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 waiting.
The here-and-now mountain is tiny piece of 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 slat of the roof.

Rumi