Cycling

 What is the point of all this change? What comes out of all of this? To what end does it reach? It goes nowhere, reaches no where, says nothing, isn't anything. Their is no purpose, no beginning nor end. Simply This and Now. Nothing else. No other place in all the Universe. This Void. Without name, without face, continually opening. Ceaselessly changing. Not anything at all. I am not anything at all. 

There is nothing here. There is nothing to do. Life simply unfolds. The Dharma simply flows from mouth of the fountain. Eternally awakening. Nothing to be, nothing to do, nothing to know or understand. No reason nor purpose except this Reason that IS. Nothing except for THIS. What words can we speak here? What can be seen, discovered? Endlessly we may seek and Nothing we may find. Without a plan. Without a Path. Standing like water in a flowing stream. Flowing like water stands in a still pond. Standing and Moving, Being and Standing. Seeing, Knowing, Feeling. What else? 

Empty or Full? Alive, Dead? Self or no self? What does it matter? Rivers flow in time and space. Rivers without body and sound. Rivers drinking deeply of this sound ending. Ending, beginning, ending. No change can I produce to rivet your eyes. Unbroken, without interjection, feeling escapes the twisted bounty of man. In his torment, skies erupt, angels weep, Grief produces a sound that I cannot find in any heavy heart. The balance between these things takes away the razors edge. Tomorrow becomes Today. Sleeping in these wasted moments, I call myself, I hear myself. Feeling myself, bitterness, and animosity I cry into this Cup. Crying Crying, crying for loss. Losing and dying and weeping. Stains of Joy. Heaven sent. What words are these? What are any?