buddhism poetry

Sitting with Nothing


sometimes when i want quiet,

i tuck myself away from people in need

and allow myself to

become deeply aware

of a warmth within my chest.

if i breathe and hold the stillness,

the warmth grows

filling the space below my skin.

my meditation sparks,

an ever growing flame

that speaks

not of words,

but power and movement.

it has presence,

yet it is Nothing at all.

“please show me the truth,” i ask of its greatness

but Nothing just chuckles

and shows me a tree.

“which is the way?” i probe

but it just grins

and gestures

to a thin drift of cloud.

in my unfettered state

my thoughts are

drugged and doped,

my worries

whispers hidden in the

call of silence.

in smooth amusement,

i hear myself laugh…


by my ambitions,

my wild desires

and the play of Nothing

upon my heart.