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  • Writer's pictureAmal

Shunyata

nothing to say,

nowhere to go,

nothing to be,

absolute stillness

in awe of the cosmos;


shunyata,

an empty mind,

enabled by a drop

of pure consciousness,

whole in itself,

where zero pervades,

where everything merges,

a falling leaf,

brown and dry,

sometimes ash from burnt wood,

floating gently in freefall,

falling into nothing,

where old birds go to die

for them to be born again

so that Estha might

figure it out;


.....


the early hours of the day

when identities are still asleep,

when the streets have not

woken up to their names yet,

divisions lost and singularity gained,

everything within it but itself denied,

like a seed;


like what one sees

when one closes his eyes,

a brightly lit void,

a farmer meditating

behind the plough

tied to his bulls

trying to see the

full in none;


a blind man witnessing

his days as varied shades and

multiples of none;


a writer holding on

to the blank space

where a thousand sounds

might fit but apt for one;


the voice of a tree

in a vast plain paddy field,

an aged butterfly at the onset

of giving up its wings;


a single knot forming the heart of the craft

repeated enough to form a magnificent woolen scarf,

a row of family members inspired by

their goats and cows

on standing still and doing nothing

for several hours;



shunyata,

there is a god particle

functioning within us,

a bubble of awareness

spread across our vital parts,

which is the only thing living,

causing matter to breathe

and engage in exchange,

causing it to come together

in different degrees

of organic loops,

for cycles to establish,

like the air we breathe,

for, our bodies are

nothing really but mostly oxygen

and our breathes are also

mostly its exchange;


.....


and what could be expected of man

since he is a being endowed

with strange qualities,

of muscles and memories,

constantly wanting to scare chickens

and settle scores,

all at random

just for the fun of it,

wanting to swing upon ropes hanging from trees

that were probably arranged by hillside villagers

for their biannual ceremonies and attached vagaries

at the expense of country-made rice liquor:



shunyata,

all at once

and at once nothing,

lowest energy possible please,

nothingness is not retina sensitive,

zero does appear and become seen,

it does not become one,

but it is another form of one,

it contains the potential of one,

it is one wearing

the cloak of invisibility;



and all the other numerals too,

as many permutations as needed,

until infinity,

until everything is away

and vacates its space,

and zero remains;



which is to say,

we cannot actually destroy anything,

because even when we break everything

down to their quarks,

we realize

we cannot go any further,

that energy will just twinkle

and acquire a new form;


.....

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