Prajna

The how of the knowing
to let ebb and flow.
sigh
That would be nice.

A futility of mathematics

To cast my life in object truth,
to dice this self into quanta
that I may hold each to the light
and say, "Ah! this, too, is now known."

La crise d'objets

Are you outside my skin,
or am I outside yours?
These ten thousand things
fall away like the floor
beneath my feet, yet arise
in the instant of our touch.

We crave these objects solid
and of substance, things
like you and me and love--
but this deep undoing
and relentless rebirth
so starkly show
how no thing is.

There are beginnings
and there are endings.
In the between
is there really a difference?