I know, now, what I am craving; and it’s emptiness.
Maybe that’s what the finish line looks like in my head.
No room for anything but everything.
(Fewer words, longer silences.)
A hollowness within, that merges with the hollowness around me.
The hollowness of the universe.
The thinning out of the self,
becoming nothing more than a translucent and porous membrane.
A bubble skin
containing only space,
where the space
(hollowness)
(emptiness)
(non-being)
is the point.
I am a smallness within the expansiveness that is god,
standing alone in a massive stone cathedral,
all Gregorian echoes
and Vermeer light.
I am losing my self in the work of non-being.
Distilled.
Essential.
Pure.
The nothing that is everything.
Wendy Stefansson
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