My lessons are always close at hand.
I can feel the shrinking of my reach, my will, my gathering, my remembering, my learning,
my doing, my living.
And what of those without vision, interest or knowing
And standing with me
At the gate of death, empty
Having never filled themselves with knowing?
Is this the deadly reality of meaning?
Out of reach of knowing?
Must I fill the emptiness by dreaming it into reality
And then vanish into everything with nothing?
Humility is myself, empty
Dissolved and buried in the journey of living
In a illusion,
An invention of learning
To perhaps bring into existence
Something wiser
To be seen by those who come after?
Does what comes after me
With better vision see?
In life’s budding,
In the parting of my individuality
Where I, a tiny fragment of being
Can only hope to be
In alignment in death’s eternity
With what is no longer present in reality?
Emptiness is the goal
And to die in the sanctuary of meaning.