I was under tree. I looked through her branches at moon.
It was a winter night. The sky was clear, and only moon and a few stark stars shone through.
Peace was here.
And mind entered.
Perhaps this scene should be painted.
But the artist wouldn’t allow for a scene such as this.
Better that it was painted with girl looking through tree branches at moon.
Constriction known as sadness came.
Perspective can only be one.
This moment was stillness, but also illusion. The falsity of this moment etched in time.
They say the world was meant for mine eyes.
I try and hold onto it, but escape.
I’d do it all again, just to see it one more time…one more time…and yet another and another.
The falsity of moments strung together like lights on a shoestring, when silence is the essence that prevails.
I touched tree where no bark was. The inner cambium was visible, and beyond that, the gray matter that was like blood. It dissolved like ashes with the touch of my fingertips.
I saw the empty space that was beyond, the blackness where nothing was.
I was afraid to put my fingers inside, but I tentatively did.
In the center of tree, there was nothing.
It was the pure emptiness that was like the spaciousness of a drum.
No holiness, emptiness…
The words were barely breathed on the surface.
Stay, no knowing.
Pure emptiness everywhere, and here now, moment called girl with tree…