Poetry of nothingness : Dearest Zhitong

indra_net

Dearest Zhitong

 

Dearest Zhitong, the same of water is true of other things:

Although the hurricane is made of wind,

The hurricane is not the wind.

Although the wind may become a hurricane,

The wind is still itself.

 

Anima, animus, shadow, ego

Volatile, pulling silk stringed tongues &

Chasing the simian mind.

From your eight century secret grave

You whisper to me, even now. . .

 

The cold winter wind

That howls, destroys, terrifies

Is also the soft breeze.

 

So it is Indra’s net then, yes?

Teach me to speak in a language

Where words are not geometry

But images of animals, mountains, sky.

And tell me in a simple way so I can. . .

 

Even the hawk and vulture

Understand the wisdom of

The wind.

 

There is nothing to grasp

And it is beautiful.

 

—K.M. McCann

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About Lightning Heart

Nomad. Poet. Philosopher. Teacher. View all posts by Lightning Heart

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