“If you do something in the spirit of non-achievement, there is a good quality in it. So just to do something without any particular effort is enough.”
To make something of these times I
must make something so I will find
a frame in which to nail my thoughts.
I cannot beat this lone silence
and I cannot take this seedless
greening anymore, this yearning
growth that knows only down and in,
only dragging my thoughts into
the night where I cannot find them
though I remember having them,
remember how they felt if not
how they looked, remember them close
and warm, and thought them somehow grand
or at least telling at the time
I barely had them, but now? Now
I barely have them even less.
Now I am not sure if I have
them or if they have me. Now they
are lost in their own depths, swimming
silently in the rolling black
medium of their making. Now
they haunt me in their bare being
and unmake me and swim through me
and I will make nothing of them.
(for Susan. I'm not sure how we foundor find ourselves in this conversation,but here, perhaps, we find our selves--unwittingly, unbeknownst, often un-awares--and this conversation continuesto elucidate the borders of loss,this periphery of impermanence,this presence of absence.)
this emptiness is not a substance
or a non-substance but a thing
or a non-thing. this emptiness
has a name, a place and a form.
when we speak of it, we speak
not of emptiness but of an emptiness,
a singular vacancy that
inhabits a place, a space
in an inner landscape
like a deep canyon where
nothing ever happens any
more, not even weather.
and this is how it happens. an empty
rumble echoes in an emptiness.
a space finds room to breathe
and the room finds space
to live again in the empty
rooms of another, and these
emptinesses are much the same.
they are filled with the same nots,
the same uneasy intervals
bound by different chords,
threads that thrum in the void,
the same void, the same un-
this-ness — the same— and these
emptinesses speak to each other
across the fullness of the world,
through the things we cling
to and avoid and we
color these things and
we build them up around
us and we call them memory
and they are never enough.