.
These words I am 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.
1 comment:
this is what i understand. it's so clearly expressed! the phrase that really hums for me in this thoughtful writing: "existence: this place made from our love
for that emptiness!" so very wow! steven
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