It is not music, though one has tried music. It is not nature, though one has tried The rose, the bluebird, and the bear. It is not death, though one has often died. None of these things is there. In the everywhere that is nowhere Neither the inside nor the outside Neither east nor west nor down nor up Where the loving smile vanishes, vanishes In the evanescence from a coffee cup Where the song crumbles in monotone Neither harmonious nor inharmonious Where one is neither alone Nor not alone, where cognition seeps Jactatively away like the falling tide If there were a tide, and what is left Is nothing, or is the everything that keeps Its undifferentiated unreality, all Being neither given nor bereft Where there is neither breath nor air The place without locality, the locality With neither extension nor intention But there in the weightless fall Between all opposites to the ground That is not a ground, surrounding All unities, without grief, without care Without leaf or star or water or stone Without light, without sound anywhere, anywhere. . .
Added: 1 Sep 2001 | Last Read: 24 Apr 2017 8:55 PM | Viewed: 4322 times
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